Poetry

I’m working on writing a thousand poems. I started in April 2015.

Poem #327

~ Georgia Tell ~ 1 Comment

post-sunset gray cloudy sky
bright enough that headlights don’t help
dark enough that colors are muted
highway worker puts out orange cones
a fly on its way to rest buzzes near
worker swats at it absentmindedly
fly lands on worker’s face to gain bearings
worker jumps and swats it away
a car on the highway hits the fly
it is dead
worker slips onto the road
the screech of tires and thump
worker is dead

Poem #324

~ Georgia Tell ~ 1 Comment

a girl with a cat
sat on an asteroid
she swung her legs
meager gravity sufficed
she wasn’t alive
she wasn’t dead
she existed
passing crafts didn’t nod
passing crafts ignored
and she continued existing
forever and always

Poem #321

~ Georgia Tell ~ 1 Comment

a slow-moving packet of awkward
speaks too loud, hears not enough
born in 1924, caused the Great Depression
tried to convince her daughter to bike to CSUN
loves teeth, hates paying money
“what country is that?”
says what everyone is thinking
“this is terrible”

Poem: wanted to title this “analarchy” but looked up the definition and decided against it

~ Georgia Tell ~ Leave a comment

she was fourth
fourth favorite in the group
she knew this and said it like it didn’t make her want to tear her hair out
fuck
how?
I should stab my eyes out with the corner of the frame she gave me
a badly drawn version of my cat
she smiled
said she loved us
we were the greatest
it makes me want to vomit
did I think of her as fourth?
I want to say no, but there’s a part of me
this vile disgusting part of me that knew exactly what she was talking about
exactly
if I was her, I couldn’t stay
I couldn’t say things so sweetly
she loved us
she loved us
when we would drive to Barnes & Noble after she was called home
to talk, to pace the parking lot until 11:23pm
when we didn’t tell her we were getting together to eat ice cream
when we would sit in my car in front of number one’s house until 12:16am
talking about how miserable we were
fuck
I’m second
I know this, even though really don’t want to know this
I don’t know how I stayed
how she stayed
knowing there was this distinct hierarchy
we were the greatest
maybe that’s why no one talked to us
why we’d pull out of the Jack in the Box drive thru at 10:54pm and eat the buttermilk ranch slathered chicken strips lamenting how it was so hard to make friends while staring at that same leafless tree in a pot
how we were just too cool
we were intimidating
maybe we were just assholes
and I wasn’t even first asshole
and she was fourth

I don’t usually write long poems. But I had an interaction with a friend of mine recently that inspired this poem.

Bottomline: Hierarchy just breeds bad feelings. Let’s all become hippies, grow tomatoes and milk goats.

Poem #319

~ Georgia Tell ~ 1 Comment

continuous exhale of the heater
re-traced cursive “Love, Tell”
melancholy weighing down my body
tough rap beating out with a tinny quality
never-ending road of maybe thoughts
blanket trapping only my feet
halogen light painting the corner
careening mental somersaults
tight lips curled against my teeth