My Mother
Posted by Justin Reilly | Filed under Poetry, Print
My mother
She’s like Oprah without all the cameras and fake car give-a-ways
Like shed give you marital advice and never ask you to plug her book afterwards
She’s Mother Teresa with a little more swag
I’m thoroughly convinced shed give a stranger the clothes off
her back and feel no shame walking home naked
She’s Betty Crocker with just a little more spunk
You know the kinda women you always want on your side
When Ur the kid who just beat up the superintendent of Jersey Public
Schools son
Yea my mother is not only Satan’s arch enemy
She’s a super hero
Equipped with super sonic hearing
Crazy balance and about 4 to 5 arms
And a heart full of enough compassion to heal
Any sorrows a wanderer like me has ever had
I’ve seen her drive a big-body suburban with one her knee
While checking the directions
Feeding my younger brother
And still managing to knock me upside the head for messing with my
sister
To be serious though
I’ve never someone so beautiful in my life
An old painters definition of beauty
“the sum of parts put together in such a way that nothing need be
added, taken away, or altered”
That is my mother…beauty incarnate
Someone who can be Ur best friend
Your biggest critic
And still make a mean and I mean mean meatloaf to ease any anxiety that
you may still be having during day
My mother
Is wing clipped angel, earthbound just so a few of us
Never forget what it felt like hours before conception
When we were playing hopscotch on the golden bricks of heaven
She is a daily reminder of why we reach for the sky
And swallow star dust in our vocal cords
Gods way of saying
the simplest pleasures in life
Can be found in subtle southern accent, a heart felt laugh,
And a smile
That would have converted Saul on the spot
She is the reason why young men like me
Bask in the ambience of their female counterpart
And cherish every moment we are allowed to stare into your eyes
Just hoping to see a little bit of our mothers deep down inside your soul
So I can tap dance, or two step, whatever little jig the kids do these days
Until the sun goes down
And we are left in the star gazed glance of a mother
Who always knew we would make something of ourselves
And yet never let us forget that no matter
how tall we got
Or how deep our pockets ran
Or how colossal our name
She will always be there to remind us of
where we came from
And how we got here
So when they call me a momma’s boy
I chuckle
Raise my eyes and reply
Wouldn’t it be nice
If we were all so fortunate
Dear Friend
Posted by Justin Reilly | Filed under '08 Fall: Notes from Underground, Poetry, Print, Show Poems
Dear friend,
Its one a.m.
And I should be dreaming of Princeton play calls
But I can’t allow my sight to darken
Because you see I’ve been in a fog
A ghostly daze
Much like your earthquake
That has sent me spiraling
In and out of that lava
That you so eloquently describe
I’ve kept Aphrodite
In my skyline for far too long
And now she’s stealing
My sunshine
Those succulent rays
That used to simmer my skin
Have now caused me
Melanoma
I’ve spent this last year
In a smoke screen
It’s been hard for me to distinguish
Clouds from
Facial features
Let alone
Love
From
Lust
I’ve been in a vegetative state floating through existence
Stepping over my fare share
Of roses
To get to a Daisy
And my love poems
Have been simplified to
“she loves me – she loves me not”
While plucking pedals
From these stems
And what’s more I never
Was really able to see the
Full beauty
Of this Rose
Like the San Francisco fog
Masking the Golden Gate Bridge
Much like your tectonic plates
Were rocked by after shocks
My water logged façade
Was dazed by a tidal wave
A merciless tsunami
That handed me doubt and stole my sight
And not even His palms
Could heal this blind man
Dear Friend,
The bigger they are
The harder they fall
Held true
In this Katrina
But not even
Flower Arrangements
Could be
t-shapen and blood stained
there was no Red Cross
in sight
and now I feel
like a flower gurl
at my own wedding
watching her stilettos
pierce my past
as if they were
meant to be sacrificed
pupils dilated
these headlights
struggle to illuminate
the pavement
they say if you made the bed
then lay in it
well I’m hittin’ pot holes in this road
and it feels like I paved it
I never thought I’d be writing this poem
But it looks like Dipolar Radar
Has once again
Lead this weatherman astray
“Your tropical storm has now been
Elevated to a hurricane”
So I boarded up the windows
And headed for higher ground
In the city
Of 5′10” beauty
Dear Friend,
Well if I’m Jay Gatsby
Then you’re my beam
Of light across
The bay
And she
Well she is
The asthma
Inhibiting my breaststroke
And these last 3 months
Have felt like a 100 meter dash
In the Everglades
Like a tornado twisted
Me like a clever braid
And spit me out onto
That road I paved
Dear Friend,
You see
It’s been awhile
Since I’ve fallen
To my knees
And prayed for sunlight
But our
Photosynthesis
Cannot happen
In its absence
Cause I feel like
Were in a foot race
Around the world
And a lunar eclipse
Just lapped us
So I guess what I’m
Sayin is maybe soon
My foot speed will catch up
And I can play Joshua
And freeze time
Or Hezekiah
And run it backwards
Either way I’ll make up
For lost time that has passed us
Like you said on
Some fairytale tip
When I can be to you
The way I leave this ink to drip
Yours Truly
