Poems Written By Natasha (Tasha) Gruss
McKinley
So you want to just read poems, or perhaps see a video reading, and not that other stuff? This is my page for that!
(not considered for publication elsewhere)
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Coffee poem without a title, writing and video of reading.
COFFE, THAT
DARK
SWEET DRINK
THAT SWIRLS.
SWIRLING
SITUATIONS
THAT COME OUT
CLEAR
IN THE DARK LIQUID,
AND FALL ON THE PAPER
AS IT BLENDS.
LIKE SUGAR AND
CREAM IN THE EARS.
LISTEN TO IT,
AS YOU CALM.
DARK
SWEET DRINK
THAT SWIRLS.
SWIRLING
SITUATIONS
THAT COME OUT
CLEAR
IN THE DARK LIQUID,
AND FALL ON THE PAPER
AS IT BLENDS.
LIKE SUGAR AND
CREAM IN THE EARS.
LISTEN TO IT,
AS YOU CALM.
Natasha Gruss @2007
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Ocean Haiku
Slip, Slip to the waves.
Here we dance in their music.
Now let us stand still.
@Natasha Gruss
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MY WORLD
WE WAKE AND WALK
AS WE SLEEP IN THE SANDS,
THAT TALK, THAT TALK.
HERE ARE OUR HANDS,
THAT SIFT THROUGH T immHE WORLD IN TIME AND DESTRUCT OUR OWN.
SO WE RHYME, SO WE RHYME.
AND WHILE MANY, WE WALK ALONE.
HANGING OUR HEADS DOWN,
WE DROWN, WE DROWN.
@Natasha Gruss
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Relating to a Mystery
Understanding an Echo (they called it Autism,)
Sweet parrot mimicking in human flesh.
She gazed at the river and spoke in metaphor.
Could it be possible? Did they lie?
Hidden talents hidden in flapping wings like hands.
Each song sung verbatim with feeling.
She feels it all distinctly, everything.
They are not emotionless.
Lumped together in the image of different.
Rainbow Puzzle Pieces try to celebrate the many feathers
of parrots flocking.
Comprehension can’t be communicated,
I’m not talking about her, but about me.
Is blue really accurate?
Relate, relate, relate,
Unsuccessful, it is pointless.
There are unanswered questions that swirl
and never finish until we expire.
I read stories, she watches stories
So that we might illuminate our curious minds.
When we hear a lion roar, we imitate.
My head’s full of useless feathers.
The mimicking parrot is full of brilliance.
It’s me who wants you to understand.
Expression needs training,
This encompasses humanity as well as parrots.
Will you feel compassion?
It’s everything we need.
Her, You, Me, Us.
In the end, that’s all I’m trying to express.
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If I Saw the Perfect Me
Another Past, an Alternate Dimension.
-Blink- She has everything I ever wanted.
Eyes of Ebony, Shimmering Hair in Shades of Gold,
and Skin like Tanned Cream.
If only I had fallen in Her Footsteps.
Walk softly with pitter pattering feet.
Our destinies tied together.
She thrums to the heartbeat of Her Love.
Eyes everchanging as the Ocean,
Eyebrows: dark drawing perfect curves to Gentle Face.
He is mine here, this dimension, something we share.
My love vibrates to my soul.
For a moment, I stop regretting being Her.
Rubbing dull brown eyes, I see She’s found a Purpose,
while I write resumés that blow away
to crumbling and quitting, never finding purchase,
while I stand precariously, Her Feet Perfected Toenails,
Rooted with Joy.
I hold glittering Fool’s Gold while Hers Sparkling Pure is Solid.
She bites it with Pristine White Teeth, doesn’t distort.
Biting mine with stained teeth and too small lips, melts to glop.
Her green with Luck, me green with Envy.
I wonder if the Money God is really evil,
or if it’s just a matter of success.
-Blink- We both see an Empty Soul, green with decaying,
wearing poverty as pride. Her eyes also ebony,
but no life there, orbs glinting of malevolence.
Us Others release our benevolent breath,
taking comfort of Our happy dispositions.
Looking at Another’s problems through a looking glass of speculation,
I come to the realization:
It doesn’t matter how magnificent Her life is,
mine could be as the Other; much worse.
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Talking Walls
We are painted on the walls.
A stale empty white expounds character,
like full chaotic colors.
Memories encased in drywall.
Bleeding out to eyes searching the
multitudes of expression.
The memory of a friend passed on,
hangs a dragon by the door.
A blue Angel flies above the television
pondering the traveling friend who painted her.
The deer by the church are uncertain
of their wintering creator,
wondering if it is a dead relative.
The flutist gazing at the caged Nightingale remembers
the living family that gifted her.
A photograph of a daughter much younger
stares at passerby’s with her name in ceramics
next to the TV.
She has spoken to the walls in handprints
intentionally placed, and accidently.
A mother experiments with her creative process,
hanging pieces of her soul for various eyes seeing…
Strangers, Lovers, Her Own.
Her walls are an exhibition of her life,
they speak of her pronouncements in confidence.
What do other walls among other dwellings speak?
Curious minds must stare and extract.
Minds meld personalities.
Walls for examiners to notice insights of soul and life
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Sleep, Interrupted
By Natasha McKinley
She,
Sleeps,
Softly.
There is a patter of
footsteps that She
dreamily hears.
Awaken now.
See what disturbs your slumber.
She wakes.
It is only the footsteps of her family.
Rest easy.
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Natasha
NextAkinToAmazingSheHappilyAscends-----------------------------------------------------
Jack of the Future
“Dear
Sir, our nanobots have detected high cholesterol,
and
that’s not all,”
I’m
afraid your heart may burst,”
It
isn’t the worst.
“But
this technology can heal me, right?”
Of
certain things I cannot bite.
“The
cholesterol, yes,
It
isn’t the best,
but
you have a rare disease which even nanobots cannot cure,
of
that, I am sure.”
“I
am afraid you can eat no fat.”
Well,
drat.
“Dear
Misses, our nanobots have detected a rare disease they cannot fix,
you
and vegetables do not mix.”
Impossible,
Not
even a salad will be tossable.
“Your
body can not digest lean,
eat
unhealthily to keep your digestion clean.”
Husband
and wife together,
Her
stout, him light as a feather.
“What’s
to be eating?”
Is
their greeting.
“I
can eat no salad,” said she,
“I
can eat no meat,” said he.
One
plate shared.
Still,
they were wonderfully paired.
Salad
and meat.
Well,
isn’t that neat.
An
empty plate, and empty platter.
Crises
averted, nothing’s the matter.
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Black Sales Days
A bustling crowd makes my head feel like it wants to burst.
Pushing through people is anti-joy,
a few Black Fridays I have bitten my lip and tried it.
A tea kettle for my father and
vague reembrace of a cousin joining me.
It was everything I thought I would hate (except the cousin).
Curious about a drug store,
there weren't too many people there
and the sales were amazing.
Obviously, a discrepancy.
On Cyber Mondays
I can hide from the world
and get those steals
that seem to be greatest
after a day of Thanks and long weekend.
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They Left Out the Title
Empty words expected to be gleaned through inference.
But how can we tell when the line before and the line after is left blank?
It puts a new meaning to 'reading in between the lines'.
Reading the words after blank spaces,
our hearts may be captivated
and our creativity may spell the subject out.
Our own interpretation.
That must be the hope of those who left the title without.
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@Natasha McKinley
Such a beautiful reading! Love this post Natasha ♥♥
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