Sojourn: 2020

27 December 2020

shaving with a dull razor

I’m getting back to work on this one, “shaving with a dull razor”. Here are two stanzas:

I don’t like to shave with a dull razor

it abrades my skin

I warm lotion between my palms

moisturize my rash

I’m not smooth like a blown glass jelly fish

my edges are serrated

I try to expire my deadline

I rub at an indentation behind my ear

sit beside the gas stove and hold an unlit match

I want to evaporate

but I forget the incantation

Cindy B. Stevens

#Art #ArtlixirPoetry #DarkPoetry #IGPoetry #IGPoets #InstaPoetry #Life #LovePoetry #MicroPoetry #Poem #Poet #Poetry #PoetryCommunity #PoetryGram #PoetryIsLife #PoetryIsNotDead #PoetryLovers #PoetryOfig #PoetryOfInstagram #PoetryPorn #PoetSociety #PoetsOfInstagram #SpilledInk #VeinHeartArtisans #Wordsmith #Writer #WritersOfInstagram #Writing

Photo credit: ilya-plakhuta-4uirWtIqQOA-unsplash

24 December 2020

when

I hope, I pray through all your days, you have someone who’ll say, “I got you”

I only post portions of unpublished poems every six days. This isn’t the 6^th day, this isn't a portion, but I want to share the following:

when

poem inspired by Jack Johnson’s lyrics, “I Got You”

when my sad flows molten

my madness fluid

when disbelief burbles

sunshine mocks lightning

when my skin catches fire

when I sleep until nine

won’t wake before noon

I’m laundry on a line

I flutter in cold

when my opaque can’t breathe

I’m no more substantial

than my addiction

when I’m incapable

I can’t imagine

I crave my devil kiss

when I mock mystery

when I won’t wonder

when breath freezes my death

I know I’ll hear somebody say, “I got you”

Cindy B. Stevens

#JackJohnson #Art #ArtlixirPoetry #DarkPoetry #IGPoetry #IGPoets #InstaPoetry #Life #LovePoetry #MicroPoetry #Poem #Poet #Poetry #PoetryCommunity #PoetryGram #PoetryIsLife #PoetryIsNotDead #PoetryLovers #PoetryOfig #PoetryOfInstagram #PoetryPorn #PoetSociety #PoetsOfInstagram #SpilledInk #VeinHeartArtisans #Wordsmith #Writer #WritersOfInstagram #Writing

Photo credit: dorothea-oldani-Hhm_fL04bE8-unsplash

21 December 2020

COVID-19 sacrament

I’m in the Radiation Clinic, waiting.

Every time I enter the main doors of the Cancer Center, I’m reminded of the communion sacrament, as I cup my hands to receive the hand sanitizer.

Here’s a haiku:

I enter the doors

COVID-19 sacrament

cup my hands; receive

Cindy B. Stevens

#sacred #Art #ArtlixirPoetry #DarkPoetry #IGPoetry #IGPoets #InstaPoetry #Life #LovePoetry #MicroPoetry #Poem #Poet #Poetry #PoetryCommunity #PoetryGram #PoetryIsLife #PoetryIsNotDead #PoetryLovers #PoetryOfig #PoetryOfInstagram #PoetryPorn #PoetSociety #PoetsOfInstagram #SpilledInk #VeinHeartArtisans #Wordsmith #Writer #WritersOfInstagram #Writing

Photo credit: Cindy B. Stevens

15 December 2020

I don't want the flag

Here are three stanzas from “I don’t want the flag”, a fairly recent piece, so it will be revised, several times I presume:

my daddy thought he’d get a call someday that I had ended life

a 3:23 morning call came

someone else had done it to me

two remove my coffin flag

step away

drape

corner

stretch

taut

fold

snap

fold again

over and

over

my daddy

doesn’t want to hold my flag

I don’t believe I

deserve it

I have never seen

my daddy

cry

Cindy B. Stevens

Photo credit: andraz-lazic-64sgR8HV_68-unsplash

09 December 2020

not afraid of the dark

Here are some lines from “not afraid of the dark”:

every night, I turn the lights on in my house

all of them

a beacon to the rime on my window

now, my living room is full of shadow

I switch off lights

shadow disappears

I’m not afraid of the dark

. . .

I’m not afraid of the dark

Cindy B. Stevens

Photo credit: thomas-willmott-35tVq6Z39ns-unsplash

03 December 2020

wedding rice

I just started working on “wedding rice”:

cat hairs left by Izzy, Stella

Salem and Tigger

Bosco

Cassidy and Sundance

are wedding rice

found 2 months

2 years

after

Cindy B. Stevens

Photo credits: Cindy B. Stevens (our Siamese cats, Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid from 1979; can't find my photo of Bosco hanging from the quilt rack from 1986; Tigger, Salem, and Stella from 2006; Stella from 2009; Izzy from 2020)

27 November 2020

thanksgiving

This is the middle stanza of “thanksgiving”, a piece I’ve been tweaking since 2017; I’m still not satisfied:

roasted capon memory

pumpkin pie

apple

at parade rest on the kitchen counter

we gather

transient

friends

laughter

football

tug to where home waits

kaleidoscope cloaked

magic banks a fire

I touch thanksgiving

Cindy B. Stevens

#thanksgiving #Art #ArtlixirPoetry #DarkPoetry #IGPoetry #IGPoets #InstaPoetry #Life #LovePoetry #MicroPoetry #Poem #Poet #Poetry #PoetryCommunity #PoetryGram #PoetryIsLife #PoetryIsNotDead #PoetryLovers #PoetryOfig #PoetryOfInstagram #PoetryPorn #PoetSociety #PoetsOfInstagram #SpilledInk#VeinHeartArtisans #Wordsmith #Writer #WritersOfInstagram #Writing

Photo credit: sheri-hooley-KUc-98rSvGY-unsplash

21 November 2020

let me be

I usually post e-a-r-l-y morning (every six days), but these past couple weeks have me procrastinating on choosing pieces to share.

Although this poem, “let me be”, has nothing to do with current family trauma, the four lines seem apropos to me:

scrub me clean

rain cleans leaves

I’m raggedy

just let me be

Cindy B. Stevens

Photo credit: robin-frejd-HrIc_rPS_Pw-unsplash

15 November 2020

when pages tear

The title poem of my full-length manuscript

waiting for a publisher to want

“when pages tear”

a few lines:

I beat the crap out of her again today

not all at once

more like a

little bit here

a little there

until she’s a sticky

mess

she watches herself step off the curb

captured by a rusted truck

Cindy B. Stevens

Photo credit: matteo-catanese-5ELkI0KByF4-unsplash

09 November 2020

I shot my best friend

This poem might be hard to read in its entirety. I chose certain pieces of it to share the gist of the plot. Here are portions of “I shot my best friend”:

I exist in a nightmare

I’ve heard dreams are based on real events

memories

must be true about nightmares, too, because

that 1967 Sunday morning streams through my head

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

1967 Sunday morning:

we’ve been in this deer stand since 4 a.m.

cold

hungry

bored

no deer, no luck

at nine-thirty, we climb down

walk to my truck

rifle barrels pointed down

I hear a snort a few yards ahead

left of the trail

I stop

shoulder my rifle

pivot the safety

my trip is a sneeze during a funeral prayer

a gunmetal sky watches

it’s horrified

I’m horrified

my hands, warm

slippery

sheriff declares an accident

I can’t name it

I won’t

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Cindy B. Stevens

Photo credit: niklas_hamann-x-PuIzBnDUA-unsplash

06 November 2020

pink ladies

I started something in my head yesterday morning while driving. It’s not finished; I mull things over before considering them “finished”. Anyway, here’s a bit of “pink ladies”:

it’s yesterday and I’m awake with

the bright Morning Star, truckers, and trains

no traffic on 86

147

until Fulton ends where pink ladies crowd

a circle

their pink skirts greet cold

Cindy B. Stevens

Photo credit: pawel-czerwinski-6Oyd_q79z2M-unsplash

05 November 2020

a playlist

My husband and I walking a difficult road. The following is the first, fifth, and last stanzas of a new nine-stanza pantoum I started yesterday morning on my way to work and “finished” tonight while we watched Borgen on Netflix. Counting, paying attention to the plot, definitely a challenge.

a playlist

I need to write about this

I sing my playlist to Raleigh

he loves Neil Young’s “Harvest Moon”

loves when I sing it

I make it to the second chorus

start over

make it through the song

sing it again

make it through the first verse

I can’t sing the chorus

I skip to the next song

I need to write about this

Cindy B. Stevens

Photo credit: guzman-barquin-Qd688l1yDOI-unsplash

03 November 2020

return

I thought I had finished this poem in October 2019. I frequently edit poems located in my computer’s “READY” folder and when I pulled this one up to prepare a post, I saw new things.

Here are eight lines from the four stanza poem, “return”:

I hear God weep with Jeremiah

Jesus for Lazarus

I want to return

I’m not content

fingers itch

beckon fire from heaven

modesty mantles my morning star

incinerates God’s ire

Cindy B. Stevens

Photo credit: josep-castells-5Mh8iz9vqpY-unsplash

28 October 2020

silver lined

The following poem is in my chapbook, Naked

published by The Main Street Rag Publishing Company:

Book cover by artist, Ebeth Scott Sinclair

silver lined

I belong to another world

shrouded by clouds

collide with the walls of my maze

forced to change direction

want to disappear today

away from my Judas

what I’ve done strikes my face

like rocks thrown from truck tires into a windshield

thirty-some years

thirty pieces of silver

Cindy B. Stevens

#MainStreetRag #Art #ArtlixirPoetry #DarkPoetry #IGPoetry #IGPoets #InstaPoetry #Life #LovePoetry #MicroPoetry #Poem #Poet #Poetry #PoetryCommunity #PoetryGram #PoetryIsLife #PoetryIsNotDead #PoetryLovers #PoetryOfig #PoetryOfInstagram #PoetryPorn #PoetSociety #PoetsOfInstagram #SpilledInk#VeinHeartArtisans #Wordsmith #Writer #WritersOfInstagram #Writing

22 October 2020

embrace

Most of my poems are concise, therefore my posts more so, as I don’t share entire poems here, unless they’re already published. Here are six lines from “embrace”:

I spill sorrow

gasp my want to recall a breath of joy

I’m surprised by warmth I can’t remember

mercy seals my fissures

tempers broken me

my savior blankets them around my struggle

Cindy B. Stevens

Photo credit: arm-rmah-P3cPrFiBnvk-unsplash

16 October 2020

indigo beach

I posted three lines from “indigo beach” on 4 September 2019. The short poem was published this year in Heron Clan VII, so here’s the entire short:

indigo beach

my sand-washed mind

moon dominated

it flows

it ebbs

tides mute my thought

there’s an indigo streak embedded in my night

it lures my twilight

it blinds my stars

Cindy B. Stevens

Photo credit: huper-by-joshua-earle-cGS5ywfD2Fs-unsplash.jpg

10 October 2020

looking out my mirror

The poem, “looking out my mirror”, began as a workshop prompt exercise.

Here are five lines:

if I were trapped in my body

would my memories be enhanced with unnecessary spices

could my though

ts move a chair in the wrong direction

my mirror frames my pain

I’m trapped in my own body

Cindy B. Stevens

Photo credit: usgs-uWlJDMJ_Qpk-unsplash

04 October 2020

look for my laugh

When Rose’s Meat Market & Sweet Shop still held hands in Durham, “look for my laugh” was written. I revised it recently; here are a few lines:

I drive to Morgan’s Imports near Rose’s Sweets & Meats

or Meats & Sweets

I need a sympathy card

wish I could pair that verse with this cover

I drop my multiple choices

spy a lost card corner beneath the cabinet

rescue, read

heads turn

look at me when I laugh out loud

Cindy B. Stevens

Photo credit: fabian-keller-wtrwyjkyOx0-unsplash

28 September 2020

predicament

“predicament”, a raw poem that takes place in two phases of the subject’s life

sharing the last stanza of sections 1 and 2:

I avoid my friends when I cry

I want only to fix my life

live someplace where nobody hits

no friends to dodge

no welted handprints

I want to own my face

silent tears leak on my way to work

spill over my face

ruin my mascara

I want to fix my life

live someplace where nobody hits

I want to own my body

Cindy B. Stevens

Photo credit: tom-barrett-4RFoXw2O4PA-unsplash

22 September 2020

I remember to forget your birthday

The first stanza of “I remember to forget your birthday”:

two days ago, I remembered your birthday had passed

I didn’t think about it

or about you

I don’t miss anything about you

even though your photo still sleeps in my desk drawer, face down

when I pull it open, I don’t feel your eyes on me

Cindy B. Stevens

Photo credit: natural-goods-berlin-VOS6akpHo1k-unsplash

16 September 2020

give me an angel

The following pantoum is in my chapbook, Naked, published by The Main Street Rag Publishing Company:

give me an angel

every time I ignore God’s kiss

another fieldstone is dry stacked on my wall

Lucifer brings his morning light

curtains my windows with disobedience

another fieldstone is dry stacked on my wall

my faith, sometimes soft as lambskin

curtains my windows with disobedience

I am God’s challenge

my faith, sometimes soft as lambskin

it’s easier to unstack the miles of wall

I am God’s challenge

return stones to their field homes

it’s easier to unstack the miles of wall

give me an angel who will extinguish my Lucifer

return stones to their field homes

rescue me from rubble

give me an angel who will extinguish my Lucifer

burn my disobedient curtains

rescue me from rubble

every time I ignore God’s kiss

#pantoum #Art #ArtlixirPoetry #DarkPoetry #IGPoetry #IGPoets #InstaPoetry #Life #LovePoetry #MicroPoetry #Poem #Poet #Poetry #PoetryCommunity #PoetryGram #PoetryIsLife #PoetryIsNotDead #PoetryLovers #PoetryOfig #PoetryOfInstagram #PoetryPorn #PoetSociety #PoetsOfInstagram #SpilledInk #VeinHeartArtisans #Wordsmith #Writer #WritersOfInstagram #Writing

Photo credit: magda-v-me5udcSd2H8-unsplash

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