Tag Archive | twisted

4/3/2015 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Small Engine Repair

Small Engine Repair

And you thought
I had a screw loose.

Your cutting words
twisted
dormant
in the cold.

It seems
too simple
now that they’re exposed.

You might want
to pick up
the pieces.

Or I’ll figure out
where they really go.

And let the mower
have its way.

4/1/2015 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Dreamweaver

Poetic Asides – Day 1 – Resistance Poem 2

Dreamweaver

Sleep begins
to seduce me
with the quiet promise
that I might hide
within the darkened warps
between the stars.

But self-induced
insomnia
is as necessary
as the tense shuttle
of my arm
blocking the murky
shadows
of my fears.

For there is no rest
in flying,
in running
within the twisted,
warping mazes
where distorted images
are thrown across
my dreams.

I tangle every
sheet and doubt
till only morning
covers me,
and what I thought
I knew
unravels
in the light.

5/06/2012 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Twisted Sister

Twisted Sisters

Walk with a mirror
under your nose
and mushroom lights
jump up to divert you
until your feet
find the vacuum
of space and you suddenly
are afraid of the abyss
made above the stairs
and you have to peek
just to be sure
that it’s alright
to step up
when you know
you could fall
into the fathoms below
but it’s better than
the other childhood game
that lava melted your feet
until laughter succumbed you
both safe on the couch.

But it just isn’t the same
when you are alone and forty.

10/14/2011 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Sidewalking

Sidewalking

——————————————

Taken with a gasp,
our severing is swift,
even though my mother,
and I in my enlightenment,
saw the darkness coming.

——————————————

At first I jump.
‘Don’t step on the crack,’
but anger builds till my feet rejoice
in a double-footed cementing
breaking of my mother’s back.

——————————————

Then faith must carry us,
each to our own square
till we slowly stand alone
and set our worlds upright
allowing our breath to escape again.

——————————————

Then, head up, I walk
ignoring the cracks
down my own twisted path,
leaving my mother
perplexed at my pace.

——————————————

4/08/10 Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Science UN-FAIR!

Tessellation

PROMPT 8: Write a TOOL poem.

Science UN-FAIR!

Perhaps, it is because
I have never actually
seen one
that my creative mind
imagines
a barbarous, torturous device
so heinous
that every lazy-assed
good-for-nothing
12-year-old
runs screaming back
to their dining room table
finishing their project,
proving the combined
measurement of angles
will equal 360 degrees,
thereby creating
a tessellating design
equivalent to the twisted
mind of Escher
and pointed barbed-wire fences,
holding back cattle
and procrastinating children.

Assuming, of course,
that my dad actually
OWNS
a cattle prod.

Some theories should not be proved.

8/08/09 Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections

Under the Surface

My truths are laid before you
like a doily
intricate and knotted
beauty in construction
but covered with objects
meant to distract.

Your eyes so focused on the vase,
the beauty of the flowers,
do not see the tightness
of the string as it grips
to itself, twisted.

You cannot unravel the secrets
I have woven together.
They are tied
one event to one event
colored with brightness,
dyed with sadness.

My truths are laid before you,
a deceptive lie.