Poetry

My Salty Hands

No one is exempt – we all have salt on our hands

& wounds we are trying not to rub

or maybe secretly enjoying the sting of our own private abrasiveness

some bleed more readily in public

hiding the goodness

under a display of foolhardery

& others in private wearing

that public mask of joy.

 

But we are all hypocrites if you dig

Deep enough – would all fail cross examination

If our entire lives were under the lens

& if you still think there are still some flawless

individuals out there

that you can mount, pedestal worship and all

as beacons for life while you are tallying the count of your inner dead –

then you haven’t lived enough

Your casualties will increase

& so will your survivors

&

that’s the true count

all the marks we leave on life in our passing

all our battle scars tattooed like medals in our skin

every kickstart, or try again

bit of riot, mute roar,

but there’s a reason that bible story exists because

everytime I point the finger at you there’s

five there starring

right back at me & you have No right to be talking

about my sex life anymore than I do yours, but we all do

& I just wonder when we are all going to stop shooting each other down

as if we were all politicians whose good public work

we were trying to destroy because we all harbour some hypocrisy in private

that’s no different from most other human beings

& yet women crucify each other daily while men generally have to make Quite a stir to be found guilty of reproach

we do not look at he family lives of men as the merit by which to judge

their public professions and confessions

& maybe we should & maybe we shouldn’t but the point is

if you recycle all your plastic & still drive a car

that doesn’t cancel out your environmental efforts

it just makes you better than someone who doesn’t recycle

and worse than someone who rides their bicycle everywhere.

The compromises of living here

And I think it is high time that we acknowledge

That we are all probably doing our best with what we’ve been given

& playing judge & jury serves no one but playing advocate can rightly

serve

us all.

 

Copyright Adrienne Adams May 7th 2016

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Poetry

The Fountain

*this poem is dedicated to a dear friend of mine.

 

“Lina is a liar, who cannot bear her real face in the mirror”  – Anais Nin

She washes her hands continually,

Going through

Roll after roll

Of toilet paper, denying

Using them to sop up her worries

As if soap could scrub off shame

& water rinse away blame.

I knock, knock

Ask what’s she’s doing, she

Opens the door as if escaping a fire

When really the bathroom is an ocean

& we are set adrift on the tides

of our own flushing.

I hope she is not purging,

I’m urging for breath

As if wind could fuel a flame

Over everything she is

Constantly trying to douse out.

One year later

And now,

Finally

She can light the stove

– without –

freaking out.

 

She opens the bathroom door

& I emerge from the room of my own shame,

step into the fountain of compassion

& embrace her.

 

Adrienne Adams March 10th 2016

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Uncategorized

Brain Cracks

There are so many fissures in my brain

Asking for clearance, so many fixtures

Asking for guidance, crevices to dig out of,

gullies too spooky my name with.

My brain is a story I tell over & over again

Repeating my name with different syllables each time.

The stories we tell, our reality.

Many of mine are stuck, in cracks, wedged deep into the past

Of repeat, repeat, repeat

& sometimes you just want to Jump UP

Over the cliff and say fuck it.

Walk away & save falling, for another day.

Flying past levitation I meditate

To observe the patterns I have etched into this stone surface

Except it’s not stone

& though nerves may fail and die from lack of connection

& heart attacks cause exhaustion from repeated exposure

neural pathways ARE alive, re-forgeable and plastic

This is more like a garden we grow

Each time we open our eyes,

Open our hands

with roots that can be re-grafted, removed, and transplanted

&

there’s a reason we bleed.

Stones can’t.

Copyright Adrienne Adams October 29th 2015

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Uncategorized

Full Flowered Knowing (Mini Chapbook Release tonight at Shelf Life Books!)

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Did I mention that I’m releasing my first (mini) chapbook tonight at Shelf Life Books (1302 4th St Sw Calgary, AB) during Woolf’s Voices 8?

Come on Down to get a copy! ❤

Full Flowered Knowing

I have a belly full of fur

Flowering on the bloom of what you gave me

Then rubbed my salts

Till wounds burst forth from

The ground of our walking

Treading too many times the same story

Multi-coloured imaginings

Don’t make up for tear drops

Falling on the petals of words spoken

In sleep deprived haste

Wasted on frustration

You spoke daffodils and I wished for summer

Still you wanted me to pay for scotch free

Nothings of gifts I drink down all I’m offered

And refuse to spit up the leftovers

I know what I’m worth

I will not let you take back what you’ve offered

And throw it away on someone else

I clench fists

Grow gardens all over my skin

This is how the cycle begins

Weed out the love and let the true trying begin

I’m crying

Because I know better than to let bees

Into the bonnet of my offering

Yet they keep seeking refuge in a place that makes sense

Trappings hold fears of no return

Unrequited pollination

You desire what I can’t have

And I forge gardens in my skin

Thinking I can heal the stigmata of sociopaths

As if I’m some kind of saint

I take on the challenge of gods and fall short

Forgetting to wet my goddesses on the thick rain

Of knowing who I am.

I’m learning to breath

Take one step at a time

Remember to dance at the turning of the tide

To practice for our craft is only

Honed in baby steps

I keep time the learning of my life

Wondering if this is something I can break free from

Or if my garden will finally sing with the full form

Of knowing

It is growing

Finally into something beyond its means

A belly full of laughter

I vibrate on the fat of experience and drown you in tears of regret

Which water the soil and quench my thirst

I am dirty

Since when did I think you would EVER,

come clean?

Adrienne Adams April 8th 2014

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Beginnings, mythology, Poetry, self awareness

Today I saw two shades….

Today I saw two shades flit across the floor of the building next door. Though they were ghosts, then realized they were the cut out reflections of people passing by. Mystery like science can’t always explain everything. Like chills up your spine upon realizing explanations for shadows that encompass the fleeting moments of our lives. We all leave behind traces, unaware often of the effects of our passing ghosts.

Copyright Adrienne Adams December 5th 2014

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fairytales, feminism, mythology, Poetry, Red, religion, self awareness, sexuality

Eve’s Room

I’ve been walking in Red

Heels through the apple of the forest

to meet you when all my feet want

to do is touch down, and admit they are dirty.

Attempting to salvage my life in half I cut

to the chase revealing the starry starving heart

& ate all the breadcrumbs in a bid to feel full

now lost I am sitting at the base of this tree drowning

in all my knowledge of you being

no closer to having a clue as to what to do

Pretty dresses wrap me in Red threads bound

to my ancestors, when all I want to do is

Carry on the line, instead of fearing blood

Loss I’m quaking with the dread that one day

I will stop bleeding altogether

Long before I’ve cracked

the Rubik’s cube of life

& figured out how to piece my ticking time together

beating on the wood of circulating in and out I am cocky smart

without a whip to lash back in

Making-up lies to keep me going when does

Wisdom dress up deceit & since when

Do puzzles solve themselves or fit

Into place while we sit watching

for our boiling points?

I am so sick of

simmering like the faint whisper of a whimper

I would shoot holes in my brain & my heart if it would make anything better

But since when did destruction ever fill anything

with something

but a leaky bucket & since when did time

Heal anything except everything we’ve finally forgotten

To grasp onto so tightly in our sleep?

& in the morning I pray my dreams will make me a slithering

of Eve loving her alter ego Lilith, chasing babies born of demon love to

regurgitate them like hope & perseverance

as two sister sinners grasp hands

and make peace with themselves

and all they have ever eaten to sustain living

in a paradise of their own making.

One bite of life

At

A

TIME.

Copyright Adrienne Adams January 13th 2015.

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