My Furious Fast and Fickle Friend

My Furious Fast & Fickle Friend

My cancer wanes so have your lend

While just as much with promise lies

To reach a hand toward disguise

My furious fast and fickle friend

When feeling fails try to pretend

So once the curtain falls you’ll see

Applause throughout your dynasty

For feelings fast and fisted tight

Turn jaundice in the lazy spite

Of Ungrateful men who lie to take

What she would rather not forsake

My furious fast and fickle friend

Into defeat your dallies bend

For what is left when trust does send

It’s sorry self toward no friend?

Angela Sidoti Copyright © 2006

I went to war My Love

I’m back or you are

Where we left space immediate

With my bandaged head and my shrapnel shame

Walking wounded

You see my eyes closed

Can’t share with you those shapes those lights

Or what I fell through heavy on my own

Facing forward

While you were gone friend

I marched to war with demons you don’t know

And battled with less stoicism than need

Bleeding plenty

Now you’re back and here

I cannot share with you the failure or the courage

Which led the charge through a thousand

Traitor Treasures

My gaze blank and difficult

With a veneer of pleasantry and affection tempered

By the memory I fail to share with you or with your

Failed attendance

I went to war my love

I bled and caught the bloodspill along my bitten tongue

Of casualties you cannot know in combat

All unmoved (removed)

Angela Sidoti © 2011

- - 11/11/2011 - -

Oh you faltering fake and unhappy ending

Oh you faltering fake and unhappy ending
Obvious, stated as a disclaimer, in italics and small in print
None the less there and available for consideration
By the careful, the paranoid, the clever.
Not for me this small and ungrateful prick
In the trustful, luck-full, optimistic mind
Of me

For I am stupid and willing like a domestic animal
Stolen nature fighting the rule it is grown against
Thrown against, loaned against
I am there and absent in my care for self
A bad bang repeater, deleater, he-beat-her
To a pulp of disappointment, self hate sad and dragged anointment
When the rail you lean against, scream against
Folds down and fallen you lay cheated
Hurt and bruised like flower petals in a careless fist
Defeated

It was blissed, kissed and left for dead or else a gist
Slow coming, like her
Arriving too late for the rest, the best
She thinks she can do
While getting done, it’s just fun shoots the gun
Of her masochistic, too sadistic – lack
And sits heavy like stone chilled bone
in the home of “not there”


Angela Sidoti © 2006

Something Soft…

Something soft, like a face held open
Something soft, like feeling hope again
A gentle word, an unknown phrase, an insight into things held close, sometimes too close.
Something soft sees the possibility of all things given life beyond their likelihood so that they stand like great trees of chilli, bountiful, red and passionate. Through any season.
Something hard, like hidden goodness
Something hard, like cultivating defence
The shiny edge of an unknowable world, a slippery step forward into obvious disaster
Something hard sees the death in all things before their life and the futile, the frail, the fickle, as ordinary. When they are not.
In truth all these things bounce from scene to scene, dependant on the extras, necessary for authenticity to reign.
In truth great chilli trees are grown not by observation but by dropping red to the earth and rotting.
In truth songs are made more for the musician than the muse
And unheard, will remain with sweet words and symbols quarried
Harmless.

In truth, something soft is a mythic saviour, a sister to her reverse, a belief and brief but beautiful sensation.


Angela Sidoti © 2006