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 - -

The stomach cloud

The stomach cloud
Sinking like stoney silence
Unfinished business
Or unforgiven delay

A scattered herd
Running scared but not over
Dust ridden movement
On a still, sunless day

A mouth overworked
Scarring as spoken sad
Light laden truths
Cover a dense unrhyming word

Or eyes seeing nothing
Refracting with their light
A massacre of form
Floating above earth-beds

Angela Sidoti © 2011

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

Menagerie 2

It’s a game, so lame, who’s to blame. Menagerie.

Colour cropped by pretty fences furling up to brightness
Eyes that blink in haze too bright and flutter finding lightness
Posing pretty leafy calm that reaches for a table
Giggles from the little girls who taste of nature’s fable
Kindness in the eyes of all who watch that gorgeous scene
Of other in the land burnt bright by focus in between

It’s the same


Angela Sidoti © 2011

Be Like a Tree

Be like a tree said old woman to me
Grow in the ground and happy you’ll be
Reach for the sky with your limitless green
Dig deep in the earth so your roots can’t be seen

For trees are so happy to stand there all day
Reaching and digging each opposite way
Smiling inside with their trunks growing strong
Not judging the weather as right or as wrong

But stretching and bending and learning those things
That make tree so peaceful with all that life brings
Be like a tree said old woman to me
Toes in the ground, and be happy, you’ll see

Angela Sidoti © 2006

Menagerie

You caged and cankered brilliance
Calling in your tongue
An echo only heard in place of truth

With wild and worried instinct
Wavering for grace
But kept for nothing more than light

Your beauty soft and decadent
Plucked green from nature's soul
Last chance at being sold for breaths not yours

You squawk and cry and struggle
Hidden from clear view
Exotic sounds of free none capture here

Angela Sidoti © 2010