Caring Conversations

By: Bekah Turney

We came upon a pair of peacocks,

Poking noses into dirt near the road.

We drive in puzzling awe.

A couple happy herons extend their necks

Amidst cowering cattle,

Pure snow, stoic angels

Against the tattered brown and black of cows

And vibrant green fur of rain kissed earth.

Road curving endlessly,

Lips pressed to our coffee lids,

Talking of revelries and

Philosophical life resolutions.

Like the treacherous loose blacktop

Beneath barreling wheels

Of beauty we penetrate.

Beautiful Resentment

By: Bekah Turney

1.Phantom, walking up my street, come take my breasts. /Cup the void of your palms into gaps filling my reassurance. /Anticipation of empty disappointment. /Cradle the gateway close to my heart. /Touch my skin and enter in. /Swift as the breeze your mist swirling in winter, the coldest of nights. /Smoke screens, blurred lights and repeated melodies. /I’m the Dickinson to the tale of your ghostly passing.

2.Thoughts, lemon drops and candy- /You cut with a knife of lustful insanity. /I suckle your shell, sweet and uncanny. /Melting on my tongue, drips fall into my throat /And your center seeps through, bitter resentment. /Sour pools bleed from your core and shock me into distance, /Lands far From where your vibrant taste once drew me near.

3. “Meet me on Sunset and Granada.” /I forced music into my ears. Lacing shoes, ready to walk for miles. /”I will be there.” / Feet meticulously carry, not too quick, not too slow- /Warmth of sun beaming into my chest, /As elusive darkness wraps my body down dark streets where passion spreads like fire. /Shadowed figure not far, drawn by street lamps. /Sun once in my chest, now illuminating my existence in the night, /Treading flames with every step. /White teeth glistening behind lips soon to take in my embrace. /No days have passed, /And the melting heat of your eager passion blankets my reckoning.

4. Hungry fingers pressed against keys, songs of beautiful resentment- /Can you hear me? /Summer spits beads of sweat down my forehead. /You come back to turn off the thermostat, as babes soon return to misery. /Nestled in a corner of our home where shadows eat the day, fail to hide light sneaking into streams, /On hands that search desperately for grey amongst black and white. /Your silhouette drifts out the back for another puff of cigarette.

5. We drive, window cold, pressed on my cheek. /We sit together, but repelled apart like Backwards magnets. /Obligation drifts us to where family makes light of scattered infidelities. /Children, all of us, with lines on our weathered and pressured grins, /Carrying our tired wheels into hopeful destinations- /Like grasping at unprecedented prizes in machines with mischievous claws. /”This is a great band!” you say, shouting validation to my gaping heart, /Absorbing all the pain of your constant confliction. /Lyric cries through forceful song, “these feelings won’t go away, they be knocking me sideways..” /As my body clings to the barrier between me and fresh air. /Distasteful resemblance, I repeat the note, /And hold captive words where I relate, /But only hope, with your schooled art of song, can hear.

Morning Dew

Image by: wall up.net

Poem by: Bekah Turney

I dance around in playful turning tides. 
You drip off petals, 
Like early morning dew, as the sun warms the earth.
The wheel spins, 
Grasping tight what force cannot refuse. 
It's time for you to go- 
You fall to kiss the outstretched necks of grass. 
Sliding down its blade, slick, 
Cutting through like truth. 
It's time for you to go- 
Turning rhythms dance in tune with cycle's song,
Soaking in the crumbled soil, 
Planting seeds of your own 
And in turn helping them to grow.

Blue Bird

By: Bekah Turney

Sharp chills. Cheeks a crimson pink. I walk to the door, break from the chill and pool into the prickling warm. Dead bird in the doorstep, cold, hard. I scoop you in my trembling palms and feel your yearn for heat from inside. You dreamed, waited in longing, and then you slowly faded away. We walk together to the oak tree and I place you in its protruding roots, cradling you in as its own. I lay you on the side to reflect into the lake. We talk, and I tell you of how special you were- that you must have surely been. Goodbye sweet freedom of your pale blue wings. You fly now into the lines of the tree.

Image by: Lavery ART