Beth NoLastName

April 6, 2008 at 2:47 pm (Uncategorized) ()

Beyond The Grave

He, a reluctant ghost
Beneath the sod of England’s coast
Refused to haunt those still above
Out of fear or out of love
It mattered not
He stayed within his chosen plot
A principled man of him was said
And that he stayed ‘though he was dead
A stone was placed above his head
And at his feet a flower pot
Filled with plastic roses red

On holidays his widow came
To wipe the stone and clean the same
Upon his grave she’d lie and rest
Still thinking him the very best
Of men she’d ever known
‘Thou he was only hair and bone
It matter not
She lay upon his chosen plot
And cried his name aloud
Tears falling as if from a cloud
She rose but with her head still bowed
Whispered, I forget thee not
‘Tis what they both had vowed

Worn Out Wizard

He dialed her number
Demanded to know
Why she hadn’t contacted him
And listened to dead air
As she turned off her phone

He left messages
Implying he would hurt himself
Forever the abuser
Threatening violence
Lying even as he did so
“You said you would always be there for me
No matter what”
He spoke to her voice mail

They had agreed
No lying
No violence
No cheating
And to cherish
He hadn’t followed through
All deals were off

He missed her for some reason
Having listened to his many complaints
She wondered why

She missed having hope he would care
She missed looking forward to his false promises
But she didn’t miss him
He hadn’t been real with her
There wasn’t anything to miss

A bully
An enchanter
A tired magician with an old hat and a missing rabbit

The Stalking Beast

I don’t know why so many have called the beast green
I see it as a dingy grey-brown
It’s odor bothers me a lot more than it’s color
The stink is putrid
The kind of thing that makes you want to pinch your nose
Rather than endure it
The beast has come at me all of my life
In one form after another
Male and female
Young and old
Doing it’s best to convince me I am as ugly as it is
Or at least smell as badly
It plays the wolf to my Red Riding Hood
The spider to my fly
Always looking for some way to trip me up
I’ve been told to take its attention as a compliment,
And I would
But the stench
That wretched ugly stench
Leaves me gagging and longing to breathe fresh air
I wish I could learn to laugh as I used to do
When someone made a stink bomb in high school
But that was merely the rotten egg smell of sulfur
And this is the smell of a rotted soul
Jealousy, the grey brown stinking beast
Lurking in the shadows at every turn

A native of Western, Massachusetts, Beth NoLastName moved to New Jersey in 2000, living first in Lawrenceville before moving to Trenton. Her first book of poetry Defiance is due to be published in April. Ms. NoLastName ran Classic’s Writer’s Workshop at Classics Bookstore in Trenton, and participates regularly at local poetry readings. Her MySpace website Gangsta Grandma is named after one of her poems.


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