Holly Eva AllenWHISPERS OF THE END
—Holly Eva Allen, Sacramento
Strained with the pressure of dark.
Strange noises wake the dreaming.
A cat or a dog down the alleyway to yowl,
Or a neighbor making heavy love, sweating, sweating…
But nothing in the mortal mind was firstly right.
Gravity mounting in my lungs,
A lover whispers beside me, the end of loving.
_________________
Thanks, Holly! Holly Eva Allen is a published poet and writer living in the greater Sacramento area of California. She is creator and head of The Raven of Lancaster, literature and art guild of Rosemont. She is currently working towards a Masters degree in English through the California University IGETC transfer program. Holly's interests include works by H.P.Lovecraft, opera, and linguistics, and she says her personal works are often odd-metered and questioning. For more about Holly, go to www.freewebs.com/hollyeva
_________________
CLIMBING SAFFON SOILS
—Holly Eva Allen
The peak of beauty
Reached by stubborn legs on a dirty plane.
The soil is loose,
Hues of saffron,
Like jealousy,
And crimson,
Like those bleeding hearts:
Those little girls with puffy eyes,
Their stockings torn at the knees.
Climb on, ignoring love.
For at the height of handsome flesh,
There is no love,
But vanity.
__________________
HIT AND RUN
—Holly Eva Allen
What a thespian!
Played like a pro,
He lived his life by vintage Cream records
And aspartame.
Hair dyed in divinatory thought,
A peacock treading an asphalt road.
You definitely didn’t reek of sin.
You didn’t look twenty-nine.
You held yourself like a Henri Matisse,
You made me out to be a deer in your headlights.
And you just ran me over.
__________________
CAT LOVE SONG
—Holly Eva Allen
Through cement and gravel
We tire the soles of our feet.
And the cobblestone comes to argue
Its place in our lives.
And the moss,
The grass,
They need no introductions.
If padded feet
Make us like cats,
Like lovers,
Then the tile would have nothing to say.
Little whiskers warn you:
Walk no further.
Two steps forward,
Five steps back.
Come and lie down beside me
Before my heart bursts
Within me.
The soft ground will wait
For the cry
Of your footfall.
For the mewing of kittens
At my doorstep.
___________________
MONET BREAKING
—Holly Eva Allen
From dawn to dusk,
From daybreak until breaking,
We were pretending not to pretend.
On the porch and under the sun,
Burning on the summer pavement like
Demons on holy ground.
And how sacred the seconds seemed.
An ironic blessing.
We have a façade for every day of the week,
Blue, red, green, yellow, and purple.
To match every outfit we own.
We believe those colored prophets
Even though we know the blind cannot see visions.
I’m a Monet—
Bright and blooming to the passerby
But jaded and wilted to the wise of eye.
You’re a tourist and a sightseer—
You say bad things about me right to my face
And flash camera lights in my eyes to
Forever capture my suffering
But you pretend you faun over this painted beauty.
I’m gorging my ego in your lies.
How I want to go on a fast.
The signals were blue as we drove through
The middle of nowhere.
Confrontations came up from the eviction of my mind
And you killed it with the desert of my womb.
Insults on my Eve’s blood were made,
So I became Lilith.
So I became Lilith.
I’m gonna shed these colors
And soon the nowhere will merge with somewhere.
Running out of canvas and off the porch
And I’m drunk from fasting
And I’m full from truth.
__________________
Today's LittleNip:
TO EDWARD DAHLBERG
—Jack Kerouac
Don't use the telephone.
People are never ready to answer it.
Use poetry.
__________________
—Medusa
—Holly Eva Allen, Sacramento
Strained with the pressure of dark.
Strange noises wake the dreaming.
A cat or a dog down the alleyway to yowl,
Or a neighbor making heavy love, sweating, sweating…
But nothing in the mortal mind was firstly right.
Gravity mounting in my lungs,
A lover whispers beside me, the end of loving.
_________________
Thanks, Holly! Holly Eva Allen is a published poet and writer living in the greater Sacramento area of California. She is creator and head of The Raven of Lancaster, literature and art guild of Rosemont. She is currently working towards a Masters degree in English through the California University IGETC transfer program. Holly's interests include works by H.P.Lovecraft, opera, and linguistics, and she says her personal works are often odd-metered and questioning. For more about Holly, go to www.freewebs.com/hollyeva
_________________
CLIMBING SAFFON SOILS
—Holly Eva Allen
The peak of beauty
Reached by stubborn legs on a dirty plane.
The soil is loose,
Hues of saffron,
Like jealousy,
And crimson,
Like those bleeding hearts:
Those little girls with puffy eyes,
Their stockings torn at the knees.
Climb on, ignoring love.
For at the height of handsome flesh,
There is no love,
But vanity.
__________________
HIT AND RUN
—Holly Eva Allen
What a thespian!
Played like a pro,
He lived his life by vintage Cream records
And aspartame.
Hair dyed in divinatory thought,
A peacock treading an asphalt road.
You definitely didn’t reek of sin.
You didn’t look twenty-nine.
You held yourself like a Henri Matisse,
You made me out to be a deer in your headlights.
And you just ran me over.
__________________
CAT LOVE SONG
—Holly Eva Allen
Through cement and gravel
We tire the soles of our feet.
And the cobblestone comes to argue
Its place in our lives.
And the moss,
The grass,
They need no introductions.
If padded feet
Make us like cats,
Like lovers,
Then the tile would have nothing to say.
Little whiskers warn you:
Walk no further.
Two steps forward,
Five steps back.
Come and lie down beside me
Before my heart bursts
Within me.
The soft ground will wait
For the cry
Of your footfall.
For the mewing of kittens
At my doorstep.
___________________
MONET BREAKING
—Holly Eva Allen
From dawn to dusk,
From daybreak until breaking,
We were pretending not to pretend.
On the porch and under the sun,
Burning on the summer pavement like
Demons on holy ground.
And how sacred the seconds seemed.
An ironic blessing.
We have a façade for every day of the week,
Blue, red, green, yellow, and purple.
To match every outfit we own.
We believe those colored prophets
Even though we know the blind cannot see visions.
I’m a Monet—
Bright and blooming to the passerby
But jaded and wilted to the wise of eye.
You’re a tourist and a sightseer—
You say bad things about me right to my face
And flash camera lights in my eyes to
Forever capture my suffering
But you pretend you faun over this painted beauty.
I’m gorging my ego in your lies.
How I want to go on a fast.
The signals were blue as we drove through
The middle of nowhere.
Confrontations came up from the eviction of my mind
And you killed it with the desert of my womb.
Insults on my Eve’s blood were made,
So I became Lilith.
So I became Lilith.
I’m gonna shed these colors
And soon the nowhere will merge with somewhere.
Running out of canvas and off the porch
And I’m drunk from fasting
And I’m full from truth.
__________________
Today's LittleNip:
TO EDWARD DAHLBERG
—Jack Kerouac
Don't use the telephone.
People are never ready to answer it.
Use poetry.
__________________
—Medusa
Fireworks at the State Fair
Photo by Katy Brown, Davis
