Untitled (by Natalie Webster)

Untitled

Waking
The breath catches
at the bottom
of the throat,
　
　　　　　　　　　 pulling back into the belly.
　
Laying
beneath the warmth
lost feeling in December:
　
　　　　　　　　　 the intention of being.
　
Gasping
inhales reclaim
the lost remains unfound
　
air does not go in
sighs do not come out.
　
Running.
At　　　　　 a　　　　　 loss
　
　　　　　　　　　 For : Direction….
　

foot upon pavement: falling.

Going.　
　
pulling away, further
out of reach.
　
condensation clouds, not yet thought
and half unspoken
　
In and in and in and nothing.
　
Pulsing
waves around the throat
remembrance of our breathings.
　
Living
until we’re woken:
　
in sweat, entangled in time,
the pulling, inhaling, exhaling,
and twisting towards dying.

“Untitled” ©December 2011 by Natalie Webster, all rights reserved by the poet


Natalie Webster’s poetry has been published in Take It to the Street Poetry’s Force Fed as well as on the on-line blog Infloressence.  She received her B.A. in Language Studies from the University of California at Santa Cruz and is currently pursuing a Master’s in Counseling Psychology from John F. Kennedy University.  Her spare time is spent working creatively with children’s art classes on painting, creating and writing who, for better or for worse, are her muses. Natalie keeps a web scrapbook of inspirations and writing sketches at Ice and Coffee.

There Are No More Poems (by Natalie Webster)

There Are No More Poems

There are no more poems
between the void and the flood.
No vessel to contain the raining
in this blood.　 No more salt
upon the wounds.　
　
Cauterize me.
　
Span together the plenitude of faithless
lacking triumphs.　 No scars.
There are no songs,
no whispers in the overture,
no cadence or crescendo to hollow out
this failure.
　
So, darling, fill me.
But know that there is nothing:
No girl, no love, no life.
And there are no poems.
　
A forceless push…
The body resides beneath
as a breath once breathed, released,
dissipated into disease. No words,
no tongues. And nothing.　 No one.
　
Separate the non-existence of expectation:
A sun that does not set,
The moon that cannot rise.
　
I will never love because I never could.
What we had was frameless and so it never stood.
　
Pour me out in concrete,
Buildings–cold and stark,
Stale and heartless.
　
Let me go. The way you looked into my eyes
and fucked me.　 Eyes that said you wouldn’t.
　
There are no poems for the tears I will not cry.
No words for the weaknesses I cannot feel
No songs for what I won’t embrace.
　
Endless is the soft sallow comfort:
the decadence in despair.

“There Are No More Poems” ©November 2011 by Natalie Webster, all rights reserved by the poet


Natalie Webster’s poetry has been published in Take It to the Street Poetry’s Force Fed as well as on the on-line blog Infloressence.  She received her B.A. in Language Studies from the University of California at Santa Cruz and is currently pursuing a Master’s in Counseling Psychology from John F. Kennedy University.  Her spare time is spent working creatively with children’s art classes on painting, creating and writing who, for better or for worse, are her muses. Natalie keeps a web scrapbook of inspirations and writing sketches at Ice and Coffee.

The Crows (by Natalie Webster)

The Crows

They call me into night
　
A flurry of obsidian,
dark shine inside a shapeless moon…
　
They stay where words end.
　
Call of an empty November
that seals the marrow of my bones
in bitter morning.
Creak upon my movements
The tinman holds herself
　
away.
　
Still, before the winter comes: soft
warnings in the graying in the tides.
This haven of the crows,
the closing of the skies.
　
And snow white, upon the pavement,
The warmth that was my blood falls
from lips and tongues that cried out
　
in silence.
　
The crows come
　
and sweep away the dead.

“The Crows” ©November 2011 by Natalie Webster, all rights reserved by the poet


Natalie Webster’s poetry has been published in Take It to the Street Poetry’s Force Fed as well as on the on-line blog Infloressence.  She received her B.A. in Language Studies from the University of California at Santa Cruz and is currently pursuing a Master’s in Counseling Psychology from John F. Kennedy University.  Her spare time is spent working creatively with children’s art classes on painting, creating and writing who, for better or for worse, are her muses. Natalie keeps a web scrapbook of inspirations and writing sketches at Ice and Coffee.

Poisonous Apples (by Natalie Webster)

Poisonous Apples

I know nothing.
　
A dull gnawing
and throbbing ambivalence
of dreams:
　
You take my hands
　
and feed me poisonous apples.
　
I lie limp and languid
in your charms.
　
Train song echoing, two A.M.
A peahen’s cry: the coyote tears her
From her young:
　
Sounds of night, far below
　
a country’s harvest moon.
　
Wind’s blow turns to rain.
　
A sun’s shadows dissipated:
gray shortened days.
　
I know nothing except
　
the absence of a path
　
leading home.

 

“Poisonous Apples” ©October 2011 by Natalie Webster, all rights reserved by the poet


Natalie Webster’s poetry has been published in Take It to the Street Poetry’s Force Fed as well as on the on-line blog Infloressence.  She received her B.A. in Language Studies from the University of California at Santa Cruz and is currently pursuing a Master’s in Counseling Psychology from John F. Kennedy University.  Her spare time is spent working creatively with children’s art classes on painting, creating and writing who, for better or for worse, are her muses. Natalie keeps a web scrapbook of inspirations and writing sketches at Ice and Coffee.

The Quiet (by Natalie Webster)

The Quiet

Is it the solemn adoration of what has been
built slowly over time, detail upon meticulous detail,
forged upon the once barren framework of this: my frail structure.
　
Or the deafening pang of exhaustion, before
a long and desperately desired reprieve into sleep.
The inability to grasp, obtain and hold on to the Calm.
　
The slow unwind of my mind leaves behind
the sour rind of fruits taken too late from branches
bent over under the burden of their weight.
Stretched and pulling downwards to the fertile expanses
of my skin, from far below my navel up beyond the barely visible
landscape of what was my ribcage, uneven
and contorted from ancient ravaging harvests.　
　
Now, there are no hands here to console,
no whispers and no kind glances between the arching limbs
and the leaves of this, our plentiful fruit tree
dropping its rot along paths once pristine and precious.
　
Or are they there even still, as water washes over.
　
The ticking of the clock sears into the silence as if to count
time that has gone over.　 A chime for each movement
towards the edge of this precipice: the unpayable debt.

 

“The Quiet” ©July 2011 by Natalie Webster, all rights reserved by the poet

Natalie Webster’s poetry has been published in Take It to the Street Poetry’s Force Fed as well as on the on-line blog Infloressence.  She received her B.A. in Language Studies from the University of California at Santa Cruz and is currently pursuing a Master’s in Counseling Psychology from John F. Kennedy University.  Her spare time is spent working creatively with children’s art classes on painting, creating and writing who, for better or for worse, are her muses. Natalie keeps a web scrapbook of inspirations and writing sketches at Ice and Coffee.