Mustache

This was more of an observation I had that turned into a little poem. There is this one creepy guy with his creepy look that always falls upon me whenever I see him at school and it's just creepy, but he has this fantastic mustache, that somehow adds to his strangeness which is great. I also so happened to be eating m&m's at the moment this happened, and it explains just what happened pretty much.


The twisted Mustache smiles at me
I look up
Then down
Glance up
It stares at me and still smiles
In its twisted twistedness
I gather courage
To look back
Then plop an m&m in my mouth
The Mustache is gone.


copyright Christine Locke

Girl

This poem is one from observation. I was at a loss as to what to write about for a poetry assignment I had, then I kept seeing this girl I had never seen before around campus, and ran into her a few times. It was strange, and I couldn't stop staring at her, perhaps because I have never seen someone so dead looking that was alive before. It intrigued me indeed.

There is a girl
Like a rotting weed
It keeps reappearing
Blue lips
And a sickly pallor
All bones
A walking cactus
All joints
And points
She wisps by
Withering away as I pass
It keeps reappearing
The lady says
You look good
She mumbles a frigid answer
What sugary lies
That old woman
She couldn't look worse
That girl
With blue lips
and a sickly pallor
I"m sure she eats acid
The black dead eyes
She's the salt left over
From a dead sea
The sour smell
It keeps reappearing
Like a rotting weed
There is a girl.


copyright Christine Locke

Atlantis

My class was learning about prose poetry and we were asked to add a different form to our prose poem. Well, I knew I wanted to not have any periods, and in a way the sentences blend together and create this great rhythmic quality which I am pleased with. I wanted it to be a description of something, so this was what was fresh in my mind at the time of when I had my first ever meeting with one of the guys I had dated. I'd never seen a room like his, and to be frankly honest, I wouldn't want to again. Makes for a good poem though, hahaha.

One tipsy night I went into your room it smelled musty and foul ashes eroded into the carpet ignored week old cups soaked into the wood like bushes lining a path I laid on your naked bed where a blizzard of dandruff already rested the last time you washed your pillows remains a lost mystery like Atlantis sentenced to the dark abyss to me and you of this I know hoping I wouldn't be too far to be saved should I become ensnared in the clinging weed of carpet the open window and fans spun round and round swirling putrid smells dancing in my nostrils not relieving me of it I gulped the scent in of the latest perfume drowning as I sank deeper and deeper the light flickered your room was dim and I was glad for this I did not desire to see what vile creatures may have been condemned to beneath your bed let alone the back of your littered desk of this I know the TV blared in its ignorant nostalgia of cartoons from my forgotten youth I crept gently across the damp floor an explorer in an undiscovered wreck I thought Atlantis would be more grand than this even in all its ruin the clouds crept in fogging my vision not safe to go any farther or to stay in my dazed happiness of this I know and like abandoned dreams and wasted lullabies I camped for the night.


copyright Christine Locke

Catching

Click click click
The pully goes
Up then down
Down then up
Up up up
Down.

Click click click
Something is
Caught in my catch
It flutters there
and strangles itself
Down.

Click click click
The pully goes
Never stopping
For what I've caught
It just goes
Down.

Click click click
It still flutters
Down down down
Up.
Release
The pully goes.

Click click click
I wait for the catch
To be caught again
But I can't help
To look
Up.


copyright Christine Locke

I Remember

First poem I wrote for my poetry class, I was a bit rusty, but surprisingly when I started writing, words were flowing from my pencil. It was refreshing, and I forgot how much I had missed it. This brings together 2 things I love, motorcycles and ice cream. I suppose I'm all about weird combination's...


I remember...

The snug fit of the helmet.
It was perfect
In its metallic silver sheen
The anxious excitement
In the pit of my stomach
Like the rumbling of thunder
The engine hums to life.

Anticipation grows.
I'm like a kid in an ice cream store
Watching my favorite flavor scooped
I can't wait to taste it.

Then I can't get enough.
I want more
The sweetness on the tip of my tongue
Sweat rolling down my spine
An aching in my arms
To turn the throttle
To scoop another flavor
To go faster.

That feeling of danger.
But comfort at the same time
I can't wait
To come back for more.


copyright Christine Locke

Desert Solace (5 Haikus)

I went on a 2 week kayaking and canoeing trip this past summer with an amazing group of people, and for the last night we were there, we were asked to write a poem. So I decided to use one of my favorite forms, Haiku, to describe this beautiful and amazing place I didn't want to leave.

A dawn-lit morning
cloudless skies; a desert solace
wake me so I'll live.

The native wind blows
dusty island paradise
brings life to my soul.

O' quiet Myst'ry
I have nothing to look for
but myself to gain.

Dusk blended the sky
and red rock paintings reveal
a gall'ry of myth.

Creatures of the night
sing to me sweet lullabies
set my spirit free.


copyright Christine Locke

O How You Inspire Me

Kiss Me Kate

So Blue

This poem is actually based off of a few phrases I wrote down, then formed a whole poem around them because I loved the phrases so much. As you may be able to tell, I like experimenting, with forms and my own writing. I believe I was also reading Edgar Allan Poe at the time and was thinking of Annabel Lee.

The scent lingers.
I breathe in what remains before it vanishes. Forever.

If only I would;
But lived in a dream.
Then maybe it'd be better if you weren't real;
A fickle figment.

Open the eyes.
I never realized they were closed.
The Day startles me,
How clear and bright everything is.

Shut them again.
The clouded warmth returns.

I stumble back into my memory,
Your eyes the most prominent thought.
For I have never seen a blue like yours;
Like the icy drip from a sapphire rose.

It lands in my cup.

I know I am drifting again.
Too far from the shore, but too distant from the surreal.
Whoosh whoosh whoosh.
The waves are crashing where we first met.
Where you last disappeared.

Inhale.
Too much because I start coughing.
Eyes still shut tight,
Because I refuse to let go.

Like teardrops,
My fingers slide,
Down your cheek.
So blue, like ice
Because it's melting.

It lands in my cup.

I'm sitting on the shore,
The waves grow louder with every fall.
I'm waiting,
Because.

I'll wake you up someday;
And tell you,
I love you.

copyright Christine Locke

Love

Auntie's Basement

What inspired this poem was the feeling of lingering dreams. I like listening to music, and it often inspires me to write, I was listening to Jack Johnson or Tyrone Wells or both, but it was very late at night and I just had a spark that led me to writing this whole poem. It has been edited down, believe me it was much longer before, but I was also playing with the idea of being in the ocean and this drifting feeling into the unconscious. After you've been in the pool too long, or have had a little too much too drink, you feel as if your floating, drifting in the water before you fall off into dreaming....


Chilly
foggy
mornings.
Hiding
under
covers.
Exploring
unknown
seas.
Remember
lingering
dreams.
Digging
standstill
houses.
Eating
your
words.
Dirty
socks
burning.

Breezy
potent
afternoons.
Swimming
through
sheets.
Sailing
vast
oceans.
Forgetting
leftover
conscience.
Sipping
waterless
tea.
Writing
without
ink.
Reading
between
lines.
Music
playing
silence.

Warm
sunny
evenings.
Floating
on
blankets.
Anchoring
small
harbors.
Fantasy
gradually
revealing.
Skipping
backwards
upside-down.
Walking
through
mirrors.
Answering
stupid
questions.
Questioning
stupid
answers.
Feeding
ferocious
lollipops.

Finding
your
unconscious.
Beautiful
Darling
Beautiful.
Wake-up
Wake-up
Wake-up.
I'm
still
here.


copyright Christine Locke

Twilight

Someone At My Door

Edgar Allan Poe is one of my favorite poets. I was reading his work, and it inspired me to write this poem, which was a challenge for me because it involves rhyming and form which I normally don't stick with unless it is something I create and makes sense to me haha. I had fun with this poem and am proud with myself for making something like this.


There came a tap tap tapping at my door.
Fear shaking me to my core.
I gave a cautious quick glance,
But didn't want to take the chance,
Seeing who or what was behind my door.

Another rap rap rapping came at my door.
Fear paralyzed me once more.
Who was there, at this late 'our?
Surely it'd make me cower,
For I did not want to open my door.

Then came a scratch scratch scratching at my door.
The sound I could not ignore.
What does it want from me?
I just want to be left be.
Yet maybe if I just opened that door...

A knock knock knocking echoed from my door.
I wanted to scream, "No more!"
Slowly I crept toward the sound,
My thoughts starting to come 'round,
My hand reaching for that foreboding door.

A pound pound pounding shook my door.
Much louder it was than before.
I clenched my fist as I let out a small sob,
Closed my eyes, and turned the knob,
Finally opening that wretched door.

The sounds had stopped at my opened door.
Causing me to explore,
Because the strange sight I saw,
Had left me in awe,
For there was nothing behind my door.

What was that rap rap tapping at my door,
If nothing remained here anymore?
Surely this fearful sensation,
Was not of my own creation?
It could not be I, standing at my door.

It 'twas fear and nothing more.
'Twas fear and nothing more, tap tap tapping at my door.


copyright Christine Locke

Free

Potions

I Can't

Unseen

A girl with soft eyes
heart with burning desire
boy walks unaware.



copyright Christine Locke

If Only

The Hidden Place

Bella Mattina (Beautiful Morning)

A sunset painting
upon a dawn-lit morning
brings life to my soul

Dream of paradise
on a faraway island
at peace and beauty.

Love is who you are
sun swept clouds, a morning breeze
sets my spirit free.



copyright Christine Locke