Tiff's Spiffy Poetry Page
Apology
Have you ever made the wrong decision,
Knowing that it wasn't the right choice?
Seen the inevitable end of something before it begins,
Only to try anyway and hope this time could be different?
I've been wrong so many times, trying to prove myself wrong,
I don't even know why-
Maybe I can't resist the challenge of trying to change what is.
Sometimes I just can't leave well enough alone.
But I know I made the wrong choice this time,
Out of lust, curiosity and (temporary?) insanity
For which I have so many reasons to regret
For which I sincerely apoloize
And yet still there remains a spark of hope,
That the future is still unwritten,
That the guilty can be redeemed,
That the injured can forgive,
That both believe in second chances.
-Tiffany Sink
Taste of Flowers
when i was small(er)
i smelled flowers with my mouth
the petals felt like colored silk against my lips
even now (as i am still small)
i run ephemeral leaves across my face, lips
(as if)
subconsciously
kissing my past.
when i was small(er)
i longed to be a black woman
so i could get down on Soul Train.
once perched
i danced spasmodically to Marvin Gaye
(watch out, line dancers, i'm only 15 years away)
dreaming
cornrow-like wishes
right up to the moment
i tumbled
gracelessly
breaking my right arm
when i was small(er)
i insisted it was baby Cheez-its
who slept in that snow-dusted manger
three wise women brought him
gold, frankenstein and myra.
empurpled with anger
the pastor marched me to a silent room
so thick with dust
no echo escaped my feet.
i was told
"think about your actions"
(why am i bad?)
when i was small(er)
i wore yellow
tasted cherries
dialogued about "the rich taste of Folgers"
sang out of tune
smiled
went into nightmareless sleep
(where is that smallness, that bliss
where is the taste of the flowers?)
-M. Masingill
From Childe Harold's Pilgrimage
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not Man the less, but Nature the most
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet can not all conceal
-Lord Byron
In the beginning, there was Tiffany's Rocking Surf Town.
Seekest thou mine links? Clickest here.
Are you a visual person? Look at me!
Have you ever made the wrong decision,
Knowing that it wasn't the right choice?
Seen the inevitable end of something before it begins,
Only to try anyway and hope this time could be different?
I've been wrong so many times, trying to prove myself wrong,
I don't even know why-
Maybe I can't resist the challenge of trying to change what is.
Sometimes I just can't leave well enough alone.
But I know I made the wrong choice this time,
Out of lust, curiosity and (temporary?) insanity
For which I have so many reasons to regret
For which I sincerely apoloize
And yet still there remains a spark of hope,
That the future is still unwritten,
That the guilty can be redeemed,
That the injured can forgive,
That both believe in second chances.
-Tiffany Sink
when i was small(er)
i smelled flowers with my mouth
the petals felt like colored silk against my lips
even now (as i am still small)
i run ephemeral leaves across my face, lips
(as if)
subconsciously
kissing my past.
when i was small(er)
i longed to be a black woman
so i could get down on Soul Train.
once perched
i danced spasmodically to Marvin Gaye
(watch out, line dancers, i'm only 15 years away)
dreaming
cornrow-like wishes
right up to the moment
i tumbled
gracelessly
breaking my right arm
when i was small(er)
i insisted it was baby Cheez-its
who slept in that snow-dusted manger
three wise women brought him
gold, frankenstein and myra.
empurpled with anger
the pastor marched me to a silent room
so thick with dust
no echo escaped my feet.
i was told
"think about your actions"
(why am i bad?)
when i was small(er)
i wore yellow
tasted cherries
dialogued about "the rich taste of Folgers"
sang out of tune
smiled
went into nightmareless sleep
(where is that smallness, that bliss
where is the taste of the flowers?)
-M. Masingill
From Childe Harold's Pilgrimage
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not Man the less, but Nature the most
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet can not all conceal
-Lord Byron
In the beginning, there was Tiffany's Rocking Surf Town.
Seekest thou mine links? Clickest here.
Are you a visual person? Look at me!