free verse poem

A Wish: a Cut Up Poem

In the early 2000s, I found myself really into the Beat era of literature and exploring that scene. William S. Burroughs is a local author who was popular in the Beat era. He utilized what is called the “cut up” experimentation method of writing. He learned this from a painter, Brion Gysin.

I have experimented with a stream-of-consciousness piece and cut up some of it and edited it into a poem.

The result is below.

All I had was birthdays and
these trying few.
My holding conversations,
stories,
constellations for why I’m running.
Not writing or holding my breath.
They wonder
did we see lines like breathing sometimes?

Especially those I long to remember –
the air of the lungs I journal about,
things I am told to write of and the lover
of which I am incapable of writing,
the body he and me cannot share
because air he loved like so
(like need).

For to be a cigarette is something I wished.
Smoking, gasping, and in his lungs
deeply unbroken.
You knew first: water.
And do as philosophy,
go to the depths.
I finally dove but too deep.

When not gasping,
you and I long for that sensation,
holding your breath,
holding my breath.
And you’re punctuation.
A wish for a concept.
A wish for me.
Let me be intimate,
young.
All I had was birthdays and
these trying few.

Isabelle Palerma

Stitched: a Poem

With a concept from kiki_poetry, I am using a line of poetry from an Asian-American or Pacific Islander poet in honor of AAPI Heritage Month.

Today’s line comes from a poem by No’u Revilla, “When You Say ‘Protesters’, instead of ‘Protectors’.”. As per kiki_poetry’s instructions, I will italicize the line from “When You Say ‘Protesters’…”.

Every devastation you have granted me
is one too many.
I bleed, but only because you know where
to stick the blade.
We were taught love is a synonym
for sacrifice,
and paramour is on par with martyr.

So I opened my heart to you and gave you
its contents
willingly.
But the ugly truth is
in your mouth,
even womb is wound,
and my gift of love,
of life, was never enough.

You looked at those with gray in their eyes
and stenciled their names into your skin
like it was a colossal act of heroism,
but I was the one
ripped open
and never stitched back
together.

Isabelle Palerma

Shout til Free: a Poem

With a concept from kiki_poetry, I am using a line of poetry from an Asian-American or Pacific Islander poet in honor of AAPI Heritage Month.

Today’s line comes from a poem by Sally Wen Mao, “Anna May Wong Stars as Cyborg #86”. As per kiki_poetry’s instructions, I will italicize the line from “Anna May Wong Stars as Cyborg #86”.

Trigger Warning: Dark themes.

For so long –
too long –
the victors controlled our story.
They told the ending,
wrapped the packaging,
gave it a tidy bow,
and flavored how others saw us.

The men called us “hysterical”.
The rapists said we were “bitches”.
Mothers who found us unlovable
deemed us “troublemakers”.

They all took their turns throwing us
to the wolves,
feeding us
to those with hungry teeth
and starving eyes.

Let’s hijack the narrative,
steer the story ourselves.

We will fight the enemy.
Swim the rising current.
Dance in the streets
the Tarantella.
No longer grit our teeth
but scream if we must.

Shout
and shout
until we are heard
because we will steer this narrative.

Shift this story
from hysterical
to alive,
to fully alive
and aware.

Change our stories
from man-made mythology
to truth.

The truth will free us.

Isabelle Palerma

The Year I Graduated: a Poem

With a concept from kiki_poetry, I am using a line of poetry from an Asian-American or Pacific Islander poet in honor of AAPI Heritage Month.

This line comes from a poem by Hieu Minh Nguyen, “The Study”. As per kiki_poetry’s instructions, I will italicize the line from “The Study”.

I took up many hobbies that year.
I suppose many people did.
I know of people who began baking
out of boredom.
Some started playing word puzzles.
Others, in their isolation, turned toward
the solace of family and friends,
but
when I think of that year,
no one has a face.
I went to school and came home.
The only ones I remember truly
are the ones that really mattered.
The ones that I saw every day.
The open faces who taught me the things
I needed to know
and the ones I loved.
But most were a phantom.
Just strangers posing as friends.
Colleagues pretending to be more.
And those I passed in hallways
who now are nothing more than whispers.
These were voices
but are now forgotten.
Faces
now anonymous collages.
Something I thought I built
now collapsed.
It was a year of hard work with nothing
to show for except a piece of paper
buried underneath a pile of books.
Nothing more to show for except
a pile of names like obituaries
and memorials of the dead
in a year of a pandemic.

Isabelle Palerma

Whole & Perfect (as Us): a Poem

With a concept from kiki_poetry, I am using a line of poetry from an Asian-American or Pacific Islander poet in honor of AAPI Heritage Month.

I do realize I’m late to the month’s theme, but I hope to make up for it in the next few days.

Today’s line comes from a poem by Sarah Gambito, “Yolanda”. As per kiki_poetry’s instructions, I will italicize the line from “Yolanda”.

I gazed upon you, and you were
a divine feast,
flawless in your imperfections
and everything about you shrieked
neediness.
We were so far from what we came from –
godliness and purity,
and yet,
nonetheless, when we made love,
weeping with each other’s blood
in our eyes,
we stared
and witnessed one another
as whole
and perfect.