POETic EXPRESSions

My 2 Little Red Balloons

Megan Lucas — Thu, 16 May 2013 13:17:14 +0000

My Munchkin Twinsies had a shoot the other day with Stephen Carroll. They are so good at this picture thing. I’m writing my first children’s book around them.

So Close it’s Unreal

Megan Lucas — Sun, 28 Apr 2013 12:06:24 +0000

My father turned 66 in January this year. He is somewhat of a lonely man. He has us and he has my mother. He doesn’t really have any friends who he’s kept in contact with from the past. A few weeks ago he asked me to locate his best friend from school, Mike. Technology has made it so easy to find people you haven’t spoken to in decades. My dad told me the names of Mike’s children with the hopes of finding them on Facebook. I found one, a lady who may have been a little too busy to answer my message. I waited about a week and then decided to message the son. On Saturday I sent him this message:

Hi (his name). My dad, is trying to get hold of your dad, Mike. Please could you ask your dad if you could pass on his contact details. Thank you. Megan.

Within an hour, the son replied with this message:

Hi Megan, I’m sure my dad would love to hear from your dad. My fathers number is (+xxxxxxxxxx)

My dad tried to call Mike last night but he didn’t answer so he left him a text message saying he’s trying to get hold of him. This morning my father got a phone call from the daughter notifying my dad that Mike had killed himself last night.

My father is shattered. He wishes he had tried harder to get the number. Maybe this could have been avoided. It’s only human to think like that. Who knows, maybe it could have changed things, maybe it wouldn’t have. All we have now is our ability to reach out to those in need.

*Give kindness a chance and then give it some effort.*

Cold Case

Megan Lucas — Sun, 21 Apr 2013 12:44:42 +0000

The smell of cold coffee fills the room as I sit nostalgically wondering what could have or would have been had I not spent that second night in your bed. Maybe you would have not grown so tired of me so quickly. Maybe you would have kissed me goodbye in that romantic fashion like Keats did Fanny Brawn every time he left, in his mind. We were fading and you just watched me walk away without a word to spare. I didn’t look back because I didn’t want you to see my tears. I wish I had let you see my tears. Maybe you would have called out to me, pulled me close and reassured me that even though the first night was amazing and too much of a good thing is bad and deciding to share myself with you a second time was close to the worst possible idea, you would still share a cup of coffee with me over dull silence not awkward enough to force us into meaningless conversation. I wish we were awkwardly silent so I could have been introduced to the way you verbally construct sentences or the way your voice sounds under pressure. We could have talked about how the sun rises even on days when it is blocked out by torrents of depression crippling our ability to feel its radiant energy. We could have discussed quantum physics and the differences and non-existent similarities between the atomic world and ours. We could have shared our likes and dislikes and pretended to like or hate each other’s. We could have. We didn’t. We drowned ourselves in the comfortable silence and left it at that. Let it get cold naturally The cold was easier than lighting a fire we couldn’t sustain. The cold was easier than lighting a fire we wouldn’t sustain. the cold was easier than lighting a fire. The cold was easier. It’s cold.

Megan Lucas — Fri, 19 Apr 2013 09:26:11 +0000

I fall in and out of love so quickly there’s no time for hurt. Falling in love is not the craziest idea and sometimes it’s okay to tell someone that you’ve fallen in love with their contents. What could they do? Be bashful for a moment but then surely realize that it was more of a compliment than an attack. People are so afraid of getting hurt that they unintentionally or most times purposefully block out the wonderful like falling in love and even more wonderful like allowing others to fall in love with them. I met a boy once. He spoke few words but kissed like an entire anthology of romantic poems. I fell in love with his wordless poetry. This does not mean I want to marry him and have his mini poem babies. I suppose ‘falling’ in love and ‘being’ in love are different. All it means is I have been introduced to something in him that I like so intensely I am willing to wrap arms around it and kiss its face and tell it that I have never loved anything like it before. This I can walk away from. I wonder what being might be like.

The Contents of his Teaspoon

Megan Lucas — Wed, 17 Apr 2013 14:25:05 +0000

He is silent, this boy who has recently taken up residence in my thoughts.

I see only his face and occasionally his lips press against my neck but I cannot remember what his sound resembles.

Always so good at comparing boys to things, I am almost at a loss for Earthly words.

He is a Stallion, defined and majestic and chiseled in all the right places. According to the experts: Should only be ridden by experienced riders. You cannot expect to just jump right onto someone else’s horse. You have to be patient.

He is patient or at least I assume so. He never forces an issue or uses a tone.

He is a whisper, on the grass beneath cold clouds and peeping stars, travelling between house beats and wonders of where we are and what we’re doing there and how we’d rather be somewhere else doing each other.

Maybe it’s just me.

He’s so quiet. My eyes scream louder than his lips ever could and he hears them and it embarrasses me for a moment but I like it and I like his quiet. Quiet is seductive and seduction is the devil’s playground and I want to play and I wish his muffled screams could drown out my constant begging of his pardon.

He is a teaspoon of cliche’s like sugar and honey and I’m sure medicine will go down better with a spoon full of him. It had better. He aches my bones and blisters my skin with his touch and I am constantly picking at the scabs so that even though he’s so far away, I can still retrace the lines he drew on my body’s scrap paper.

They were doodles, because maybe he was afraid to show me his magic or maybe it was because of the elephant in the bed, damn you Dave. I didn’t mind. It kept my back warm while I kept his front busy and he kept my mouth occupied so I couldn’t complain.

We didn’t go all the way. He verbed my nouns adverb and I verbed his adjective noun and then we cuddled.

I fell in love. I fell in love with the music. I fell in love with the night and though I did not fall in love with the boy, I did fall in love with the contents of his teaspoon.