poet

Stuck

by Kimberly Jamison

Stuck

Cracks in the pavement
are pages in your diary,
detailing the days
of wasted waiting.

The day rivers rebelled,
your head full of warmer climes,
despite the iced hair
licking your face.

The face charming all.
You did not throw bricks,
granting the entrance
to the Malley’s home.

Moving to the big city,
they took your best friend.
Promises to write
and insincere hopes.

The wish against fact.
Futile hopes never dying.
The map says: ‘you are here’.
It is lying.

by Kimberly Jamison

Ode to the quiet rebel

by Kimberly Jamison

Oh you, shy you
Wearing red when everyone else wears blue
writing stories underneath the desk during maths class
pockets full of poems
and head full of questions 
Stay true, quiet rebel, stay true 

Injecting socialist quips into the capitalist force 
hoping for the butterfly effect 
leading by example 
not do as I say
Stay true, quiet rebel, stay true

Ink stained hands balled into fists
when the digital box shows more injustice 
feeling like an outsider
a left among the right
Stay true, quiet rebel, stay true

Keep being you with that quiet strength
that gives the rest of us resolve 
you don’t have to sing or shout.
Don’t worry, I hear your voice 
So stay true, quiet rebel, stay true 
By Kimberly Jamison 

For my favourite quiet rebels : Andrea, Lisa and Lizzie

The Daughter of Atlas

by Kimberly Jamison

I am unafraid
He made me that way.
The man with strong shoulders said to me
how heavy the world weighed
but he would take it day by day.
He held me up like I was porcelain and in one hand
taught me the worth of the words I’m Proud Of You
but sadness can be defiant too
dreams can be shattered before you even wake
and you find yourself bruised at 22
haunted by what life has thrown at you
with enough nightmares to fill a lifetime
ran out of tears. Stuck. Still.

I scream at night during thunderstorms.
It’s Unfair.
I rage louder than the thunder burning through the night
then put the mask back on when it is finally daytime.
It’s Unfair.
But I was prepared.

Inside the porcelain shell is a core of titanium
with veins full of Gaelic liquor
heart fire, soul supernova, raw grit
scarred with the words Keep Going.
Be Defiant. He said.
The universe can’t give you more than you can handle
just enough before you crumble
your life is weighed and measured, careful
just enough, just enough to push, to live
You will end up where you need to be. You will be given what you need.
My shoulders are strong enough to take the burden
and on lighter days pick up others too
because that’s what he would have done
it’s my turn to take up the post.
With gratitude for those who have gone before me
I will take the world in a warm embrace
I am the daughter of Atlas
I am unafraid.

by Kimberly Jamison

Blue #342

by Kimberly Jamison

It was the dark pastel blue of my art set
the sky and the sea smudging together
it was the blue of years to come
the filter over my nightmares
the blue of bruises just about to fade
of veins under sunburn
of the pavement under rain.

You see, its the blue I always avoid.
It’s the blue your face became.

By Kimberly Jamison

Navigate

by Kimberly Jamison

In olden times, before GPS, adventurers would use sextants to find their way through more dangerous waters
but since you have returned home to the stars you were made from
I have no trouble navigating treacherous times
and although I wish you were still on this earth
I have no more need for metal instruments
I just look towards my celestial guide

By Kimberly Jamison

Tyrant

by Kimberly Jamison

How would you have us greet your tyrant?
We greet ours with balls of wool
mulled pigs and fatted wine.
We close our eyes as they devour our land
and tax the air we breathe
every demand concede.

How would you have us greet your tyrant?
We greet ours with the skin from our backs
and rub his feet with the fat from the slaughterhouse.
But will tell you your practices are uncivilised and undemocratic
with our arms roped behind our shoulders
You could learn from us folk.

How would you have us greet your tyrant?
we ask to be civil
crocodile smiles in shiny chains
easy
let’s not start a war just yet
because we know we are the cannon fodder.

How would you have us greet your tyrant?
We would dishonestly like to know
because in the name of democracy
some
of us have decided
we would like to swap one for another.

By Kimberly Jamison