Blue #342

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


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

Goodbye, with love

I’m going to say goodbye
for all our yesterdays
those golden framed moments
still glistening, for now
but if we continue
down this destructive path
yesterday disintegrates
the future catches up
as we keep running back
to a toxic time
slipping out of the palms
that used to hold the world
caresses turn to scratches
a warm hug becomes dead weight
words sharp, subtext laden
the opposite of how we were.

So I’m going to say goodbye
so I can say goodbye, with love
I’m going to say goodbye
for all our yesterdays.

By Kimberly Jamison

Is Art Dead Yet?

Is Art dead yet?

well you almost did it, you tyrants
whipping us down with red tape and old school ties
subjecting the “plebs” to humiliation
for not pronouncing our words your way
calm down, its just a regional accent
I don’t want to conform to your way
because there be fightin’ words.

And in your proper tone
you tell me I won’t make it
I won’t get into uni
I need a proper job
money money blah
but you didn’t see the notebook under the table
covert creations
you didn’t check the back for secret scribbles
you should have checked
because there be fightin’ words.

You say creativity is dangerous
but you tell such lyrical lies
you can’t destroy the ideas
they’ll only be channeled further
spiraling, morphing, changing
you can’t censor a thing
because there be fightin’ words.

Art finds Art
we shall spot each other a mile off
because we have the same ink stained hands
and the paint splatters that no soap can wash away
and we will go underground if we need to
destroy our a levels
take away our grants
we will write in the dirt if we have to
scream stories till our throats hurt
because there be fightin’ words.

Is Art dead yet?
No. Not ever. Not yet.
Because there be fightin’ words.

by Kimberly Jamison

(poem, prose poem, poemy prose? eh?)
Disclaimer: yes I know the theme is LIGHT but I am choosing, as a poet, to ignore the theme. What you gonna do?

Beauty Regime (poem)

I stand naked facing the mirror
getting ready for the night ahead
I rake the curls back from my face
that’s outlined with dread
because I know I’ll feel bad tomorrow
but it will be worth it in the end

I remove foundation covering
my grey and dehydrated skin
ignoring the bruised temple
that slammed against porcelain

revealing the flaked scales
hidden by too sizes too big clothes
I carefully cut my nails
so I don’t scratch my throat

then I grab my pillow
to rest my poor bones
sharp brittle fragile
protruding at every angle

I’ll sleep on the bathroom floor again
because the



dash is still too far
so I take my usual spot
the taste of Senokot and diet Coke
already making me wretch
and count down the hours until
120 laxatives take effect

By Kimberly Jamison