poetry by olivia testa - part II
Olivia is a brave little toaster. A student living in Austin, Olivia loves bugs and bones and dry glue on her hands. She is a perpetuator of Wonder, a dying art. Her efforts have opened doors to words, and writing about what she knows. And what she knows is not a lot, but just enough. She altogether loves and lacks in written poetry, prose, and outward nonsense that she hopes someone will inwardly connect with. Olivia believes that laughing at yourself is never not appropriate. That some rules are bogus, and just shouldn’t be followed. That karaoke is really only fun for the person singing, but that dancing is fun for everyone. Olivia wants everyone to know that sometimes she doesn't brush her teeth, and she “thinks that is gross”. And that she doesn't believe in magic, but that she believes in calling people magic. In her lifetime, she has had the pleasure of meeting, reading, and listening to magic women who make being a female, magnetic, fun, and beautiful. Her lifetime has been not a lot, but just enough. Olivia is twenty-two. One day, she hopes to write a book, to use “tout suite” in a sentence, and to make people feel welcome.
these poems are the second in a 4 week series we will be sharing on the blog.
Eyes rest, in Grief
Eyes wake, in Grief
Tears linger, before the Moon
Tears burn, before the Sun
There is a spell when they are jaded;
simply spilling over a lifeless corpse
And there is a moment when they blister,
Summoning each demon by name.
Rage, Wretch, Pain, Torment
What would they sanctify such conjurers?
Floodwaters,
devastating all life under the flesh,
every creature
that all perish
The Crimson Stain
Cup understanding in palms,
a seedling of sweet accolade
A dewy blameless hum, that,
blind eyes, may still feel for
Mind more than every collective beat
For folly, and greeting, and ripe chests of passion
A thing with feathers
The whip of Apathy against backbone
Licking flesh with bottomless cuts
Splitting exposed belly, so that no breath escape
Rapping into bones, as you roll over;
Warping, the very figure of man,
till he is none but the vessel that brought him.
The sick disillusion,
a dwelling
A clouded, peculiar numb
of nothing the same, and yet nothing disfigured.
The disorienting pattern and dance,
that led soles astray.
To this very Universe;
this spoiled Reality.
The dazed film,
and the unpolished gravity.
The Unaccompanied
The removing truth,
there be but one life,
one perspective,
one heart and mind.
That not a click of cogs is alike,
not a heart swells the same
No impassioned cut, shared
To wish to sleep,
and divorce morning
A stricken,
shameful roost
Fragile, too delicate, fainthearted to go beyond
A tired, weary, burdened soul
Bless the wild wind,
In space, in full, in abundance.
The heat of anger, like coals under foot
Short, prickling rage
bleeds from the tethers
Fresh, fledging thistles,
no more painful than the tip of the blade
resting in that breast.
And like a flame,
burnt alive
whole
entirely
Blackened remains,
no more the same,
all the more onerous.
It is My own.
There was a melancholiness about her
It had always been.
Yet, never more plain, then now.
It hung from her shoulders,
and dripped down her spine.
It sank behind her lids
And tucked beneath her ribs.
She had drank the wine,
She had come alive.
Never more the same,
never more the less.
She breathed each breath,
Loved her bones dry.
yes, There is a dead among the living,
blooming in spring
withering in winter
They have no home.
longing, a final moonlit dance
what is little left,
be still
And she was still.
Hands pressed against porcelain.
Pray to the God that reigns
that rains
Can’t you feel?
Can’t you feel it all?
Pray you,
anoint me
Baptism
I rain
rain melds with rain
spilling over,
I’m spilling over
it just spills
it just spills
from red eyes, consecrated
my tears, my portion
Communion
Mangled
what are you
You’re not human
You’re barely human
you are bare,
bones,
stripped,
carnal,
flesh
Confession
carry my Body
kiss me goodbye
lay me down in a Grave
let me rest, let me lie
O, heart, stop beating
this be
a Death affair
