nana grizol

  • Atoms
  • Nana Grizol
  • "Ruth"

the color of an afternoon just like when you were 5 years old
the moon over the ocean i’ve seen from a island evening
progression that starts to lose its meaning
if we have spent most of a lifetime dreaming
then dreaming is the state we shall keep
stories of our solitude will sing themselves to sleep
and we will sing to everything the stories of where we have been
the history thats coursing through our veins
no, nothing factual is written on a page

so surely and so steadily
a slowly moving cloud will whisper “i am but for hours born to last”
your sogging soaking future is my foggy fading past
and so now if you want to wish upon me, wish upon me fast
whatever can be held in your heart is surely yours to grasp
so you wish for a picture of all of the people you have had the pleasure to know
or a postcard from all of the places that you ever wanted to go
saying “you are here now on this magical night”
the sun and sky at sunset, well, its such a stunning sight
you can sleep safely and soundly and you are loved

and nothing ever does begin like nothing ever ends
ask every atom in your body and they’ll surely tell you
“friend, i am old as time and older still”
and you are made of everything you love, you feel, or kill
i will outlive you, and forgive you, and be just a baby still

  • Tamborine-N-Thyme
  • Nana Grizol
  • World Turned Upside Down

Tell me not to fall in love with you
And frankly my friend I think that’s the sweetest thing you do

Summer in my town is nice, my front porch is my paradise
and I can sit here every night, yes I can watch the world go by,
and know that I’m in motion to occasionally think of you
and just hope that you realize that when you sit here by my side
whatever that implies will be just fine

My heart beats like a tambourine that plays along in time.

I want to write 500 poems
and I don’t want to write any poems, ever.
I want my friends to invite me out
and I want people to stop talking to me,
to stop caring about me.
(Please delete my number.)

I want to visit everyone I know
in every new place they’re in,
run my hands over the dirtied walls of their bedrooms,
congratulate them on doing it, on finally doing it,
on having their own place,
on nights going as late as they’d like,
on no one telling them they have work in the morning.

But then I also want the stillness of the womb,
the stillness of the tomb,
the stillness of a throat so hoarse
from screaming all-night into a pillow.
The still-horror in my reflection
after I have punched myself so many times
in the cheek that I cannot close my jaw.

I want big crowds, big lights,
let’s go let’s go,
excuse me miss can you please walk a little faster,
or no excuses,
just a shove, a push, a kick to the ground.
(This is the big city.
There is no time for introductions
when you’re trying to be somebody.)

I want no politeness, no kindness,
no forgiveness when you’ve got somewhere to go.

But I also want:
soft touch soft touch soft touch soft touch soft touch,
forehead kiss, hands careful not to bruise,
hands so soft, touch so soft
(soft touch soft touch) that it wrings out tears.

I want petals plucked,
blossoms on your dining room table,
a stem wrapped in a paper towel and aluminum foil

and I want
more thorns,

gardens full of thorns,
galleries full of thorns,
my head filled with thorns,
all thorns to replace all poems

More thorns

to keep sweaty hands
from plucking.

(Please delete this poem.)

—  If Anyone Gets It I Think It’s Nana Grizol | Lora Mathis