Poem: Everything On Red

Everything on Red

By Meghan D. Coates

I’m not a gambling man--

I’ve hedged my bets since I was small,

I don’t take risks or put things on the line that I don’t want to lose,

But you make me want to gamble.

You make me want to drink

And go for twelve AM walks through the city,

Make me want to throw caution to the wind

(and hearts, too)--

I’ve never asked someone for their number

But I’m asking for yours.

There’s a lot I could lose--

I’m not a gambling man,

And it scares me, giving this power over,

To you,

To fate,

To God--

But we all have to learn to lose control sometime.

I’d rather choose when

Than gamble on fate picking the right time,

Place,

Man--

So I’ll gamble on you,

Here,

Now.

Dear Dealer;

Everything on Red.

--Published in 2016 by Eber & Wein Publishing

Poem: Thirteen

Thirteen

by Meghan D. Coates

Originally published by Eber&Wein

You fall in love

when you're too young to feel,

With a boy

who doesn't know which you is real,

And you'll like him for ages,

sure as you love him for hours,

And your diary pages

like compressed dying flowers

Will speak of your conviction,

of addiction and pain,

A childish obsession

That sours and fades.

You fall in love

when you're too young to feel

And you use it all up

(but it’s not even real)

Poem: Youth

And she thought she heard love

Whispered on the summer tongues of lilly-pad foxes

With padded feet sleek and wet with the danger of their safety--

But lies do sound so sweet so smooth like milk like honey,

Only Mount Saint Helens erupts with a viscous

Pyroclastic flow that looks so sweet so smooth so beautiful this

Harvest-mooned orange that calls with harmonies she thought that she could sing;

And the Icelanders they walk on lava like the silver Gods we make

Alone like the ice that burns on a planet

A galaxy away--

Yes, she thought she heard love

Whispered on the burning tongues of green pine-cone foxes,

But silver Gods have neon tongues

And there is folly well as beauty in those creatures we call

Young 

Poem: Blame, Published in 2011

Note:  I've decided to start posting bits of my writing every so often (I'm kind of hoping it'll prompt me to start blogging more consistently since I Have A Problem).  This is the first poem I ever published, from way back when I was 13.  Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey,
What would you say
If one day
I sat you down and let you know
That all my insecurities,
Those ones I can't let go—
You are the one for whom they show?
What if I said
That the reason my soul is almost dead
Is because you shot it twice in the head
Then rolled it out of bed
Just to put it to rest
And put my body to the test?
Hey,
What would you say,
If one day
I took you aside
And said you were the reason I hide,
The reason I'm dying inside?
How would you react
If I said it was you who forced me to make the pact
That would sign over my soul?
Memories don't fade
Even when light is tossed in the shade
Of darkness, I've turned renegade,
My honesty shattered by way of grenade.
Memories will never die,
No matter how hard we try,
I'll always be spitting out a lie,
Maybe a sigh,
And the truth is I'll never touch the sky—
And I can blame you all I like,
From the failure of the hike
To the puncture of the spike,
But I'm just running from the truth.
I'm running from the veracity
Of how in everything I see,
No matter how much I peg you with this culpability,
I always have to live with hefty self-affixed fee
Of anger and frustration, and the responsibility
Of the knowledge that the culpability
Can only be affixed to me.