Web Toolbar by Wibiya Shelby Rebecca: Poetry and Lies People Tell

Saturday, March 17, 2012

Poetry and Lies People Tell

Some things, I have to admit, are just too complicated, too immensely horrible to even wrap my mind around. All these years, I had to simplify this--make it cut and dry--so that I could move on with my life but right at this moment I want something--I want answers. I wish I knew the truth. I just needed to say that.

Here are some poems I wrote back when I was an undergrad. These are about my life.


Long lake limbs,
slim middle paraded,
wind strummed,
composed—grow effects.
Not all attached—
they stay
anyway. Drawn,
not for lack
of wingspan—
A comfort pillow
of crests,
jumping pads,
houses on
wheels anchored.
Toes crinkled
and wobbly, sustain
the deck for
white bread
floating kindly.

Alaska is the place where
Mitchell was still alive and puffing,
the paternal adults were
married, we all went to 
church, the building of
crosses and glory, where the
house was big and 
yellow like the flower who 
resembles the sun,
and the snowflakes melt into 
break-up and mud-
pies and dragonflies like little 
bulldogs with green 
wings, and flowers pop-up
through, into purple
hills with frogs and mosquitoes,
where the sun cowers 
to the snowflakes falling like 
starwars giving way to 
moon-boots, not break-up
boots, the husky dog
with no tail, blue eyed—white
Diablo likes the mittens
and baby frostbites on my nose 
while me-n-Joe slide down 
on orange plastic, praying for
hot cocoa with some
marshmallows floating in the sky
on top of my valley 
tucked away deep inside of Alaska...


The last time
I was her:
I stepped down off
the bus and walked
into the blur
that lived there
with us growing
stock into Dad’s
brain as if it was
the Bible itself—
with its crammed
values jumbled like drugs.

Those sirens
on pebbles in our driveway,
to pluck our home
until rutted like clay,
pressed too hard
in the wrong flaw
to have let it
cure strong.


  1. Hi Shelby. Glad you posted some of your poems. Although they are very personal, I think they are delightfully evocative. I love you phrasing and strong imagery. It is very impressionistic (like Wallace Stevens' poetry). I remember you shared "At Age Twelve" with me when we worked together. It's like deja vu, the feelings of admiration I have for your poetry. You need to get it out more. You are very talented. :-)

    1. Thank you, John. Yes, they are personal but once they are out in the Universe they mean different things to different people. That's why I share them, I guess. I appreciate your comments more than you know.