poems | blog of poet, leah umansky

In my hands, The Razor’s Edge would be a brutal piece – a heartbreaker – full of magic and lore, and the finding of one’s self would be an easy task for love always conquers. There is no red cloth, or Spanish bull – no fight. We need not kick up dirt, for that story would be encased in gold, but not pure gold (tarnished, etched, shoddy, bruised gold, but gold nonetheless). Gold cradled, fostered, wined and dined. That story would be so loved it would lose its rigor, its sting. Nullfied. Dullified, plainfolked out. That story would be unbeknownst to you or me or anyone.

ALERT TO ALL THE READERS OF THE WORLD: – BE PASSIONATE, BE TRUE, AND BELIEVE IN SOMETHING OTHER THAN DOUBT.

In my hands, The Razor’s Edge would need no security. I’d like that story to perfection and I’d watch its casing shine, like cleaned fur gleaming. I’d unknot that drama to simplicity.

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To the Custodian of My Heart

Posted in poems on November 29, 2009| Leave a Comment »

To the Custodian of My Heart

You are the one. Gatekeeper. Seer. Wise one, you will dispose of all the others. Could the past be buffed, you would do it, and with ease. The way you would carve, peel the yellowed skin back; peel the layers and layers and layers. Yes, it would stink – the past is a stinky thing – but, Bearer, suffocate the foul and beat down the wicked. You: the one truth. You- keep the red, red and the blue, away. Tell me, how I love. I’m almost thirty and I do believe the heart knows one. Oh, do be gentle with the past; though it is bitter, crude and sharp. Do not murder. Puncture it – yes. Let it play on the wall.

Now, put me to my bed.

Blanket me and blanket me and blanket me.

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