Old Old Notes

Old, old notes I've written myself, but have no longer have use for because I've forgotten the context. Now they're just gibberish, much like my life. SUBMIT YOURS AND YOU CAN BE FEATURED!

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She Smokes Poems -Francesca Navarre

She smokes poems Like Cigarettes.

At least half-a-pack a day,

Which means I’m just a finger flick, A lighter’s tip, Away

From igniting The angry one.

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Little known fact....I used to go by Una Francesca. :P

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I hated writing essays in school, they always came out sounding like prose instead. This is an actual line from an essay I wrote in high school...lol. (I’ll try to find it and post it.)

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An idea I once had that never came to fruition. 

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End Credits For A Class Project. (man i wish i could find the footage).

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CONCRETE KISS:a poem for my graff writers. -Francesca Navarre

punishable by law. calligraphic in appearance, classic in your resistance

tell me, what IS your worth in words?

when the fire that burns on walls merely emulates the inferno within us all

how do you feel?

when stone cut eyes, crinkly in mass and emerald in guise fold YOU into THEIR possession. missing the point entirely, while contributing to the tension.

will you stay?

prove to me that dreams will no longer be kept dormant as the original voices we were born with. and this city’s chromatic stances along with her liquid antics are mightier than the sword & your endless reign of glimmering wor(l)ds

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THE ONLY POEM ABOUT MY FATHER -Francesca Navarre

Reverberating From the inside out I remember His voice. Rattling against My bones Are his bones That shake When they are cold or Very Very sad.

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"doll yoko" -Francesca Navarre

she waits, she calls doll yoko's name when silence falls and grips the walls of her uterine lining. plucking syllables from flesh, she transforms women into alphabets, spelling out words her counterparts forget like... femicide. rape, domestic violence, and whole other list of shit they told you to just get comfortable with cause there is no hope in changing them, the world, or the fact that you were born to be woman and yet will die a girl.

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UNTITLED W/ REGRET. -Francesca Navarre

I thought I saw you in a dream of mine. I guess that is why I sleep all the time. I am tired of this world Being without you

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Old flyer I made. Original photography credit goes to me, but only because I truly cherish that guy’s face.

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“WITHOUT APOLOGY” -Francesca Navarre

He mistakes Mesquite Leaves For rosary beads, Kisses her Gently On the eyes.

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An old flyer I must have made for movie night at the coffee shop I worked in.

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“AN OBLIGATION TO MOURN” -Francesca Navarre

Crushing sorrowthick like garlic Between board and knife. Hovering (e)motionless Over furniture wrapped in plastic, People wrapped in grief. & This love is a house With all rooms void of comfort,milk, and bread.

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“Viole(n)t” -Francesca Navarre

In the end It was the fire That kept cool my mother's heart. despite the electrical storms Growing in her mind.

Her objective, his library.

Later, In the hospital, When I asked how she felt.

A single word, delicate script.

Viole(n)t.

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“Moth Poem” -Francesca Navarre

Because It was so beautiful And so delicate

That it might not be real And a single drop of water Against its back Could prove its existence.

The moth, I accidently washed down the drain (as you slept) Left me horrified of everything.

The light from the kitchen bouncing of linoleum tiles. And me Crawling back to bed, out of my skin, & Into silence.

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Lessons from my early twenties.

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“The Unborn” -Francesca Navarre

I remember the first child, the clay earth child, Was good at everything. His skin velvet, the color of rust. He left a mark on everything he touched. Later, those marks illuminated us.

I remember the first daughter, our smallest daughter, was intangible. She slept very little and loved very much. So that later when the gods became dreams She would stretch the sky till it kissed the soil As a reminder to breath.

Water spoke softly at first, From behind my hips. A little nose wiggled and sticky fingers dug deep Into my skin. But when spirits danced, she reigned, Moving mountains.

And baby fire, fat from sipping oils Cooed, crackled, and he glowed.