The Weight of Watching

Posted in poetry with tags , , , , , on August 28, 2014 by Sarah Haynes

In the distance, I watch
as leaves fall–
some still spring-green and fresh,
surely too new to drop away;
some turned crisp from
the heat of many sunny days.

I feel myself drooping
from the weight of watching.
I am a hollowed-out acorn–
empty and exhausted,
incapable of any movement–
except, eventually, down.

Eventually Asking

Posted in poetry with tags , on August 23, 2014 by Sarah Haynes

And we find ourselves eventually asking–
Did I tell you I love you today?
The answer is no, usually.

Because love is too much, too often.

If you find yourself eventually asking–
Did she love me and say nothing?
The answer is yes, always.


Posted in poetry with tags , , , on August 23, 2014 by Sarah Haynes

Call to the beyond,
Hail a cab to mystery, and
Await a stranger.
No need to worry.
Trust in this–in life.

Believe in the road below.
Overhead: dark sky,
With an open destination.

So goes the time–
Lasting as long as
I have the money or the
Charm to keep trekking;
Endeavoring to find you.

Do you feel my pulse in yours?
Reaching out through an
Infinite span of nothingness, deep-
Veined. We are a flowing fountain of
Everythingness; so ready for this.

Some Folks

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on August 23, 2014 by Sarah Haynes

Some folks will turn a happening
Into an event.
Some folks will turn a crush into an
Some folks will make a little love into
A lifetime.

Me? I ain’t some folks, I’m all folks and
No folks.
I ain’t gonna judge your moments, your loves.

God knows I’ve had more than my fair share.

Beauty Is (I)

Posted in poetry with tags , , , , on June 16, 2014 by Sarah Haynes

Beauty is a quiet, long, clean line–

the thin angle of your nose or your

hip, hip, hooray, so small compared with

collar and rib, so fully compact.


Beauty is short, loud, and curvy–

the smell of my perfume hitting you,

a celebration of width and fullness,

shoulders, breasts, wasting away.


Beauty is bold, brash, and calm–

the tongue-taste of summer wine and

somber kisses, the succinctness of sense:

smoky along the line of your lips.

The Graffiti of Aging

Posted in poetry with tags , , , , , , on June 14, 2014 by Sarah Haynes

The dusty ghost of old paintings haunts the walls:

reminders that I am not the only tenant in this world.

This is the graffiti of aging–the skin of experience

has found a wrinkle and is beginning to fret, a disused

guitar that needs some strong, grey steely strands.

The spirit of youth is wily, though: a coyote I cannot

outrun; shaking spray cans and laughing. And the question

becomes–not can I catch up, or could you? But can we

choose a color suitable for both the old and for the new?

This Bird

Posted in poetry with tags , , , , on June 7, 2014 by Sarah Haynes

This bird is angry, insistent, incessant,

disquieting, disgruntled, dismayed;

and she will not shut up for anything.

That bird just flew away. But this bird

is here, unraveling you: to stay.


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