Pendulum by Kristin Garth

Kristin Garth, Poetry

Pendulum 

It swings across the width of an oversized

iMac retina screen.  The flower of life, 

a hexagonal tanzine, he describes,

while it glides through the air like a knife,

how it can carve a third eye out of 

any odd life.  Strife disappears as two 

eyelids descend.  What will open above 

begets a novel vision, virginal hues 

imbued to a world once sinister, strange.  

His pendulum rocks until anatomy 

is romantically rearranged. You change 

in its period to a wide eyed baby

whispered lullabies of a beckoning bay

you ought to discover in darkness today. 

Poor Little Bear by Kristin Garth

Kristin Garth, Poetry

Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Rhysling nominated sonneteer and a Best of the Net 2020 finalist.  Her sonnets have stalked journals like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna and more. She is the author of 20 books of poetry including Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (Hedgehog Poetry Press), Flutter Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press), and Girlarium (Fahmidan Journal).  She is the founder of Pink Plastic House a tiny journal and co-founder of Performance Anxiety, an online poetry reading series. Follow her on Twitter:  (@lolaandjolie) and her website kristingarth.com

Poor Little Bear 

after Midsommar and Poor Little Bear

a print above Dani’s bed by the Swedish

painter John Bauer

Before familicide, Midsommar, death 

kept close at hand as Ativan, you 

repose, lips primrose, exhaling baby’s breath 

below bear, princess a Swedish artist drew.

The beast of death his own eyes peered young 

into, at 36, he picks a boat trip,

abstains from the dangers of the train.  Lungs 

of lake water slay him, his wife and son, flipped 

by excessive weight of freight, 1918. 

Did you know this when you looked at them?

The kiss of death proffered by a tiny queen 

upon the muzzle of a death machine seems

as much nightmare as a fairytale —

as is a life in which none of us prevails.

How To Be A Gothic Babydoll In A Beige World by Kristin Garth

Kristin Garth, Poetry

Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Rhysling nominated sonneteer and a Best of the Net 2020 finalist.  Her sonnets have stalked journals like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna and more. She is the author of 20 books of poetry including Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (Hedgehog Poetry Press), Flutter Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press), and Girlarium (Fahmidan Journal).  She is the founder of Pink Plastic House a tiny journal and co-founder of Performance Anxiety, an online poetry reading series. Follow her on Twitter:  (@lolaandjolie) and her website kristingarth.com

How To Be A Gothic Babydoll In A Beige World 

In your era of Blockbuster service 

the uniform consists of khaki, an Oxford 

shirt, baby blue crisp you only purchase 

after consulting your  mental drawing board —-

how to be gothic babydoll in this beige 

world.  Buy bright tights or black lace, short skirts in

ecru.  Braid dark hair everyday to assuage 

the rebel in you, Mormon girl who’s been 

forced both into sex and sexless costumes.  

No one will dictate the height of your shoes

as you peruse the new release wall.  Assume

you are wise, in platforms, standing tall.  Use 

you for recommendations, girl who stands out. 

It feels important to show what you’re about.

Witchery by Kristin Garth

Kristin Garth, Poetry

Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Rhysling nominated sonneteer and a Best of the Net 2020 finalist.  Her sonnets have stalked journals like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna and more. She is the author of 20 books of poetry including Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (Hedgehog Poetry Press), Flutter Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press), and Girlarium (Fahmidan Journal).  She is the founder of Pink Plastic House a tiny journal and co-founder of Performance Anxiety, an online poetry reading series. Follow her on Twitter:  (@lolaandjolie) and her website kristingarth.com

Witchery 

Through her wind warped windows, the withering 

witch will wave you a welcome, young weeping wench 

who wanders, wuthering woods, where winged

creatures which waver will wilt like a wish,

without the wisdom of which way is which. 

Weariness weds the wrinkled and weak.

Wallow a week, her window seat, fed wolffish 

with wasabi —you are unwilling to wreak 

the wrath of an empath wroth over waste.

Wednesday she wraps about your wee throat,

pendant, it’s whispered, is antidote.  Weight 

intimates the wonders, weathered hands wrote-

note wrinkled, handwringing, wobbling home.

Will it protect you when you are alone? 

Author’s Note:

This sonnet is from a new collection I’m working on

about abuse, hypnosis and navigating the subconscious

mind.  It’s called Empty Pendant.

Little Trees by Kristin Garth

Kristin Garth, Poetry

Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Rhysling nominated stalker.  She is a Best of the Net 2020 finalist.  Her sonnets have stalked journals like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna and more. She is the author of 20 books of poetry including Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (Hedgehog Poetry Press), Flutter Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press), and Girlarium (Fahmidan Journal).  She is the founder of Pink Plastic House a tiny journal and co-founder of Performance Anxiety, an online poetry reading series. Follow her on Twitter:  (@lolaandjolie) and her website kristingarth.com

Little Trees

It’s not enough that I live in the woods. 

I need little trees inside — living rooms,

behind a chest wall, arbor of girlhood 

I hide.  My arteries bear fair unbloomed 

leaves irrigated with tears held within;

its silvered bark you mistake in the dark 

for something other than weathered skin.  

All you see is the muck covered roots, stark 

signs of the grove interminably green.

I hid it young from everyone 

because of the desecration it’s seen,

the savagery and spoils of the hunt.

Last blade of an ax bade me underground.

These little trees remind I am still around. 

I Keep Waking Up In Demolished Beds by Kristin Garth

Kristin Garth, Poetry

I Keep Waking Up In Demolished Beds 

after Palm Springs

I keep waking up in demolished beds. 

Semen stains fade except in my head.  In 

Egyptian cotton of the richest of them, shredded,

discolored, deposited in garbage bins 

decade ago.  Though in my hippocampus,

they feel perpetually new, still rough 

against skin perennially bruised.  Madness 

I medicate, some evenings not enough.

My pink, prudent sheets become black, twisted 

about a torso, cuffed to bed frames, soundtrack 

exact of each degrading name, sadistic 

rituals of men rehab’s maybe redeemed,

left me alone in this darkness it seems. 

Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Rhysling nominated stalker.  She is a Best of the Net 2020 finalist.  Her sonnets have stalked journals like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna and more. She is the author of 20 books of poetry including Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (Hedgehog Poetry Press), Flutter Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press), and Girlarium (Fahmidan Journal).  She is the founder of Pink Plastic House a tiny journal and co-founder of Performance Anxiety, an online poetry reading series. Follow her on Twitter:  (@lolaandjolie) and her website kristingarth.com

Choose Your Own Transgression by Kristin Garth

Kristin Garth, Poetry, Torch Songs

Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Rhysling nominated stalker.  She is a Best of the Net 2020 finalist.  Her sonnets have stalked journals like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna and more. She is the author of 20 books of poetry including Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (Hedgehog Poetry Press), Flutter Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press), and Girlarium (Fahmidan Journal).  She is the founder of Pink Plastic House a tiny journal and co-founder of Performance Anxiety, an online poetry reading series. Follow her on Twitter:  (@lolaandjolie) and her website kristingarth.com

Choose Your Own Transgression 

after Servant

Choose your own transgression— kidnapping with drugs,

the crimes you commit conflating with love. 

Discount earth quaking, bustle of bugs,

electrostatic discharges above,

around each time you speak in platitudes 

inside a brownstone of ineptitude. Cast 

fallen angels in attics to brood. 

God did this once.  Look what ensued. The past 

no professor, even your own. The split 

in your psyche is universally known

but kept from you, secret, illness permitted 

reign, mad monarch mortals lead to a throne.

Choose your transgression like a childhood book —

consequences writ by author you forsook. 

Wish I Had Known You When I Was Able to Watch Mindhunter by Kristin Garth

Kristin Garth, Poetry

Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Rhysling nominated sonnet stalker.  She is a Best of the Net 2020 finalist.  Her sonnets have stalked journals like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna and more. She is the author of 20 books of poetry including Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (Hedgehog Poetry Press), Flutter Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press), and Girlarium (Fahmidan Journal).  She is the founder of Pink Plastic House a tiny journal and co-founder of Performance Anxiety, an online poetry reading series. Follow her on Twitter:  (@lolaandjolie) and her website kristingarth.com

Wish I Had Known You

When I Was Able to

Watch Mindhunter 

and not too altered by grief to get through 

the first suicide, ten minutes I barely 

abide, try because I attempt to do 

anything you suggest.  Though it takes me 

a year to view the rest.  By then you and I 

don’t even speak.  We are friends when you were

weak, Speck’s prison pet who cannot fly,

nurtured by hands who allow another 

to die — in your case metaphorically.

Eventually, same with me.  How many live 

to know you as a ghost? When I’m asleep,

you come nigh, hug me like Ed Kemper did 

the FBI agent who treated him like a friend.

Everyone’s disposable in the end. 

To The Deceased Tree A Hurricane Killed by Kristin Garth

Kristin Garth, Poetry

To The Deceased Tree A Hurricane Killed 

Wait five months for men to take you away. 

My front yard for two seasons your corpse on

display monopolizes my view.  Decay 

everyday.  Limbs forbid my intrusion

on luminous days when a girl might stray 

into the blades with a book and a pen,

a mundanity of yesterday. 

Your exit requires a Bobcat and men, thousands 

of dollars, weekend of work.  Impression 

you leave behind in the dirt arouses 

in me the hope of spring’s sown succession,

but, too, the rude realization I’ll die 

before the next tree fills your hole in the sky. 

Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Best of the Net & Rhysling nominated sonnet stalker. Her sonnets have stalked journals like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna and more. She is the author of 20 books of poetry including Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (Hedgehog Poetry Press), Flutter Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press), and Girlarium (Fahmidan Journal).  She is the founder of Pink Plastic House a tiny journal and co-founder of Performance Anxiety, an online poetry reading series. Follow her on Twitter:  (@lolaandjolie) and her website kristingarth.com

Murder, Barbies and Videotape  by Kristin Garth

Kristin Garth, Noir, Poetry

Murder, Barbies and Videotape 

“Oops, I think I killed her,” Robert Chambers enacting the murder

 of Jennifer Levin with Barbie Dolls on videotape after many

allegations that Levin was the perpetrator

Mimic your victim with a blonde Barbie doll.

Fingers cajole soft PVC to speak

like a puppet, shrieking, soprano drawl.

Pop off a head, mistake of your own strength.

A party pantomime videotape leaks 

by one of your peers you think you have charmed —

eyes and ears you trusted to be discreet.

Look in the camera.  Admit the harm. 

Was it a female who turned over the tape

contradicting your assertions in court? 

Sex diaries, assaults, an attempted rape,

your victimization in police reports?

Do you regret you allowed them to see

that murderers play also with Barbies?