beautiful boy
I know just what you mean
There is no me without you
Hungry ghosts
Joined at the heart
The elephant in the room
Song of the tides
The hidden messages in water
I thought it was just me
(but it isn’t)
Inspired by Sorted Books Poetry in Book Titles by Samuel Peralta on Dverse
of the way your tiered skirt
twirls out just so,
a merry-go-round of dizzy
girlish infatuations with
a calliope soundtrack
of how there is nothing
more lovifying than when
we put our heads together
eyeball to eyeball
butterfly kisses right before naptime
of your stomping feet
leaving a wake of boots,
shoes, sandals, dirt,
some stickers from the yard
and the trail of pine straw that
betrays your comings and goings
of your pushing the bed time
stalling with questions and stories
begging me for a song of blessing
which I always deliver
despite the contraband of books
and flashlights I always discover
of all these things, and hopefully more
your lives intertwined with mine,
filling this cup overflowingly,
then emptying it out again
I will write.
Speeding by
I stare down the barrel
swab it out clean
I pull out a cartridge
lock and load
I aimlessly ponder
random objectives
while my fingers itch
I grip the metal
it is comfortably cold
a muse unto itself
it’s a means to an end
mightier than the sword
my fountain pen
They met in the summer,
on the south end of Pawleys Island
where the waves slap high-fives
and the north wind runs free.
And on one star-filled night,
while the moon shone bright,
the green marsh fell deeply
in love with the blue sea.
You could feel it everywhere,
their love was swirling in the air.
She loved his blue intensity,
he loved her green positivity.
It was right as the tides,
so it came as no surprise,
when the dashing blue groom,
took the luminous green bride.
For the great wedding feast
came the turtles, from the east
and other privileged guests,
including the egrets from the west.
The mullets came from up north,
a procession of pelicans from down south,
and the blue creek crabs
just popped in, unannounced.
“I will love you when it storms,
and when its sunny, I will rejoice.”
“I will provide a place for you,
I will listen for your voice.”
“And whether the tides are high or low,
no matter how the wind blows,
we will ride it all together
so our precious love grows.”
As long as time will be,
every year on Pawleys,
all shall celebrate the day
the green marsh
married the blue sea.
Because Forever, the blue sea
will run his gentle fingers through her hair.
Forever, the green marsh
will whisper sweet nothings in his ear.
And when only sand and shells remain,
the air will still smell like champagne.
shoes to protect my tender feet,
a campfire and its healing heat
a boat, and sail to make it heel
the compass, the sextant, and the wheel
a pen, with all its inky bliss
a big bear hug, a deep French kiss.
spectacles for my weary eyes
journalists, to help me realize
the on/off switch, zeroes and ones
spreadsheets, and balanced sums
big fluffy towels, to lie on hot sand
phone calls from friends, helping hands
the hot water heater, a convertible two-seater,
a syncopated beat, iambic pentameter
a passport, for when I need to roam
a light on, for when I come home
photographs to keep my memories true,
especially my fondest ones of you
slow dancing, with intimate grace,
a blanket, and its warm embrace,
a pillow for my sleepy head
and silence, after all is said.
I wrote this poem around Thanksgiving 2012, just reflecting on things, inventions, contributions to society that I am grateful for. Copyright 2012 Lupe Tucker.
View from the 4th Floor gallery of the Museum of Modern Art
A congregation of clouds,
protective mothers, hover over
stoic buildings, neatly arranged
cobbled into place by time
and if the sun dares to shine
you greet it, with an air of indifference
because the flowers will still burst
jubilantly, from their window boxes.
The sea gives, the sea takes away
Nantucket has weathered it all
and stalwart, it continues
living, breathing history
with arrivals and departures
marking the days, because
in this far away place
nature bats last.
It was in a dream
in a low-light room
in a box of matches
from a pocket
It was a rapid friction
a flare of passion
reflected in dark eyes
It was in a dream
I sometimes tell myself
where nothing I touched
could touch me back
It was in my skin
in the evidence of
the scars, the burns,
the scratches
In a crying moment
in a chosen fashion
that a game of arms
struck like matches
in the beating heart
of a dream
pleasure & pain
are the same muscle.
Sparks
I wrote this poem in 1993. I was taking an Environmental Science class in college and it was so boring, and so long, that I would write poetry to help myself stay awake. It was inspired by a friend, and I was trying to write a poem from his perspective. This poem was originally published in the Garnet & Black Quarterly, 1994. Copyright Lupita Eyde.
A poem about my Dad.
You had a closet full of English Leather.
A smell I still remember,
because when I was sixteen,
I would raid your collection
of blue oxford shirts,
hanging, starched and cleaned.
Allen Solly, Brooks Bros., et al
were my favorite uniform.
To my mother’s chagrin,
I refused to conform
to the current fashions
and teenage norms.
When I was sixteen,
your hand-me-down shirts
were way too big for me,
but I aspired to grow into them,
eventually.
I still do.
Mil conversaciones
con mil sentidos,
mil esperanzas
con mil suspiros,
Sin contar las
mil miradas
con mil anhelos,
mil jugadas,
mil duelos.
Mil horas
esperando.
Mil dias
sin verano.
Hay mil formas
de olvidar,
pero mil formas más
de recordar.
Yo te juro:
con solo una palabra
mil campanas
suenan en mi alma,
y mil millas-
mil millas
no son nada.
This is my very first complete poem written in Spanish. Lots of influences coming into play here. Thank you Miss Aurea Perez and Mrs. Miriam Torranzos, two wonderful teachers who shared their love of poetry with their students, and enriched my life in the process.
Mil campanas suenan en mi corazón. Butterflies, by Enrique Tábara, photographed at the Hilton Colon hotel in Guayaquil, Ecuador
Tree limbs reaching to the sky.
Children laughing-out carbon dioxide.
Birds singing the leaves awake,
who, in turn, make oxygen for our sake.
Ants working diligently,
Grass releasing dew,
Clouds gathering patiently,
Sunshine bathing us, anew.
Bees dancing from flower to flower,
A slight breeze sowing the seeds;
This cathedral of invisible motion
is all my soul needs.
Testimonium ad infinitum.
Circumspice!
Look around, there is evidence everywhere.
Lupita's English translation of Venezuelan poet Oriette D'Angelo's collection, "Homeland of Swarms," was published in 2024 by co•im•press and was recently named a finalist for the 2025 PEN Award for Poetry in Translation and winner of the 2024 Florida Book Award Bronze Medal in Poetry.
Lupita holds an MFA in Creative Writing - Poetry from the University of Florida, and served as a staff scholar at Bread Loaf Translators Conference from 2021 to 2023. She is a Vermont Studio Center Fellow and has received generous institutional support from Bread Loaf Writers Conferences, Poesiaeuropa, the Kentucky Women Writers Conference, and New York State Summer Writers Institute. She is a 2022 Best New Poet and has received numerous Pushcart Prize nominations. She loves visiting the beach with her family, watching baseball, playing volleyball and word games, dancing, darkrooms, black and white film photography, road trips, live music, and trains.
Not Enough Poetry 