Tag Archives: Angelica Toumbas

12/12

by Angelica Toumbas


twelve and twelve
and twenty-two hours
three thousand miles
moonlit stones and towers

footsteps and footprints
and cities unchanged
dynamic circumstance
a light, fitting rain

letters that came
cosmic balance and cross
illusory numbers
hearts that stop
hearts that stop

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Silhouettes

by Angelica Toumbas


Evening transport
Champagne glow, shades
August, sitting window-side
The front row, the front row

Tires mark, concrete burns
At the station
Waiting curbside
By the turn, by the turn

Paper thrown off the bridge side
Bricks drown hopes
Ten year olds see
Earth and air collide, earth and air collide

Midnight loss and neon signs
Shadows
The outline of ghosts
And reason and rhyme, and reason and rhyme

Cities speak of paths to trace
Dawn glimmers
Noon whispers
The words exchanged, the words exchanged

Riverside kingdoms and
Bottomless envy
We cast our lines
Art and injury, art and injury

In these streets our paths crossed
The gates and Septembers
The words and words
And words we lost

Silver skies, gold success
Falling years bring
Silhouettes
These Silhouettes

Brattle Street

by Angelica Toumbas


Straight ahead just past the park
Stories of these years start
A winding staircase, an iron gate
Memories of symphonies, the glowing stage
Throughout the years strong friendships were affirmed
Bricks turned black with falling ash from bridges that’d been burned
Buildings that held witness to many firsts and lasts
Comfort on the concrete where the seasons gently passed
Lessons of love and how to lose
Riversides, corners, castles of youth
Ghosts haunt streets that turn and wind
Ancient allies hang in time
Concrete that shimmers and stories that glow
The memory of others we convince ourselves we know
Rhythm and echoes and distorted truths
The air of departed and the songs of our youth

Bow and Arrow

by Angelica Toumbas


He stood by the steps
repeating the crumpled words
pacing furiously
with midnight rage
“I’ve been sucker punched by God.
What does that make me?”
And Edison kept singing
iridescent and oblivious
melodies and motifs
And the boys with the worn hats
continued to chant
something that made me think
of buying them a moral compass
“I’ve been sucker punched by God.
What does that make me?”
It makes me wonder if there’s still
“a romantic in there” or if the
way I think is an “art form” too
If beautiful really is “two steps above pretty”
and that kid still hopes to be
“the voice of our generation”
If “the weight of caring is
greater than most people know”
And what could be
is more absolute than what is
If we will ever have a secret place
where the sky doesn’t feign lavender

Euphoria

by Angelica Toumbas


buildings and stones
chatter and sigh and sing
reminding me of knotted trees
breathless seas by the coast
melting ice and quickening strides
elusive ties and indelible unknowns
the indiscernible hour
when the shadows stall and fall
and the nights no longer endure in emptiness
the gentle tug of an open window
and the mixing of the muffled motor
ten blocks away with the slow setting of a porcelain cup
with the gentle tapping of type
lifting hands
stacks of unsorted letters and
unfinished thoughts and the
coexisting quiet and bustle of
running with the wind
instead of like it
hours and lights that flicker
with the burning fragments of
words to parse
and roads to travel