Wednesday, August 26, 2015


by Julie Gengo

Color brown-red
Used for attention-grabbing
To match the sun's
and cover up words
dared to be spoken

The time to locate
the shoes used
to secure traction
and stop slippage
and chances of
falling down

The day the rain fell
and filled buckets
with tears of sorrow
for broken promises
and dreams of togetherness
in distant places
that never came to be

310 (three hundred and ten)
degrees on
the other side of the world
where the day
has more meaning than the
time in which it was placed

the platform where
trains stop
friends connect
saturated in discussion
about the future
and points of happiness

310(three hundred and ten)
pages whose sole purpose
is to disconnect what
was once perfection
now strands of solitude
left naked in
what went wrong

the average amount of
dedication and determination
to prove the reasons
why you were chosen to inspire

310 (three hundred and ten)
lines of subjective thoughts
and patterns
that twist
acceptable meaning
into unrecognizable
and incongruous
observation of the
way things are
should be

310(three hundred and ten)
miles of travel
that carries a burden
before it is released
after the weight became too much
to bear

310(three hundred and ten)
that encompasses the mind
per moments of
and all
that is broken

Monday, August 24, 2015

Tripped Up By The Moon

Tripped up by the moon
Stumbling onto your doorstep
Happiness is a secret poet
Whispering sonnets 
Softness between the sheets

Sunday, August 23, 2015


by Julie Gengo

What about water?
Does it flow
through your soul
cleansing out the debris?

Does it splash in your face
forging drops of innovation
and images
of distant lands?

Does it show up for dinner
then leave
the dishwasher wishes
running down the drain?

What about the time you said
you'd bathe me
in the fresh water spring
on the other side of the world?

The soft cooling calm
when we were in love
even though you had moved on
to firmer ground

A ground that
couldn't absorb the rain
that filled your heart

By the way
I passed a puddle
and thought of the time
you threw me overboard

and I sank down
so deep
I thought
I'd never surface again

But I did
and the sweet water
continues to flow
like tears from the sky

And the river
continues to bring
of what could have been
and again

Friday, August 21, 2015

You Gave Me Chocolate

You Gave Me Chocolate
by Julie Gengo

You gave me chocolate
When no one was looking
Four hearts of cerulean gold
In a box with a clear plastic cover

One swirled in pink
Capturing the tree-lined moment
After Thanksgiving dinner
At your parent’s house in the country

Another rich in deep darkness
When we explored the rain forest on a raft
Water snakes beckoning  
To climb on board

The third white with speckled brownness
Like the spots in the snow
After the cars drove by
When you were gone for a long time

The last a blend of magnificent and surreal
In a texture that put me to sleep
As you watched from a distance
The fire slowly dying

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

The Other Side of You

The Other Side of You

A picture of you pinned to my wall
One half of a picture really
knowing she is on the other side

Nonetheless it sits in view
In stillness
While the world is moving around us

Not us really
Just you and me
And she
On the other side of you 

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Spanish Love - Part I

Spanish Love - Part I
by Julie Gengo

“So I'm supposed to just get on the train without any money at all, and it's supposed to be okay?” Kristi shouted as she stepped into the tiny green, slightly rusted Renault. Peter leaned over and said “yep.” She gladly gave him the finger as they departed. “That fucking dick” she muttered a little too loudly knowing that the driver couldn't speak any English. But the driver probably knew those words, she thought as she rolled her eyes.

At this point, she didn't care. I can handle this, she tried to convince herself.

The driver smelled of vodka and she was pissed. “So what's your name?” She said as she looked at him. He was a man possibly in his late 30's and she, a spunky 26 year-old who had to remind herself that being an American from a big city had its benefits, or so she was told.

“Yeah, just tell him you're an American and they will leave you alone,” Peter said as they stood on the side of the dusty road with their thumbs out. “Leave me alone? What the fuck do you mean by that?” “Well, when you get on the train, just tell the guy who collects the tickets that you're an American and everything should work out fine. They can't kick you off the train once you've gotten on since it is an express straight to Madrid,” Peter said with his pathetic British accent and a smile.

What did she ever see in him, she thought? She should have made a commitment long ago to never have anything to do with him after he showed up with another girl named Summer. Summer played the saxophone in a band. When she smiled, sunshine came out of her eyes. Kristi should have known that Peter would eventually do something like that – fall for a girl with sunshine in her eyes.

The slightly tipsy Spanish man with a somber face turned to her and smiled. “Como te llamo,” she uttered pensively. “Pedro” he said. Her Spanish wasn't working that well but somehow he understood her. Oh fuck, she thought. Isn't Pedro Spanish for Peter? She suspected she was moving from one idiot to another, but this time the Spanish version. This was confirmed when Pedro, the Spanish version of Peter, tried to kiss her. She used to like it when Peter kissed her but then the seasons changed.

She pushed Pedro away. She even thought she heard him say something about marriage. Maybe he thought he struck gold with a young American girl that would soon be his wife? How did she get into this situation?  And then she thought of Peter and why she never wanted to speak to him again.

Pablo began asking her a few questions but she didn't have the brain capacity to translate and she really didn't want to know what was on his mind. Her mind was preoccupied with safety as they swerved in and out of the narrow two-lane road that cut along the Spanish coast.

Kristi couldn't relax. Sitting on the edge of her seat, she clenched her belongings (which included an overstuffed bag of clothes, a purse, a tennis racquet, sunglasses and a hat - she always wore a hat).
She also ran through various scenarios on what might happen on the rest of her journey. Would he try to kiss her again? Would he take her to an abandon place and try to do more things with his stinky breath and body? She also thought, if she didn't have the confidence to speak the little Spanish that she spent years studying, how was she supposed to even get on the right train  -- the train that would get her to Madrid in time to catch her plane back to London?  

Did Pedro even know that she needed to go to the train station?

But Kristi had no choice. She was in a car, with a man, who smelled like vodka, whose name was Pedro, the Spanish version of Peter, who was her only option.

After a short while, she eased into the journey allowing herself to relax, in an upright position, but unclenching her belongings so that they now rested on her lap.

The man kept talking with his mouth and then began talking with his hand. She watched the talking hand, that wasn't on the wheel. Made sure the other hand stayed on the wheel. But when the free talking hand started wondering over to her side of the seat, she quickly whipped out her tennis racquet and executed a nice back-hand slice. "No mas, no mas" she said frantically. "Lass mich allein. "Oh shit, wrong language" she spurted out, but Pedro somehow complied. Kristi then called in her American feistiness, uttered a few expletives, then looked the other way. Her heart was racing, but she somehow knew nothing horrible would happen. This was coastal Spain after all and not Bed-Stuy.

A few 100 meters later, she, now positioned as far away from him as possible, realized he was pulling into the parking lot of a shabby green building that was covered in dust. It was a cafe or a bar or something like that. It looked like a place you would see along the street of ghost town, but one that even ghost hunters avoided.

Why did he stop, she thought? She didn't know how to ask. 

Kristi got out of the car, fumbled her belongings and followed him in. He walked towards the bar and ordered a shot. He held up his glass and looked her in the eyes to see if she wanted a drink, but she beckoned no. She couldn't believe he was drinking again, but then again, with the way things were going, she wasn't surprised.

Was this her chance to escape, she thought?  She took a few moments, then walked to the window and thought about her next move. The next thing she knew, she was moving, following him back into the car. "You better take me to the train station," she said as she slammed the door shut. 

Once on their way, Pedro started talking about marriage again but this time she ignored him. She felt as if she had been through a bad marriage and was now ready for divorce.

It was a speedy ride and within 15 minutes, Pedro pulled up to the station and she got out. That was it, and she yelled out a big ole' "adios" and waved goodbye.

Getting on the train was another venture waiting to take on a life of its own, but somehow she knew it would work out just fine too. After all, she is an American.