Today I went in search of wings,
And all along the way I found stories
That caused my mind to soar…
The subways, streets, and stores
Filled with narratives Vibrant and Strong….

The family passing by the art unknowing
Of its means,
Of its part in the whole,
     Its impermanence,
     Its toll….

The tall, handsome, dark Somalian
With close cropped hair
And his bi-racial beauty and
Their picnic faire….

The bulls with their horns Red with blood…
On they come,
With soccer chants, eager feet,
Paced even on the streets….

The little boy with the wellingtons
And the questions non-stop all ride long,
The father tall with his eager charges
Navigating trains, transfers, barging passengers, and throngs
Weaving through the subterranean shafts….

I found the stories that gave me wings
I found the wings that lift to higher things.
– dahlia holmes
Sunday 8.30.2015 7:43 pm


If I could hold time still


If I could hold time still
But then,
You wouldn’t be the you, you have become,
I’d lose so many memories if I won,
I’d lose the men I knew you would become…
If I could hold time still,
But then again,
I’d rather just hold you both instead.



Grafitti Girl


Alien girl with the exaggerated lips
And the faded eyes
From being too lit by the New York lights
She followed a dream to this place of fables
And found more traps than she was able
To navigate herself around
With her pretty mouth and exotic skin
She became the food for that monster thing
We call social fame, duck faced shame, and botoxed….well
All she found was this washed up shell
A drawing on a wall that’s temporary
And a dark fate that feels permanent.
– dahlia holmes
Thursday, August 20, 2015 9:46 am

Thoughts from yesterday….

And on the other side of that life
Is this life…
The one beyond the glass city where the Wizards roam,
And you find out Dorthy all you needed was to click your heels together and say,
“There is no place like home,
  There is no place like home…”

home is here on this side of the looking glass,
Where the sirens blare as the cop car passes
And not soon after in the midnight noises
Come the ambulances and the hearses
That give way to the midnight masses
Presided over by the crying mothers,
The broken sisters,
The angry brothers…
And the still simmering melting pot boils on,
With those who stir,
And those who burn.
– dahlia holmes
Wednesday, August 19, 2015 6:20am