Drop Day for My Poetry Book: Musings

MY POETRY BOOK TITLED “MUSINGS” IS AVAILABLE FOR PURCHASE TODAY!!!

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Musings-Logan-Alexis-Troyer/dp/1954657021/ref=sr_1_1?crid=CJDTJ2H50YFR&dchild=1&keywords=musings+logan+alexis+troyer&qid=1622558311&sprefix=Musings+Logan%2Caps%2C156&sr=8-1

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/musings-logan-alexis-troyer/1139454442?ean=9781954657021

If you are interested in purchasing a copy directly from me or if you are interested in having your copy signed, please visit my instagram and shoot me a dm!

Overview:

Musings is about catharsis. These words are like salve that represent the healing of one's soul. Each poem is filled with the beautiful and broken pieces of life, recounting Troyer's upbringing, and her experiences with love, pain, womanhood, and healing. Musings is a reminder that there is growth and solace after the suffering.

Consume Me

---

I wanted you to consume me

Washing over

Spreading all the messy and clean parts

Like watercolors on paper

I wanted to be close to you

But in a way that skin hugs bones

Or the way cologne clings to skin

I wanted to be a part of you

And you a part of me

I was full despite of you

I am overflowing because of you 

-Consume Me 

Growth

---

growth

hair follicles

fingernails

toenails

don’t you see you are growing despite your lying still?

-Growth 

Soft and Hard

---

Feel

Soften your hardness

Harden your softness

Be heavy in the light places

Light in the heavy places

Feel so much 

That when you are laid down for the final sleep

The lines on your face show those that weep

That you lived 

- Soft and Hard 

Confessional

---

You were raised Catholic

Yet, you say you have left these practices behind

The things you do to me

Would send men to confessional

-Confessional

Speakeasy

---

I was a speakeasy.

You wanted what was inside.

You thirsted for the bathtub gin.

Outlawed for a reason.

Causing chaos in the streets.

You made my body your business.

Night after night.

-Speakeasy 

Dear New York…I’ll Wait

---

Dear New York

You feel a bit like my bed after lovers came and went

Leaving only an eery aroma of musk on my sheets

You are full of memory but devoid of life

It’s okay that you got tired of the waking

That you needed a break

To find

Yourself

For now we’ll have quiet masquerades in the streets

Dear New York

I’ll wait

My loyalty to a lover knows no bounds

And when you rise

I’ll be there

With coffee

On your bedside

Dear New York

Take your time

We need you

I…need you

-Dear New York…I’ll Wait

~ Written during the spring of the 2020 pandemic ~

Wildflower

---

Tobias Jameson

A man with a mind

And no motive

A man who made his money with his hands

But cut his hands off before the bread

Tobias Jameson

A man who sold his love to the devil in exchange for a cloak

A cloak to conceal the corruption of a soul from the city folk

Each morning he walked along the riverbank

Making smoke clouds with his cigarette

He stumbled upon a wildflower among the weeds

With his paint stained fingers

He plucked the perfectly imperfect design from the earth

He returned to his cabin deep in the cypress woods and placed the petals and roots in a jar full of water

Placing it on the table

Astonished how something so beautiful could survive among the muck and the mire

After a week or so, the wildflower died

As these things do when they have been taken from divine earth

Every day he would return to the riverbank in search of another

Finding his treasure he would pluck

For no one else could enjoy the wildflower wonder

Once the riverbank was cleared

Through winter spring summer and fall

He went in search of something else

Tobias Jameson

With whiskey on his breath and barely a drop in his glass

Caught eyes

With a green eyed gaze

Lilium Tredwell

A wildflower among the world

Surviving in the muck and the mire

He plucked her from the men and the madness

Saving her, he said

But wild things don’t survive in ordinary places

So she disappeared into the starry night sky

For wild things are fueled by the fire and the fervor and the frenzy

-Wildflower

Old Fashion

---

You were bitter orange

I was sweet sugar cube

The world was the whiskey war

And the muddling and the shaking and the stirring made us something new

Though we wanted to be something old

Millennials in a modern world

Old fashion

-Old Fashion

Friends

---

“Friends”, You vow.

The word tiptoes on my tastebuds, stinging like a lemon in a baby’s mouth. 

“Friends”, I shutter.

I want to hang my skin on the coat rack for suddenly it is too warm in this place for me to wear it.

“Friends”, I repeat.

A butterfly does not return to it’s cocoon after months of metamorphoses.

She has outgrown you.

-Friends

Climax

Photograph: Cass L. Rinsler, Follow on Instagram:@castlerinsler

---

I lose you for one tiny second

As your eyes roll back

Your mouth gapping open

Body seizing

Ave Maria ringing in your ears

You are gone

And yet, we are the closest we’ll ever be

-Climax

A Man After Sex

---

you lay your head against my chest

nude

defenseless

boy-like

ear pressed tight

for inside my body

you could hear the ocean

-A Man After Sex

Orgasm

Photograph: Cass L. Rinsler, Follow on Instagram: @castlerinsler

---

you entered the music hall at a quarter past 8

you seated yourself in a crimson velvet chair

many had been here but very few left leaving their souls inside

your eyes gently fluttered shut and Madam Butterfly engulfed the mask of your makeup 

and with that first breath of sensory contact

Puccini pierced your ears

almost inaudibly at first

but it made the hairs on your neck stand

with the anatomy of your mouth and hands

suddenly you were the grand maestro of  this symphonic serenade in F#

you watched the body hairpin before your eyes

like a bell curve of bones

the most beautiful thing you’d ever created 

with a tantalizing glissando

all color and sound left the room

white light fugue

is this dying or feeling alive?

your eyes fluttered open

to find her’s still shut

she waited for the standing ovation to exit her being

with one single breath

fin

-Orgasm 

Warm and Full

---

i would like to be content at just existing

warm body

full belly

i am a woman 

if i do not cultivate greatness

i must birth greatness

i find myself constantly grappling

-Warm and Full

Honeysuckle

---

You knew that spring was coming…

From the sweet, sensual smell.

Tantalizing and taunting.

Seen around the lands in multitudes of colors.

Delicate vines caressing your skin, wrapping round your neck, pulling you in.

Diminutive inner fibers tickling your nose.

Gently place your lips on the downy crimson petals.

Syphoning for the nectar.

Dripping to fruition.

Permeating your palate.

Sucking on the supple tubular cavern.

Until there’s nothing left.

Come again.

Honeysuckle.

-Honeysuckle

14

---

You ask me to keep things simple

light

uncomplicated

unattached even

But don’t you see, I lost that power at the age of 14

While you ran and wooed and perspired on the playground

I was signing a contract in the bathroom

Tethering myself to the moon

And with a pain in my gut and a gentle sigh

I pulled up my underwear

And I grew up

Even though I wasn’t ready 

-14

Water

---

No wonder I feel cool and calming in your hands

On your skin

In your presence

For I am water

The last place you pitched your tent

Left you dehydrated

Lady desert left you pickling in the sun for the ravens

And with your sandy hands and throat

You saw me in the distance 

And I felt easy and tangible

Because you needed me

For the moment 

And after you have filled your canteen

You will disappear

Because you are no longer thirsty

I realize my responsibility

Though I am growing weary of being the water 

- Water

I Am

---

I am

I am me

I am

I am full

I am

I am happy

I am

You are

You are you

You are

You are full

You are

You are happy

You are

You wash over me

I am overflowing

I am

You leave

I am empty

I am

-I Am

Home

---

When I was a little girl, I remember the serenity of morning owl coos resonating through the cool, crisp morning air of my grandparents’ back porch.  At 12, I sipped piping hot coffee from a Norman Rockwell mug.  My Nunu knew this one was my favorite: a painting of a well-dressed woman, donned in red and fur.  My Papa rocked back and forth and the creak of the porch rocker lulled me into a peaceful stillness.  I learned from an early stage that this was home.  My Papa’s jovial love to watch hummingbirds feed for hours.  My Nunu’s comfort in monotony.  

As I grew, I watched my Father and Mother tend to our home.  Nurture and care for it.  Mend to it when it was broken.  My Father found pleasure in the simple things: mowing grass, carrying fallen branches to the woods, picking up walnuts.  He would come inside after a long day, sweaty and green-stained from hours of laborious love.  My mother made the interior feel warm and inviting.  If you entered, you left smelling of spices and sage.  Mesmerized by the artistic museum she spent hours perfecting.  They found beauty in work, but found relaxation stunning.  

You told me once that I was “home”.  You were a lost hitchhiker and found solace in my stability.  I was warm and inviting.  A place that made you want to hang up your coat, take off your shoes: stay a while.  You stayed a while.  Wore out your welcome.  Stopped paying the mortgage.  Suddenly my facing was dilapidated and paint chipped.  My gutters burst from tears unnoticed.  My windows blurry.  My insides gutted and haunted.  The neighbors whispered about me.  Turned their noses at my lackluster facade.  Instead of tending to me, you disappeared.  On to the next home.  

For the next few years, I took out loans to repair what was mine all along.  Blood and sweat to repair the damaged and forgotten beauty of my sacred bones.  The ghosts of you haunted my hallways.  I dusted my insides.  Stripped down the blankets that covered my heart and soul: furniture that had been long forgotten.  I painted my exterior.  Restored rich green to my eyes and poignant pink to my smile.  The neighbors no longer stared, instead they came inside.  They sat for a while.  Mesmerized at my makeover.  

You tried to foreclose me.  I am a sacred fortress built from calculated blueprints.  Standing tall.  For years to come.  

-Home