Thursday, May 17, 2007
may came too swift
and I know
The voice comes soft and low
melodic in bittersweet:
"Do you remember when you'd pray
To never see the day
When someone would make you feel this way
'Cause you knew
They would cut right through you
And once inside, you were afraid they'd find
Nothing to hold on to"
and I know
I have faced my worst fear.
May 15, 2007 - Tuesday
cold blue damp
Masque', the cold blue
damp glows
that I will let my lover fade
my heart, each step
along with goes
leaving me the numb
catch and release
These last few years
I have had many a sweet crush
like a pup's nose in an ant hill
I have discovered
something about me
that I am made to love;
they were beautiful men –
each in their own way
of such varying depths…some
more handsome than others
some more shy, wry of wit, most
of words, one or two I happed to kiss
everywhere,
especially the lips
.
Then one day I fell in love
and I discovered
something about me
that I could learn to trust
that I had learned to catch
and release
but in my joy I had forgotten
how to breathe.
beauty behind me
I long for eves
of fevered dreams
not so much them
but the morrow
and waking
sweat purged and pure
instead of days
spent in slight tinge
of something
unsettling, on edge,
a fear of should be's
and moving on
but how to put
beauty behind me?
May 14, 2007 - Monday
what it means to be naked
The Naked Poet is a spin off of the Naked Chef, Jamie Oliver...
"The idea behind The Naked Chef was to strip food down to its bare essentials - to prove that you didn't need to dress up ingredients or buy a load of fancy ..."
Anyway, so...The Naked Poet is my forage into simplicity. Though I love questions on authorial intent and yes, of course my writing is very much autobiographical, I am all about reader's interpretation. I want you to take away what you need, not what i am compelled at any given time to express.
much love and stay naked,
~peach
(When my ex and i divorced, it was logical that i would get the bookshelves and he would get the leather living room furniture but when it came to the two autographed cook books by Jamie, we split custody. check him out: www.jamieoliver.com)
May 5, 2007 - Saturday
drowsy is this day too damp
I am saturated to the bone with damp;
sweat – and other bodily fluids
we won't mention –
(and sleep between) smeared
with hands and tongue until…
I am saturated to the bone with damp.
Seventy-three degrees of damp
as I left him sleeping in mid morn.
This is not my Texas summer
of dry heat coming up in waves
from black gumbo and hot concrete
let these clouds burn off and give me the sun
for drowsy is this day too sweet
when indeed I need to write.
May 4, 2007 - Friday
I on the brink
I wanna get a guitar
strum to the countless hum
that fills my silence
echoes of low beats
and the moon in twilight
I had one once
it was smaller
made for little girl
fingers so fey;
drug around for years
sold it, no tears but
melancholia for a youth
that never bloomed
resignation to that life
of sacrifice
I was always sacrificing
and then on to the leaving
along Valhalla's shores
I stepped, let blood drip
from vorpal blade
blood from all
those demons slain
now I bend and sway
fluid lest ye break
wanting to lay
naked in the water
warmed on the rocks
walk barefoot in the river
the creek bed, the rills
that trickle sweet
and I have learned
change is ever in the coming
and I on the brink
May 3, 2007 - Thursday
journalesque - brave but lost
Where am I in my life? My shit…is far from together.
At thirty-seven I'm just now graduating. People ask, "Your Masters?" Regrettably I reply, "No." But it is an accomplishment – though dragging and ready to be done in these latter days – an accomplishment that excites me. I will not graduate Cum Laude but close and it is the immense effort that counts. It is an accomplishment of which I can be proud.
My job is paying for my degree through benefits so I'll have no loans to repay. Otherwise, this is not my, my career, what I want from life. I often dread even going in. Almost eight years though, surely that says something toward loyalty and dedication…even lunacy?
The internship is developing slowly, but I love it, have set hopes on it. I tingle at the potential of something brave; work from anywhere, get paid nicely eventually but nothing for now and positively impact the failing ecology.
My teaching is not quite a joke. I have learned that third-graders run over me and I don't want children of my own. Though they learn little of creative writing, they learn to read, orate in front of others, to express creative ideas without censor. They blossom and bloom like I never did. I mold future generations and affect the lives of children. I worry that I'll fuck them up.
My home is livable. It's a decent size condo that has all the right parts and pieces necessary to live. The paint is pealing, foundation shifting, carpets are a hideous blue. It is in dire need of repair and updating. But it's mine and I'll get it all done some day. I'm getting involved with my HOA and therefore the community and this feels pretty good.
I sound like a good citizen but feel spread thin and know that much is just filler to quell a thirst for accomplishment and companionship. Really, if I had the time and money I would spend it with family and friends; going out, staying in. I would schedule time to write more creatively than therapeutically. I would think less and do more.
My sights aren't set on marriage or children. I feel I'm to open to understanding and too fluid by nature to set my sites on relationships or any other prize. I find I too much enjoy the means and the process of discovery. I just can't say I want my life to be X, Y, Z. That's not to say that long term companionship isn't preferable to hermetic reclusion.
But still, I desperately want to know at what place I am in life, what all this says about me. Where do you think I am, because I'm not so sure I know. I feel rather lost in America…brave, but lost.
May 2, 2007 - Wednesday
this thing entrez nous
Last night I dreamt
in a sky blue haze
a myriad comprehensions flooding
of me
of you
of this thing entrez nous.
I want to keep you
loosely but fear
if I fail to assert, pursue
you will fade
and go.
Help me hold you
while apart but feed
my passion that consumes
let us stay
and wallow
in squeals and coos
in this thing that binds
into summer, into fall,
into winter
for if it were nothing
would we be this long about things
at all?
May 1, 2007 - Tuesday
eight months in...
I have paced about this cage
this wrenching limbo
in constant push-pull
of joy and concern
ready to move in, or on.
The outs I gave were many
but you never took them. Why?
I am neither happy
nor sure in this distance;
I have tried but the day is gray
and feral instinct wonders…
my heart recedes instead
into observance
and the cool wet of mourn
that time will escape you
indefinitely and I will
have faded away, forlorn.
summer
Sun comes to call
world moves easy
into slow grooves
of water and shine
cool, salient smiles
from her hot rock
of too warm days
she lay, stretching
sleek in skin soft.
in this city, Terra Firma
So much traffic out my window
I try to think of them
as animals or birds
(and really, aren't they?)
I wait for them
to do something curious.
Two sat on my stoop the other day
I flicked the blinds
and tapped on the window
shoo shoo go away
but they didn't go far enough
I had to step outside
up and to the right as well as left
are these ghetto-ites
up the street
they crowd the pharmacy steps
drive the grocery into disrepair
do their deals in the open on the street.
So much traffic out my window
and I teach their children how to write.
Behind me, behind the creek
the affluent in their quietude
they crowd the coffee house
emit exhaust to shop miles away
they are good at avoidance
no traffic out their window.
Us in the middle
we speak of moving bus routes
making the grocery remodel
how best to recycle
in our attempt to affect change;
in this city, Terra Firma,
we, the eclectic, are the minority
we, the eclectic, are the future
we pay attention
to the traffic out our windows.
April 25, 2007 - Wednesday
untitled
fuzzy haze of strange days
as if my skin had been
under veil too long tactilly
subtlety molted into grandiose
I think I could sleep
deep at peace this eve
the fear I ate whole digesting
and I recall the ocean off Vieques
fingertips in the water
streaming baby stingray below
I knew god then
later in sadness letting go
grown girl setting aside
childish things
and then the leaving
to be alone
suddenly this summer
I feel soft beautiful blessed
salient on a roll
April 24, 2007 - Tuesday
as I write
coffee grows cold as I write
stop to masturbate
then bathe
cold and bitter
and the day is gray
slap and tickle - three
I
The other day I suppose
my body forgot to breathe
bit by bit my face grew numb
and I found deep peace
in that deepest exhalation
and a strange awareness
came over me – mortality, and
that days would pass
before anyone guessed
or came to call.
The doctor took his bits
poked and prod
"No worries, it's just this…"
but the bits came back odd.
II
Robert, there are reasons
I sought to sever ties
want to sever more
but for love, I need them
III
And oh but Death,
look not for me in the shadows
look not for me in the river
for fear not I you but scorn
and laugh
and bare my naked ass
borne too much true
but taken it all in the end
in squeals of pleasure and delight
and lived I in the growing madness
of deafness, of other – full and bright.
I will run ye a merry chase;
stratagem of confusion
in exasperation you fail for
attitudinal, socially inept, synaptically
challenged and giggly, I prevail.
April 23, 2007 - Monday
shade my eyes against the glare
In the skies come the bright
I want the bright
it's taste and feel
for often am I steeped in shadow
and blur and sorrow;
if I could I would
but you may need to lead me
out and into twilight where
I want, need, to sing my soul
shade my eyes against the glare.
Monday, April 23, 2007
sorry, got sidetracked
Sunday, April 22, 2007
crumbs and siblings
Blood test results
sadness and fear
Robert, brother,
on the nineteenth of May this year you would have been forty-one
instead you will always be thirty-five
and I am thirty-seven
what were you thinking that first time
much like I, not to worry
it's nothing, easily explained?
and our sister, the elder, the abuser
of her body, her mind, her heart
greedy user of siblings,
my god, will you outlive us all?
journalesque on slim blonde men and solace and love
In conversation with a friend, I realized recently that I have a weakness for slim blonde men who drink and smoke. Did I mention pretty? They are, and by most women's standards. Tentatively they draw to me; some friends, one or two lovers. (I would think, at my age and depth of plainness, they would be unattainable.) One, so heart-stoppingly gorgeous in visage and heart, he steels my love with every breath and just when I thought I had grown as much as I could grow, I discover me more deeply. I try to hold him loosely, though I feel that often I cling.
These men have so much in common, these pretty men. Something in their hearts that need healing, a tenderness to which I want to stroke and coo soft words. Yes, so much in common and yet cannot be compared to another or each other. Strangely, they and so many others recognize in me solace and the attempted logic of emotion. I try to love and heal, unconditionally and then let them leave, go their way. I watch them go with bittersweet memories later to recall.
Even my brother, sister, mother, have at one point reached to me, reached out to me to make sense of things, for simple words of understating. They have wanted the most and in their view I may have failed them but in mine I have come through. For those that would stay and suck the life from me, I wish you would see that it's better to stand on your own two feet and that I can only give so much before I myself have to heal.
All comes at a price. I have severed deep, familial attachments and sometimes the sense of disconnectedness is overwhelming. My father, the one deep attachment I choose to keep, asks for nothing, is too like me, simply sleeping deep under my roof, blanketed by a sense of home.
But after so many years of feeling old, I view the world as fluid and ever changing and I have marveled at the beauty of my own ability to love, not to harden but to retain a sense of youth.
Yes, on occasion, disconnectedness plagues me
but more often the freedom to live burns in passion bright
and the world is always new to me
the slim blonde men, making me smile
as I watch them grow and go and live
but in this moment I do wonder
will my lover let me hold him this night.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
In Tongues I Have Dreamt; or Plato's Theory of Forms
Mas-que is what I have named
the turtle that keeps the earth afloat.
I do not have the words passed down
from generation to generation
Culture and inheritance are lost too me,
the emergent Texan American gone Global.
But Mas-que, like many things I write,
by chance, strings together in coherence –
thoughts that are oft times a mere syllabic utterance
of expression; they are concepts granted before birth.
those of which I catch a glimpse,
feel to the core, inherent, but cannot articulate.
Abstracts that allude me intellectually, linguistically.
They are feelings manifest in syllabic utterance
of sound for which I can only weep for the never knowing.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
as she warms my cheek
I will rise from this meloncholied winter
and I will worship, soon, by the water,
there in the grass; warm days
of cold drinks, browned skin
and tender bits almost too pink.
I will run by the wayside watching
the hubbub of the Others, foreign
as they pursue pursuant things
while the Heat basks in adoration
of the sensitivity I coddle close
in vows to never harden again. No
if I feel too deep blame not me
but summer in her brilliance
as she warms my cheek and burns
passion into the further recess
of dreams and hope and love for you.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
i have touched brief of bright white lights
I have touched brief
of bright white
lights
inside
mind and heart
external stimuli
but no it was not grief that bore me home
only the coming out that undid me
and the myriad lights gave way to seed
to bloom
to blossom free
I felt young then
younger than my youth
younger than the forms
of thought that came well before any grave
yes those there that allude me
still
always
in pixie dusts of hide and play
mischief
mischief
do I seek and do you flee
come again another day
flitter and tease
Oh yes ever do I touch brief
of a bright white
light
oft here oft there
lately, wings aflame
know I
have I learned to care
too much, too much, I know, T. C., to much
but such is my life
how I grow
each spark of light
a stepping stone
I molt and glow and catch the wind
pull myself up – strong
fall down again
Monday, April 09, 2007
a-long the road
Somewhere a-long the road
I came
and went
left a husband by the wayside
got educated
got read
got some lovin;
growed into a wo-maan
a brick house of a girl
somewhere along the road
I solidified
into something fluid
yet still
inarticulate
though I do try
and his ears
unlike mine, are patient.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
panic and water and theft
I
That close to my degree
just been invited to join Sigma Tau Delta
(the International English Honors Society),
there's this internship, writing,
that may make an impact on the ecology and
I've got a fantastic lover that I adore,
don't see us parting soon, I have
great friends that grow with me
and I am realizing my life path; only
I am that afraid of fucking it all up because
that's what I'm great at - fucking things up
pushing people away
when I feel the water sucking me down.
II
I am greedy with his love
though he cannot hold my head above the waves
he gives me breath and strength to swim;
that same breath he steels
upon each first glance and trailing kisses
along the length of me.
Friday, March 23, 2007
lucky girl
greedily
he drinks from me
the pleasure
he gives
of matrimony wilt
there's this cowboy
one long tall drink of water
in a hat and boots
bass flapping on the license plate
of his big boat towin' truck
been two years plus some
since that day on the lake
and the strangely few that followed
but we chat now and then
as if there had been more than
going down, a bit of fun,
a bit of one-sided interest
so the timing is always off
and one of us flirts while the other -
the other is with someone
checking things out or even
getting married
bad timing ya know?
but cowboys on the prowl
sans their cowgirl
just ain't my thing
and my chat grew cordial
slow and sad
that my freedom to love
where I do, where I may,
blossoms beautifully
into a brave new trust
whereas his bonds
of matrimony wilt
Thursday, March 22, 2007
exhaustion finds me
I think too much
too deep
I wanna wax poetic about stupid shit
like how
butterflies remind me of my lost virginity
and not home team dugouts
or hard, scarred wood digging into my back
I wanna talk about
how
soft trickling rills bring me to transcendence
and not the sheer sight of my lover's engorged penis –
how thinking of him makes my mouth water
and my thighs burn
sometimes
I wanna be that socio-conformist sheep
with no thoughts that scar,
I wanna be normal, blend in
and not that socially inept, unapproachable
loud laugh you hear a mile away
sometimes
I want
to not rise up to meet the road ahead
to stop these dreams
this hope
exist in a moment without thought
want, desire
trade my freedom for a cage
where I am fed three square meals a day
sometimes
I wish
I could hear
and sometimes
I am weary
and exhaustion finds me.
Monday, March 05, 2007
renamed: bit past three finally i sleep
My lover leads me far past
the point of exhaustion and
into the twilight of a full moon
A bit past three finally I sleep
should rise at six but do so later
He loves me deep, carries me past
transcendence's bliss
into the realm of betrayal
my body no longer responding
to my will but his
My heart torn asunder
ripped from my chest, swallowed
Betrayal, bliss sustained, hours
knowing I will rise, sore, just
ridden hard, put away wet
a bit past three, perhaps
I passed out, I can't be sure
I had wanted to talk soft
– he tempted me over with talk –
and close, disclose my heart
yet in the morning
I was hushed until another day
I think I slept, he says I slept
still and dead and deaf
but I knew each time he tossed
turned, my heart stopping
thoughts silently forlorn
finally I spoke meek
if you don't want to keep me
you'll have to set me free
something softer in my mind
Oh my love, I only want to grow
in the gouges my nails rent
in your sweet flesh
to see if two so different lives
could balance on madness
and core beliefs in sinc
no harm no foul if we part
it's all in the attempt to me
hopes and wishes
I called my Daddy last week or so.
We were talking, I mentioned wishing and
he asked if I recalled what my granddad used to say
I said of course not so he explained…
hold out both hands palm up
let your wishes pile up in one hand
and shit pile up in the other
see which one fills up faster.
I said ummm, thanks dad and of course
he replied that my granddad was a strange man.
We had a good laugh, my dad and I, so much alike,
but it got me thinkin' 'bout hope and wishes;
how I had been bereft of them so long
now suddenly they were in my life
and I feel odd, distorted, wanting
to toss them the hell away and run.
Hope and wishes, you see, are ambiguous to me
by nature. I feel lost without clear boundaries,
unable to define my own way, being unsure
of the future, of people I want to keep.
I have placed a lot of hope on my own shoulders
and wishes in my lover's thoughts and care.
As I attempt to balance them I struggle
within the bounds of others' dictation, restless,
within the discomfort of charterless waters. But
I dream the me I want to be, the life I want to live
lay naked 'neath the sun's caress
and let my hopes and wishes lead me forth.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
awakening
I stretch and molt
within the bounds
of lover, sweetheart;
new dynamics'
growing bond
and the allowance
to adore simply
to caress my nose
my cheek along
sweetest flesh
to chatter away
thoughts streaming -
it's a brave new me
come to play,
awakening.
Monday, February 26, 2007
we meet in that twilight
We meet in the dreamscape of twilight;
that horizon where hell caresses heaven.
He has things to fill his night, you see,
and I have things to fill my day.
He the moon and I the sun, Oh
but our core values sinc,
our love is profound
and we fuck like madness in rebirth,
make love like there really is no tomorrow.
Yet how, I wonder, do I keep us free
and still hold on tight;
Habits and lives in opposition –
and yet what is day without night,
the sun and the moon begetting
stars to fill our gaze, to wish upon…
So yes, we meet in that twilight,
and my soul at least finding peace;
deep, breathless, deserved – peace.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
outstanding
if moans were words
last eve I found a few;
soft coos and purrs
while we drank our fill
past exhaustion...
Monday, February 19, 2007
transcendence three
some day I will find transcendence;
no, it will not be in death
through spiritual enlightenment
or the attainment of higher education,
but deep in the flesh of man...
hands splayed wide on too hot flesh
and the taste of him sweet
on the tip of tongue, words lost.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Stendhal's Syndrome
She reached out
grasped air
where she thought you had been
in dreams sweet;
mistaken.
tired
drunk
fever
all the good shit comes with fever
like the moon bright afire
and sweat pouring in miniscule rivulets;
your cheek so beautiful en finis
you mistook
her tears
for Sorrow herself. Yet
it was with Stendhal's Syndrome
she wept.
crumbs and siblings
Blood test results
sadness and fear
Robert, brother,
on the nineteenth of May this year you would have been forty-one
instead you will always be thirty-five
and I am thirty-seven
what were you thinking that first time
much like I, not to worry
it's nothing, easily explained?
and our sister, the elder, the abuser
of her body, her mind, her heart
greedy user of siblings,
my god, will you outlive us all?
journalesque on slim blonde men and solace and love
In conversation with a friend, I realized recently that I have a weakness for slim blonde men who drink and smoke. Did I mention pretty? They are, and by most women's standards. Tentatively they draw to me; some friends, one or two lovers. (I would think, at my age and depth of plainness, they would be unattainable.) One, so heart-stoppingly gorgeous in visage and heart, he steels my love with every breath and just when I thought I had grown as much as I could grow, I discover me more deeply. I try to hold him loosely, though I feel that often I cling.
These men have so much in common, these pretty men. Something in their hearts that need healing, a tenderness to which I want to stroke and coo soft words. Yes, so much in common and yet cannot be compared to another or each other. Strangely, they and so many others recognize in me solace and the attempted logic of emotion. I try to love and heal, unconditionally and then let them leave, go their way. I watch them go with bittersweet memories later to recall.
Even my brother, sister, mother, have at one point reached to me, reached out to me to make sense of things, for simple words of understating. They have wanted the most and in their view I may have failed them but in mine I have come through. For those that would stay and suck the life from me, I wish you would see that it's better to stand on your own two feet and that I can only give so much before I myself have to heal.
All comes at a price. I have severed deep, familial attachments and sometimes the sense of disconnectedness is overwhelming. My father, the one deep attachment I choose to keep, asks for nothing, is too like me, simply sleeping deep under my roof, blanketed by a sense of home.
But after so many years of feeling old, I view the world as fluid and ever changing and I have marveled at the beauty of my own ability to love, not to harden but to retain a sense of youth.
Yes, on occasion, disconnectedness plagues me
but more often the freedom to live burns in passion bright
and the world is always new to me
the slim blonde men, making me smile
as I watch them grow and go and live
but in this moment I do wonder
will my lover let me hold him this night.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
In Tongues I Have Dreamt; or Plato's Theory of Forms
Mas-que is what I have named
the turtle that keeps the earth afloat.
I do not have the words passed down
from generation to generation
Culture and inheritance are lost too me,
the emergent Texan American gone Global.
But Mas-que, like many things I write,
by chance, strings together in coherence –
thoughts that are oft times a mere syllabic utterance
of expression; they are concepts granted before birth.
those of which I catch a glimpse,
feel to the core, inherent, but cannot articulate.
Abstracts that allude me intellectually, linguistically.
They are feelings manifest in syllabic utterance
of sound for which I can only weep for the never knowing.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
as she warms my cheek
I will rise from this meloncholied winter
and I will worship, soon, by the water,
there in the grass; warm days
of cold drinks, browned skin
and tender bits almost too pink.
I will run by the wayside watching
the hubbub of the Others, foreign
as they pursue pursuant things
while the Heat basks in adoration
of the sensitivity I coddle close
in vows to never harden again. No
if I feel too deep blame not me
but summer in her brilliance
as she warms my cheek and burns
passion into the further recess
of dreams and hope and love for you.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
i have touched brief of bright white lights
I have touched brief
of bright white
lights
inside
mind and heart
external stimuli
but no it was not grief that bore me home
only the coming out that undid me
and the myriad lights gave way to seed
to bloom
to blossom free
I felt young then
younger than my youth
younger than the forms
of thought that came well before any grave
yes those there that allude me
still
always
in pixie dusts of hide and play
mischief
mischief
do I seek and do you flee
come again another day
flitter and tease
Oh yes ever do I touch brief
of a bright white
light
oft here oft there
lately, wings aflame
know I
have I learned to care
too much, too much, I know, T. C., to much
but such is my life
how I grow
each spark of light
a stepping stone
I molt and glow and catch the wind
pull myself up – strong
fall down again
Monday, April 09, 2007
a-long the road
Somewhere a-long the road
I came
and went
left a husband by the wayside
got educated
got read
got some lovin;
growed into a wo-maan
a brick house of a girl
somewhere along the road
I solidified
into something fluid
yet still
inarticulate
though I do try
and his ears
unlike mine, are patient.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
panic and water and theft
I
That close to my degree
just been invited to join Sigma Tau Delta
(the International English Honors Society),
there's this internship, writing,
that may make an impact on the ecology and
I've got a fantastic lover that I adore,
don't see us parting soon, I have
great friends that grow with me
and I am realizing my life path; only
I am that afraid of fucking it all up because
that's what I'm great at - fucking things up
pushing people away
when I feel the water sucking me down.
II
I am greedy with his love
though he cannot hold my head above the waves
he gives me breath and strength to swim;
that same breath he steels
upon each first glance and trailing kisses
along the length of me.
Friday, March 23, 2007
lucky girl
greedily
he drinks from me
the pleasure
he gives
of matrimony wilt
there's this cowboy
one long tall drink of water
in a hat and boots
bass flapping on the license plate
of his big boat towin' truck
been two years plus some
since that day on the lake
and the strangely few that followed
but we chat now and then
as if there had been more than
going down, a bit of fun,
a bit of one-sided interest
so the timing is always off
and one of us flirts while the other -
the other is with someone
checking things out or even
getting married
bad timing ya know?
but cowboys on the prowl
sans their cowgirl
just ain't my thing
and my chat grew cordial
slow and sad
that my freedom to love
where I do, where I may,
blossoms beautifully
into a brave new trust
whereas his bonds
of matrimony wilt
Thursday, March 22, 2007
exhaustion finds me
I think too much
too deep
I wanna wax poetic about stupid shit
like how
butterflies remind me of my lost virginity
and not home team dugouts
or hard, scarred wood digging into my back
I wanna talk about
how
soft trickling rills bring me to transcendence
and not the sheer sight of my lover's engorged penis –
how thinking of him makes my mouth water
and my thighs burn
sometimes
I wanna be that socio-conformist sheep
with no thoughts that scar,
I wanna be normal, blend in
and not that socially inept, unapproachable
loud laugh you hear a mile away
sometimes
I want
to not rise up to meet the road ahead
to stop these dreams
this hope
exist in a moment without thought
want, desire
trade my freedom for a cage
where I am fed three square meals a day
sometimes
I wish
I could hear
and sometimes
I am weary
and exhaustion finds me.
Monday, March 05, 2007
renamed: bit past three finally i sleep
My lover leads me far past
the point of exhaustion and
into the twilight of a full moon
A bit past three finally I sleep
should rise at six but do so later
He loves me deep, carries me past
transcendence's bliss
into the realm of betrayal
my body no longer responding
to my will but his
My heart torn asunder
ripped from my chest, swallowed
Betrayal, bliss sustained, hours
knowing I will rise, sore, just
ridden hard, put away wet
a bit past three, perhaps
I passed out, I can't be sure
I had wanted to talk soft
– he tempted me over with talk –
and close, disclose my heart
yet in the morning
I was hushed until another day
I think I slept, he says I slept
still and dead and deaf
but I knew each time he tossed
turned, my heart stopping
thoughts silently forlorn
finally I spoke meek
if you don't want to keep me
you'll have to set me free
something softer in my mind
Oh my love, I only want to grow
in the gouges my nails rent
in your sweet flesh
to see if two so different lives
could balance on madness
and core beliefs in sinc
no harm no foul if we part
it's all in the attempt to me
hopes and wishes
I called my Daddy last week or so.
We were talking, I mentioned wishing and
he asked if I recalled what my granddad used to say
I said of course not so he explained…
hold out both hands palm up
let your wishes pile up in one hand
and shit pile up in the other
see which one fills up faster.
I said ummm, thanks dad and of course
he replied that my granddad was a strange man.
We had a good laugh, my dad and I, so much alike,
but it got me thinkin' 'bout hope and wishes;
how I had been bereft of them so long
now suddenly they were in my life
and I feel odd, distorted, wanting
to toss them the hell away and run.
Hope and wishes, you see, are ambiguous to me
by nature. I feel lost without clear boundaries,
unable to define my own way, being unsure
of the future, of people I want to keep.
I have placed a lot of hope on my own shoulders
and wishes in my lover's thoughts and care.
As I attempt to balance them I struggle
within the bounds of others' dictation, restless,
within the discomfort of charterless waters. But
I dream the me I want to be, the life I want to live
lay naked 'neath the sun's caress
and let my hopes and wishes lead me forth.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
awakening
I stretch and molt
within the bounds
of lover, sweetheart;
new dynamics'
growing bond
and the allowance
to adore simply
to caress my nose
my cheek along
sweetest flesh
to chatter away
thoughts streaming -
it's a brave new me
come to play,
awakening.
Monday, February 26, 2007
we meet in that twilight
We meet in the dreamscape of twilight;
that horizon where hell caresses heaven.
He has things to fill his night, you see,
and I have things to fill my day.
He the moon and I the sun, Oh
but our core values sinc,
our love is profound
and we fuck like madness in rebirth,
make love like there really is no tomorrow.
Yet how, I wonder, do I keep us free
and still hold on tight;
Habits and lives in opposition –
and yet what is day without night,
the sun and the moon begetting
stars to fill our gaze, to wish upon…
So yes, we meet in that twilight,
and my soul at least finding peace;
deep, breathless, deserved – peace.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
outstanding
if moans were words
last eve I found a few;
soft coos and purrs
while we drank our fill
past exhaustion...
Monday, February 19, 2007
transcendence three
some day I will find transcendence;
no, it will not be in death
through spiritual enlightenment
or the attainment of higher education,
but deep in the flesh of man...
hands splayed wide on too hot flesh
and the taste of him sweet
on the tip of tongue, words lost.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Stendhal's Syndrome
She reached out
grasped air
where she thought you had been
in dreams sweet;
mistaken.
tired
drunk
fever
all the good shit comes with fever
like the moon bright afire
and sweat pouring in miniscule rivulets;
your cheek so beautiful en finis
you mistook
her tears
for Sorrow herself. Yet
it was with Stendhal's Syndrome
she wept.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
backdraft
heavy comes the day
heavy comes the day
the night
heavy comes life
panic in the becoming
a responsible social
un-outcast
responsibility breeds
conformity, conformity
breeds responsibility
it's all a tie down
bile in the pit rising
and I want to spit, panic
- in love is freedom
- away
- from time filling
the spirit that endeavors
to persevere
is not the one that burns
in the sun bright smiling.
she turns neatly
five and a half
months going on sad
so in love and yet
she sought the end
too bi-polar/unsure
she wants the constant high
and in reciprocation oodles
she dreams of madness
could only step so neat away
with lash perturbing
never coming free
she blinks
she pokes and prods and
scratches nervous, unfocused
laughing full deep
mousy
not that long-legged blonde
she thinks you need
but will never know
cause you never really said.
Monday, February 12, 2007
pales despotic
Her mind too often comes round to him;
the object of her affection more than whim
and the parting on her hard. She wanted
to seek solace in the attention of others and
admits to the smallest shallow bone. Saved;
a brother in arms, neat beside her, kept
comfort where the others drew aloof and
she steps brief inside to need no other. All
the while Sorrow sings soft you are loved
pales despotic against you are wanted.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
wish you were here
missing:
my brother and family
wish
you were here
wish
I had had you once.
Monday, February 05, 2007
solipsist
I was humming
Suo Gan in the grocery store
in disturbing clarity. But
I am not a singer;
my voice was made
for coos and soft pleases,
my body much the same,
and a heart that wants
it all.
Friday, February 02, 2007
this morning weary
This morning, weary
eyes returned my gaze;
I thought of mother
of sister, their eyes
slight with madness. And
though I have their smile
belaying sweetness,
in my eyes I see only
sadness of rare occasion
coming through. Yet
like their burdens, mine
plead to find a heart
to understand, to sooth
to bring me home.
Monday, January 29, 2007
death be not proud
Oh Death, be not proud
but come a beggar
thief in the night
thief in the day, wet
kiss on too cool lips
a blessed step into
that longest goodnight.
No, Death, be not proud
for those that remain
slay You in memoriam
of laughter and sweetest
passions to live, to love.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
feeling things out
I asked him, "do you wanna go steady?"
he says to me, "yes, no, maybe,
do you wanna live in a…
mansion,
apartment
shack
shed,
please check one…"
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
roughhousing
We were roughhousing
but the tears fell;
there was pain
in my heart
that sought voice
and it manifest in tears.
You kissed them away,
away shushing, regret;
I felt small, cherished,
hurt diminishing
in your arms and words.
Our twilight tête-à-tête
discovering much
disclosing thoughts;
I don't know tomorrow
but want more today.
And oh but I wanted
to ask what to do,
what you want of me;
seek guidance
in your wisdom,
for you are wise. (Though
you know as much as I.)
And I want you to realize
my need, my pain, also
that you are a wonder
to me, and it is conceivable
I want you justly. Today.
on existance
I know I've said some of this before, but...I'm feeling introspective and wanting more time from my lover...but not the world, not yet...
Every relationship has a time and place, a depth and duration, a purpose.
There are no answers and we can only know these things once all is said and done.
And sometiems...sadly but fortunately, we realize the myriad and infinite possibilities become an even more limited number of potential probablities and once decisions are made, freadom of choice becomes fate...
and life can only unfold the way it will.
But I want to exist in this moment a while longer and beg the Fates let me.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
death allows me to love
He, my older brother
now younger than I, he…
looked to me for hope –
his savior. But I failed.
I spoke the words,
signed in ink like blood
and watched his life
painfully slip away.
As if this weren't enough
when the time came I…
I left him with Dad and others –
friends surrounding, yes.
But it was in me that hope
was misplaced and I left him.
I left him in his dying.
Guilt I suppose and
sadly, always will I carry
death in my heart, never
knowing that I will ever
let it go, that it will free me.
But death, you see, allows
me to love desperately
and passionately – as me.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
in my heart i am home
There is stillness in the damp
of the earth
but a few branches sway
gently as I glean
the myriad complexity,
calm of the scene.
Out my backdoor comes the birds
comes their song
Out on the front porch
the baby Gecko suns.
Softly, suddenly, contentment I find;
not so much in this place
as in my heart, the girl I've become,
with friends surrounding
and love found – my new darling.
Yes, home is where the heart is
and in my heart I am home.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
in my lover's touch
yester-eve in my lovers touch
I stopped to breathe,
the myriad cacophony,
of a mind's day simply,
beatifically, hushed;
Came the light, came
the day, and almost
did I blush overlong,
cling too fast, love too much,
verily did I sleep too soft,
his nearness…
his nearness…
and my thought trailedd off.
Monday, December 18, 2006
on turning thirty-seven
Used to think I was moving t'ward somethin'
when birthdays came around.
Now there's an uncomforting squeaze
like pants so tight cain't breathe.
Thirty-seven feels strange
and I am suddenly
in more thought than once
when afeared of shadows
that come too close.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
stop, breathe, believe
sometimes
we hear what we want to hear
believe what we want to believe
he is guilty of this
I am guilty of this
but I see
he wears his self-depreciation
on his sleeve
I bear my insecurity in constant messaging.
we two kindred spirits stretching
stop, breathe, believe;
have fun with it, together be free.
Monday, December 11, 2006
only we can give our dreams breath
the ties that bind the mind that sets you free
settling down finding freedom
getting married committing to wanting the best for him
and honesty and validation
buying a house exploring life
social perception my reality
only we can give our dreams breath
Friday, December 08, 2006
madness stirs
on the brink of joy
madness stirs
…and fear
and I am restless
life no longer
holding me intent
not when
I have glimpsed
more
and drunk morning
dew from lips sweet
Thursday, December 07, 2006
entangled
told him
I'm scared of him
my voice felt meek
psyche timid
he didn't reply
in words
but held me
overlong
too sweet
cheek pressed
against my hair
arms and hands
entangled
he said hush now
sleep
and I slept
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
freedom
Don't fall in love with you?
she asked in startlement;
No, no, I said don't fall
off the bed, he replied in patience.
Freedom is throwing off the shackles of shoulds
for the good and natural and real.
Monday, December 04, 2006
moonshadows
He gazed on me
bathed in moonshadows.
I beheld my own breasts
waist, hip – cool flesh
beneath his too hot touch –
I beheld my own beauty
through his caress and gaze,
mouth and words. I tried
to crawl inside him
as deep as he is in me.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
tremble in the cold - revised
I want to lay with you
half revealed in twilight,
our nakedness entwined
and swaddled unkempt
– your cigarette aglow,
"this is the good stuff"
I say soft, sweet
are my lips on you –
shoulders bared,
I tremble in the cold
against your heat
as wet beneath, sweat
streams in tiny rivulets.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
opportunity
the round room
is all doors;
watch me
see if i don't
find a window
to pry open and
crawl free.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
tremble in the cold
I want to sit with you
half revealed in twilight
your cigarette aglow
"this is the good stuff"
sweet, my lips on you
tremble in the cold
against your heat.
remember when the glass shattered - unfinished
Remember when the glass shattered and I said I was sorry?
The ligament in my thumb was cut to the bone, never quite healing.
It took two shots and it still didn't numb so I said do it anyway
and eight stitches and a month later, I had a scar that ached in the rain.
Remember when the glass shattered and I said I was sorry? And
in the moment you missed your race but I held through the pain – no tears –
only later to weep and pick up the heart you cut from me with your tongue,
your anger spilling over me like acid all that time, but I never bittered.
Years passed and finally I came to understand it was selfishness;
You said it was selfishness and I said that's not a good reason.
All those years of emotional stitches, no, it was not a good reason.
Remember how my heart shattered and I said I was sorry?
Well I am not sorry for those years of anger though I know you are.
They did not toughen me but instilled in me a knowledge that
sometimes hearts must break before they can be stitched and mend.
on occasion death haunts me
That night I dreamt of
blood drips from fingertips
as I leaned back into a doze
not knowing whence such
intense feelings flooded.
Tell me did the water wash
your sins away, Stevie Ray?
Is that how you went? And
how could I feel your spirit
slip and slide, release
from so very far away when
my own brother I saw
screaming to an empty room?
All he left? A hollow shell.
Monday, November 06, 2006
three from sunday
hum, hum, hum
the machine whirs
soft and low.
the birds chirp
in tiny thrills.
the soft moan
of you coming
undone.
every day
cherished sounds.
I stop in the moment;
open my heart, my mind.
I may never hear
these things again
but I will never lose them.
II
I can bare my joy
blindly to the world
but my pain? my fear?
I lick like crumbs
from the plate
and swallow
with sweet hot tea
slowly.
III
give me your todays
and let tomorrow lay
in your trust and keep
that I would follow.
Friday, November 03, 2006
(dream of you?) I do...
I
I want to touch your face
in pools of midnight
endlessly.
II
Yes, I have sung songs of crushes
soft to lovers lost and left
(this past year in celibate verse).
Yet in present passion's keep it is
of you, sweetheart, to wit
for which my heart hums in bliss.
III
Will you still desire me if
I let you see my socks?
Fuzzy monkey socks
warm in black and tan?
IV
You still the thoughts
of endless chatter
that drive me dense,
draw my focus
taught, intense,
into the beauty of
a freckle's depth
and soft fine hairs
my nose caressed,
and stir my mouth
to water and libido
to long.
It is in
you I quench
my thirst for which
only you are the punch
(the cookies, the paste
after the nap devoured
in haste).
V
I want to give you only sweetness,
the last drop for you to suck
from the tip of my tongue
with your last breath.
Only I can neither speak of last breaths
nor allow myself to want,
but live in the moment afeared
that happiness finally is here.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
the cube
Current mood: the object of patience
this was an excercise from a book. i believe both are called teh cube. i'm not posting the exercise. after the exercise, we were told what the objects we were told to envision mean. some chose cubes of wood, cubes of light, fluctuating cubes...here is mine and afterward, the...unveiling that i am still puzzling over.
in a slight impression of sand the cube lay
masaic cuts in metal gleaming
like the sun in shattered bright array
large as life yet upon approach
no larger than the nail of my thumb…
and leaning on the Palm close by, a ladder of Ash. Foreign to these tropical shores and old even during the youth of man.
Not a yard past it all, a stead, nineteen hands tall and pale as the moon. Nosing the earth, his bright eye's glistening, eyeing me, eyeing the cube, ignoring the ladder, ignoring…
the storm the sand swirling in funnels skittering about, funnels like tornadoes feeding sand into the deep.
I stepped about the cube toward my stead. His gaze now steady, a myriad soft blue morning glories springing from his main; one, two, three…
while the funnels flitter off and away.
the cube is me
the ladder is my friends
the horse is my lover
the storm is trouble
the flowers are children
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
new month steady (a little ditty fairly shakespeare-esque)
he said bye, bye butterfly
as she flittered off into a new day
sustained on nectar sweet
and cheecks blushed of but a two hours' sleep.
heavy comes the day
the night
heavy comes life
panic in the becoming
a responsible social
un-outcast
responsibility breeds
conformity, conformity
breeds responsibility
it's all a tie down
bile in the pit rising
and I want to spit, panic
- in love is freedom
- away
- from time filling
the spirit that endeavors
to persevere
is not the one that burns
in the sun bright smiling.
she turns neatly
five and a half
months going on sad
so in love and yet
she sought the end
too bi-polar/unsure
she wants the constant high
and in reciprocation oodles
she dreams of madness
could only step so neat away
with lash perturbing
never coming free
she blinks
she pokes and prods and
scratches nervous, unfocused
laughing full deep
mousy
not that long-legged blonde
she thinks you need
but will never know
cause you never really said.
Monday, February 12, 2007
pales despotic
Her mind too often comes round to him;
the object of her affection more than whim
and the parting on her hard. She wanted
to seek solace in the attention of others and
admits to the smallest shallow bone. Saved;
a brother in arms, neat beside her, kept
comfort where the others drew aloof and
she steps brief inside to need no other. All
the while Sorrow sings soft you are loved
pales despotic against you are wanted.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
wish you were here
missing:
my brother and family
wish
you were here
wish
I had had you once.
Monday, February 05, 2007
solipsist
I was humming
Suo Gan in the grocery store
in disturbing clarity. But
I am not a singer;
my voice was made
for coos and soft pleases,
my body much the same,
and a heart that wants
it all.
Friday, February 02, 2007
this morning weary
This morning, weary
eyes returned my gaze;
I thought of mother
of sister, their eyes
slight with madness. And
though I have their smile
belaying sweetness,
in my eyes I see only
sadness of rare occasion
coming through. Yet
like their burdens, mine
plead to find a heart
to understand, to sooth
to bring me home.
Monday, January 29, 2007
death be not proud
Oh Death, be not proud
but come a beggar
thief in the night
thief in the day, wet
kiss on too cool lips
a blessed step into
that longest goodnight.
No, Death, be not proud
for those that remain
slay You in memoriam
of laughter and sweetest
passions to live, to love.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
feeling things out
I asked him, "do you wanna go steady?"
he says to me, "yes, no, maybe,
do you wanna live in a…
mansion,
apartment
shack
shed,
please check one…"
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
roughhousing
We were roughhousing
but the tears fell;
there was pain
in my heart
that sought voice
and it manifest in tears.
You kissed them away,
away shushing, regret;
I felt small, cherished,
hurt diminishing
in your arms and words.
Our twilight tête-à-tête
discovering much
disclosing thoughts;
I don't know tomorrow
but want more today.
And oh but I wanted
to ask what to do,
what you want of me;
seek guidance
in your wisdom,
for you are wise. (Though
you know as much as I.)
And I want you to realize
my need, my pain, also
that you are a wonder
to me, and it is conceivable
I want you justly. Today.
on existance
I know I've said some of this before, but...I'm feeling introspective and wanting more time from my lover...but not the world, not yet...
Every relationship has a time and place, a depth and duration, a purpose.
There are no answers and we can only know these things once all is said and done.
And sometiems...sadly but fortunately, we realize the myriad and infinite possibilities become an even more limited number of potential probablities and once decisions are made, freadom of choice becomes fate...
and life can only unfold the way it will.
But I want to exist in this moment a while longer and beg the Fates let me.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
death allows me to love
He, my older brother
now younger than I, he…
looked to me for hope –
his savior. But I failed.
I spoke the words,
signed in ink like blood
and watched his life
painfully slip away.
As if this weren't enough
when the time came I…
I left him with Dad and others –
friends surrounding, yes.
But it was in me that hope
was misplaced and I left him.
I left him in his dying.
Guilt I suppose and
sadly, always will I carry
death in my heart, never
knowing that I will ever
let it go, that it will free me.
But death, you see, allows
me to love desperately
and passionately – as me.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
in my heart i am home
There is stillness in the damp
of the earth
but a few branches sway
gently as I glean
the myriad complexity,
calm of the scene.
Out my backdoor comes the birds
comes their song
Out on the front porch
the baby Gecko suns.
Softly, suddenly, contentment I find;
not so much in this place
as in my heart, the girl I've become,
with friends surrounding
and love found – my new darling.
Yes, home is where the heart is
and in my heart I am home.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
in my lover's touch
yester-eve in my lovers touch
I stopped to breathe,
the myriad cacophony,
of a mind's day simply,
beatifically, hushed;
Came the light, came
the day, and almost
did I blush overlong,
cling too fast, love too much,
verily did I sleep too soft,
his nearness…
his nearness…
and my thought trailedd off.
Monday, December 18, 2006
on turning thirty-seven
Used to think I was moving t'ward somethin'
when birthdays came around.
Now there's an uncomforting squeaze
like pants so tight cain't breathe.
Thirty-seven feels strange
and I am suddenly
in more thought than once
when afeared of shadows
that come too close.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
stop, breathe, believe
sometimes
we hear what we want to hear
believe what we want to believe
he is guilty of this
I am guilty of this
but I see
he wears his self-depreciation
on his sleeve
I bear my insecurity in constant messaging.
we two kindred spirits stretching
stop, breathe, believe;
have fun with it, together be free.
Monday, December 11, 2006
only we can give our dreams breath
the ties that bind the mind that sets you free
settling down finding freedom
getting married committing to wanting the best for him
and honesty and validation
buying a house exploring life
social perception my reality
only we can give our dreams breath
Friday, December 08, 2006
madness stirs
on the brink of joy
madness stirs
…and fear
and I am restless
life no longer
holding me intent
not when
I have glimpsed
more
and drunk morning
dew from lips sweet
Thursday, December 07, 2006
entangled
told him
I'm scared of him
my voice felt meek
psyche timid
he didn't reply
in words
but held me
overlong
too sweet
cheek pressed
against my hair
arms and hands
entangled
he said hush now
sleep
and I slept
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
freedom
Don't fall in love with you?
she asked in startlement;
No, no, I said don't fall
off the bed, he replied in patience.
Freedom is throwing off the shackles of shoulds
for the good and natural and real.
Monday, December 04, 2006
moonshadows
He gazed on me
bathed in moonshadows.
I beheld my own breasts
waist, hip – cool flesh
beneath his too hot touch –
I beheld my own beauty
through his caress and gaze,
mouth and words. I tried
to crawl inside him
as deep as he is in me.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
tremble in the cold - revised
I want to lay with you
half revealed in twilight,
our nakedness entwined
and swaddled unkempt
– your cigarette aglow,
"this is the good stuff"
I say soft, sweet
are my lips on you –
shoulders bared,
I tremble in the cold
against your heat
as wet beneath, sweat
streams in tiny rivulets.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
opportunity
the round room
is all doors;
watch me
see if i don't
find a window
to pry open and
crawl free.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
tremble in the cold
I want to sit with you
half revealed in twilight
your cigarette aglow
"this is the good stuff"
sweet, my lips on you
tremble in the cold
against your heat.
remember when the glass shattered - unfinished
Remember when the glass shattered and I said I was sorry?
The ligament in my thumb was cut to the bone, never quite healing.
It took two shots and it still didn't numb so I said do it anyway
and eight stitches and a month later, I had a scar that ached in the rain.
Remember when the glass shattered and I said I was sorry? And
in the moment you missed your race but I held through the pain – no tears –
only later to weep and pick up the heart you cut from me with your tongue,
your anger spilling over me like acid all that time, but I never bittered.
Years passed and finally I came to understand it was selfishness;
You said it was selfishness and I said that's not a good reason.
All those years of emotional stitches, no, it was not a good reason.
Remember how my heart shattered and I said I was sorry?
Well I am not sorry for those years of anger though I know you are.
They did not toughen me but instilled in me a knowledge that
sometimes hearts must break before they can be stitched and mend.
on occasion death haunts me
That night I dreamt of
blood drips from fingertips
as I leaned back into a doze
not knowing whence such
intense feelings flooded.
Tell me did the water wash
your sins away, Stevie Ray?
Is that how you went? And
how could I feel your spirit
slip and slide, release
from so very far away when
my own brother I saw
screaming to an empty room?
All he left? A hollow shell.
Monday, November 06, 2006
three from sunday
hum, hum, hum
the machine whirs
soft and low.
the birds chirp
in tiny thrills.
the soft moan
of you coming
undone.
every day
cherished sounds.
I stop in the moment;
open my heart, my mind.
I may never hear
these things again
but I will never lose them.
II
I can bare my joy
blindly to the world
but my pain? my fear?
I lick like crumbs
from the plate
and swallow
with sweet hot tea
slowly.
III
give me your todays
and let tomorrow lay
in your trust and keep
that I would follow.
Friday, November 03, 2006
(dream of you?) I do...
I
I want to touch your face
in pools of midnight
endlessly.
II
Yes, I have sung songs of crushes
soft to lovers lost and left
(this past year in celibate verse).
Yet in present passion's keep it is
of you, sweetheart, to wit
for which my heart hums in bliss.
III
Will you still desire me if
I let you see my socks?
Fuzzy monkey socks
warm in black and tan?
IV
You still the thoughts
of endless chatter
that drive me dense,
draw my focus
taught, intense,
into the beauty of
a freckle's depth
and soft fine hairs
my nose caressed,
and stir my mouth
to water and libido
to long.
It is in
you I quench
my thirst for which
only you are the punch
(the cookies, the paste
after the nap devoured
in haste).
V
I want to give you only sweetness,
the last drop for you to suck
from the tip of my tongue
with your last breath.
Only I can neither speak of last breaths
nor allow myself to want,
but live in the moment afeared
that happiness finally is here.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
the cube
Current mood: the object of patience
this was an excercise from a book. i believe both are called teh cube. i'm not posting the exercise. after the exercise, we were told what the objects we were told to envision mean. some chose cubes of wood, cubes of light, fluctuating cubes...here is mine and afterward, the...unveiling that i am still puzzling over.
in a slight impression of sand the cube lay
masaic cuts in metal gleaming
like the sun in shattered bright array
large as life yet upon approach
no larger than the nail of my thumb…
and leaning on the Palm close by, a ladder of Ash. Foreign to these tropical shores and old even during the youth of man.
Not a yard past it all, a stead, nineteen hands tall and pale as the moon. Nosing the earth, his bright eye's glistening, eyeing me, eyeing the cube, ignoring the ladder, ignoring…
the storm the sand swirling in funnels skittering about, funnels like tornadoes feeding sand into the deep.
I stepped about the cube toward my stead. His gaze now steady, a myriad soft blue morning glories springing from his main; one, two, three…
while the funnels flitter off and away.
the cube is me
the ladder is my friends
the horse is my lover
the storm is trouble
the flowers are children
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
new month steady (a little ditty fairly shakespeare-esque)
he said bye, bye butterfly
as she flittered off into a new day
sustained on nectar sweet
and cheecks blushed of but a two hours' sleep.
Friday, October 20, 2006
sublime - le petite poem
he
fire like chili
powder pure
not that damn mixed up tainted Americanized shit
fire like chili
powder pure
not that damn mixed up tainted Americanized shit
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
damn, i keep forgetting to post here...
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
wanderlust
I want to say; go I will await,
would chance your non-return
for your free spirit is a part
of you for which I fall and
I would only have you ever-free
never bound, never, no regrets.
Yet in the next breath I would
beg; stay (not long), and let
our wanderlusts together go
farther than either could alone.
love poem uno (caution, f* word)
that first time, no condoms
no intercourse, something to look forward to.
the next I brought them
we used one before
temptation rode in on bare back
and he said there's always the morning after pill
and I said no, not for me there isn't.
and we fucked hard, harder,
making love intermittently
dancing around words unsaid;
no clear definition of what we are
where we are going but sure
to let the other know
I am seeing only you.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
baby steps
and finally I said
you know I adore you, right?
and he laughed low, repeated
you know I adore you, right?
and then he said
he's not going anywhere soon.
Friday, October 06, 2006
breathless
Like a deer caught
in a bright glare
against a dark night
I
am deathly afraid
of being happy...
yet on the brink of it
I may well poise
bright-eyed and
breathless.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
like a carny ride
Like a carny-ride
with a few screws loose
I thought
this closet is too big for just one.
So reticent to call I dawdled
then decreed;
come sail away with me.
Monday, September 25, 2006
poem for t.c.
Cool, the breeze lulls languid
as soft I slept and dreamt
dreams of the land I will roam
far and free, ever at home.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
age is just numbers
I called you so pretty.
Your laugh naked
for far too many
hours languid, giggly
we spoke too close
seductive bouncing
like lovers falling;
and I sighed soft
when smooth you remarked
numbers...oh, age is just
numbers, baby,
age is just numbers.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
some days little girls need their daddy
In conversation I realized
my father is aging
I can hear the days lament
soft
still southern
despite his foray out
about
the years up north
now in the northeast
he made me cry
the way he still calls me
baby
the way he claims
I would love it there
how
he wants to get me up there
to Seattle
near him and Annie
and the girls
wants to make up for lost time
spent working
leaving us to mother
how he wants to be my father
and how would I
in my independence
finally let him
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
i run my hand along the wall
I run my hand along the wall
recalling other walls
"This one" I say soft
almost unintelligible.
And he gave me that
odd look like men do
and grunted
"gonna take some work."
But this wall, it will be
home; I will paint it
dark creams and vibrant
golds. Like the others.
The walls I sold. The
walls adjacent to the fence
brother's death built.
The walls in my heart
that screamed vibrant reds
and neon greens.
Yet these walls will whisper
welcome home, Wanderer,
stop, sleep, believe.
I promise I will never bind
but open doors to dreams.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
poetry is
in imitation of Carl Sandberg's "Tentative (First Model) Definitions of Poetry"
Poetry is the slicing of the veins,
the bleeding of the soul
the burying of old remains.
Poetry is the scratch scratch
the pen makes; salt
in silent wounds.
Poetry is a long walk, soft wind,
one man's flesh consumed until
her little heart goes on the mend.
Poetry is the physical manifestation
of despair come calling
leaving the tongue to swoon.
Monday, September 11, 2006
patience hard come
calm he/i
old habits and hurt
the ex
too/so much like
stay
never take
the easy way
never never
run again
if
lend him your love
sweetie, baby he said.
in abject despondence (or bite me e.e.cummings)
3 results for: despondent
–feeling or showing
profound hopelessness,
dejection, discouragement,
or gloom:
despondent about failing health.
—Synonyms
disheartened,
downhearted,
melancholy, blue.
melancholia
blue
melancholia bleu
melancholia balooooo
melancholia balows
Friday, September 08, 2006
a soft prayer whispered
Great Magnet in your wisdom
let him be your vessel...
bring me back to the earth.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
virgins starving
I had forgotten
some things
how much I like
and lips' first kiss
of whispers.
The dragged out
fall down following
was a first;
virgins starving.
Attraction
ascertained.
creativity or love?
remember you asked me once if i would choose creativity or love?
i chose love
i choose love
spirit
body
mind
friendship
eternal
fleeting
there are as many ways to love as there is to anguish.
wanderlust
I want to say; go I will await,
would chance your non-return
for your free spirit is a part
of you for which I fall and
I would only have you ever-free
never bound, never, no regrets.
Yet in the next breath I would
beg; stay (not long), and let
our wanderlusts together go
farther than either could alone.
love poem uno (caution, f* word)
that first time, no condoms
no intercourse, something to look forward to.
the next I brought them
we used one before
temptation rode in on bare back
and he said there's always the morning after pill
and I said no, not for me there isn't.
and we fucked hard, harder,
making love intermittently
dancing around words unsaid;
no clear definition of what we are
where we are going but sure
to let the other know
I am seeing only you.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
baby steps
and finally I said
you know I adore you, right?
and he laughed low, repeated
you know I adore you, right?
and then he said
he's not going anywhere soon.
Friday, October 06, 2006
breathless
Like a deer caught
in a bright glare
against a dark night
I
am deathly afraid
of being happy...
yet on the brink of it
I may well poise
bright-eyed and
breathless.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
like a carny ride
Like a carny-ride
with a few screws loose
I thought
this closet is too big for just one.
So reticent to call I dawdled
then decreed;
come sail away with me.
Monday, September 25, 2006
poem for t.c.
Cool, the breeze lulls languid
as soft I slept and dreamt
dreams of the land I will roam
far and free, ever at home.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
age is just numbers
I called you so pretty.
Your laugh naked
for far too many
hours languid, giggly
we spoke too close
seductive bouncing
like lovers falling;
and I sighed soft
when smooth you remarked
numbers...oh, age is just
numbers, baby,
age is just numbers.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
some days little girls need their daddy
In conversation I realized
my father is aging
I can hear the days lament
soft
still southern
despite his foray out
about
the years up north
now in the northeast
he made me cry
the way he still calls me
baby
the way he claims
I would love it there
how
he wants to get me up there
to Seattle
near him and Annie
and the girls
wants to make up for lost time
spent working
leaving us to mother
how he wants to be my father
and how would I
in my independence
finally let him
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
i run my hand along the wall
I run my hand along the wall
recalling other walls
"This one" I say soft
almost unintelligible.
And he gave me that
odd look like men do
and grunted
"gonna take some work."
But this wall, it will be
home; I will paint it
dark creams and vibrant
golds. Like the others.
The walls I sold. The
walls adjacent to the fence
brother's death built.
The walls in my heart
that screamed vibrant reds
and neon greens.
Yet these walls will whisper
welcome home, Wanderer,
stop, sleep, believe.
I promise I will never bind
but open doors to dreams.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
poetry is
in imitation of Carl Sandberg's "Tentative (First Model) Definitions of Poetry"
Poetry is the slicing of the veins,
the bleeding of the soul
the burying of old remains.
Poetry is the scratch scratch
the pen makes; salt
in silent wounds.
Poetry is a long walk, soft wind,
one man's flesh consumed until
her little heart goes on the mend.
Poetry is the physical manifestation
of despair come calling
leaving the tongue to swoon.
Monday, September 11, 2006
patience hard come
calm he/i
old habits and hurt
the ex
too/so much like
stay
never take
the easy way
never never
run again
if
lend him your love
sweetie, baby he said.
in abject despondence (or bite me e.e.cummings)
3 results for: despondent
–feeling or showing
profound hopelessness,
dejection, discouragement,
or gloom:
despondent about failing health.
—Synonyms
disheartened,
downhearted,
melancholy, blue.
melancholia
blue
melancholia bleu
melancholia balooooo
melancholia balows
Friday, September 08, 2006
a soft prayer whispered
Great Magnet in your wisdom
let him be your vessel...
bring me back to the earth.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
virgins starving
I had forgotten
some things
how much I like
and lips' first kiss
of whispers.
The dragged out
fall down following
was a first;
virgins starving.
Attraction
ascertained.
creativity or love?
remember you asked me once if i would choose creativity or love?
i chose love
i choose love
spirit
body
mind
friendship
eternal
fleeting
there are as many ways to love as there is to anguish.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
three poems on three days
light that flickers
light that flickers
deep behind eyes
in parts of the brain
left dormant, sometimes
stirring, startling,
awakening. finding
comfort in darkness
past midnight
and I cannot fall back
to the dreamscape, find
no door despite fervent
searching, drifting,
attempts to meditate,
center, focus restless
thoughts indeterminate.
finally I sleep, dream
and a little black kitten
stiff begins to move, its'
tiny stuffed paws pet
my cheeks of tears blindly
- both of us blindly -
staring not quite glassy
eyes left unseeing.
tell me, what is this?
expunge my psyche,
my heart, my soul,
expose my dementia
but tell me I am never
like Mother stunted
afraid of shadows.
Friday, September 01, 2006
socio-conformist love
love marriage sex babies
love marriage sex babies
love marriage sex babies
possession control judgment
codependence need dysfunction
I would never seek to belittle you
who want these things. They are
for you. They are yours. They are
not for me, They are not mine.
Fill me with the freedom to love
at will in the purity of thought,
in the sanguinity of flesh. Let me
take my lovers without sacrifice
of self and never live knowing
what I have or have not. Let me
never lend an ear towardyour
prisons of socio-conformist love
for I would wither not too sweet.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
crappy poem that doesn't convey the sentiment i was after
I love me, you know I do
but what attracts is attitude
though even that I lack
in extreme measure.
I am ever the realist, knowing
I am not the hot, cool, chick,
not the super sexy blonde
nor dark, exotic, mysterious.
Im kinda geeky, kinda silly.
I make faces at the camera,
spend too much time alone,
rather plain, sometimes smart,
more often on the verge of
transcendence and madness,
glad to be there and alive
and breathe fire, spit flames.
and take long naps in the sun
some days speaking to no one,
Maybe that's the attraction?
I am not afraid to dive
head first into the abyss,
never afraid to live or love.
light that flickers
deep behind eyes
in parts of the brain
left dormant, sometimes
stirring, startling,
awakening. finding
comfort in darkness
past midnight
and I cannot fall back
to the dreamscape, find
no door despite fervent
searching, drifting,
attempts to meditate,
center, focus restless
thoughts indeterminate.
finally I sleep, dream
and a little black kitten
stiff begins to move, its'
tiny stuffed paws pet
my cheeks of tears blindly
- both of us blindly -
staring not quite glassy
eyes left unseeing.
tell me, what is this?
expunge my psyche,
my heart, my soul,
expose my dementia
but tell me I am never
like Mother stunted
afraid of shadows.
Friday, September 01, 2006
socio-conformist love
love marriage sex babies
love marriage sex babies
love marriage sex babies
possession control judgment
codependence need dysfunction
I would never seek to belittle you
who want these things. They are
for you. They are yours. They are
not for me, They are not mine.
Fill me with the freedom to love
at will in the purity of thought,
in the sanguinity of flesh. Let me
take my lovers without sacrifice
of self and never live knowing
what I have or have not. Let me
never lend an ear towardyour
prisons of socio-conformist love
for I would wither not too sweet.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
crappy poem that doesn't convey the sentiment i was after
I love me, you know I do
but what attracts is attitude
though even that I lack
in extreme measure.
I am ever the realist, knowing
I am not the hot, cool, chick,
not the super sexy blonde
nor dark, exotic, mysterious.
Im kinda geeky, kinda silly.
I make faces at the camera,
spend too much time alone,
rather plain, sometimes smart,
more often on the verge of
transcendence and madness,
glad to be there and alive
and breathe fire, spit flames.
and take long naps in the sun
some days speaking to no one,
Maybe that's the attraction?
I am not afraid to dive
head first into the abyss,
never afraid to live or love.