That HumAs I look at her, with her beautiful honey hairThat Hum7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my lungs feel colder than my head. With each bruise
the cr-creak at my feet grows louder and louderan dlouder
and that void filling hum in low lectric tonesss -
if I had arms to hug, or ears to hear, I would
I would definitely
fall in love.
winter song.winter song7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I paid for you in silver dollars,
rabbit bones, and snail shells.
Beneath the flannel crush,
a twining of lash fingers,
I weight you with catamount claws,
I bury you in firewarmed stone
You are mine,
and I eat you with moth mouth
and spin you to silk.
When the winter stripped aspen bark
and the elk starved til their hooves
were too light to keep them tethered-
I carved the shape of a palm beneath the doorwood
and you tied three husk dolls to the tallest sapling.
We were a bowl, carved hollow and narrow
as pine needles and pressed against coals
and dog fur, leaning like lightning away
from blistered earth, taut with freeze,
away from wood, shrunk and sap-sticky-
dove tails untied and ribboned and bare.
Your spine is a naked rope and I climb you
to clouds rippled like sea-sand, my eyes
are bottle glass green.
I seize waves and swallow them to smoke.
You pad my throat with ash and
settle my bones with sandstone
and sink me to mud, coffined in ice.
You sell my teeth for cornmeal and
the city is a mouththe city is a mouth5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
says this is
my last cigarette
ThereisnosleepinnothingnessI don't want to touch myself with my handsThereisnosleepinnothingness6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
for fear of swallowing myself into the nothingness
that exists beneath the the patterned lines
and empty hollows of my skin.
I inhale, and smell like gravity
and the sweet echoes of sickened flesh.
Light fades, and the shadows stand, whole
over my body in the empty room.
Then, between the pressures of my mind
there was only silence.
A stillness in the absence of alien thoughts.
I'd wake in the middle of the night
or in the early hours of morning
staring into the mirror
into the blackness.
the empty space where my face must be,
breathing in the dark
where time was tangible
and I was lost in the fragility
of the soft beat in the womb.
I'd touch the glass and whisper
"are you there? are you there?"
poetry like teaI never want to know you.poetry like tea7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I want to wonder, want to slide back-down and backwards across your glissandos,
linger over the breaths and pauses,
pour into the warm and dark hollows that you curve into your words,
nestle there like water or skin:
I want to sink into the cracks between consonants, smooth them over,
find the sighs folded into the velvet roundness of an O,
contemplate each brightly fractured e in your name, how it
is wrenched open to the world, wounded, and still
curled tight as a fist over the wound:
I want to drink poetry like tea,
in sips, with sugar,
and then in longer draughts until it washes down my throat like heat
and I forget, for a moment, that winter lasts longer than this
and I am far from home:
I want to find you in dead trees and bathroom stalls,
carved with some memory of permanence into the flat surfaces of my world
accompanied by numbers I will never call
for fear of breaking the intimacy of anonymity:
I want to picture you (a picture of you) wi
theoretical layersand the snowflakes that hide behind our eyes,theoretical layers6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as we compress them to close, melting around our hearts,
dampening a too exciting feeling, falling on a cedar tree
from whence we fell, laughing, and I think perhaps
a one-sided heart cracks its own eggs open.
The stones themselves enunciate their praise,
and all, we, tremble to bear upon their steadfastness,
a chivalrous guard against a whiling wind, dead
in a despairing song, tumultuous and contrary
to our living claims, and it is as silent as its name.
I concern over the state of our campfire
as you feed it your life, as it hungers all the while,
as we thirst all the more for the rain to quench
our dirty throats, as we only feel its warmth
as it only takes our own.
and these snowflakes that rest beneath our eyes,
frostily gathered in the corpse of a gaze, understanding
the overstatement of a name that fits as many feet with gloves;
those were the acts that play in the mind's eye,
and quintessential to the tongue, perhaps.
none more exper
Winter Series1.Winter Series6 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
the winter compost
100 miles away
my grandfather's ashes
the janitor vacuums
a second time
his street name
on the skid row wall...
a commercial selling
the sound of knuckles
of a raven's cry-
over an ex boyfriend
my little sister
on the ways of men
the beggar eyes
a gingerbread house
through her breath
in the pack rat's nest
overcast on every poster the same child
nothing to discuss
beyond weather reports
than our summer affair
the storefront Santa
in a fire lane
a spider drops
leaning one way
New Year's morning
my father combs back
on the frozen trail
Don't fall in loveI'm sunkDon't fall in love6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
With poison darts;
The mercurial blood-sap.
Under the BedPapa! she calls. Through half-closed eyesUnder the Bed7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I try to focus - so tired. My lips move by themselves,
mumbled words slipping softly Yes, dear. Im here.
Papa! Come fast! Its there!
My feet shuffle automatically as I enter her room. Looking around,
the corner is empty; so is her closet and under the bed.
Honey, theres nothing here. Yes there is! It called my name!
What does it look like, dear? I sit, trying to understand.
It got black eyes, and mustache, long teeth and hairy hands!
Speaking hisses, go - rawr! And its still calling my name
Does it hide in your closet? No
Is it under the bed? Does it jump, blowing bubbles,
speaking French, clapping hands?
Papa! shes angry. Thats not funny at all. A monster is hiding
and its dark, and its tall, and its scary and mean! Papa,
HaikuWrimo 20081.HaikuWrimo 20087 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Gray drops cover her eyes,
the proud delphiniums.
Incarnadine leaves fall, brush
coloring gray sidewalks.
Peach daiquiri walls
lazy mandarin sun.
fall down on your hair
blend in naïve ginger.
Floating isles of white spots
rest by beige shores;
my numbing Dead Sea.
Mahogany chairs stand
bloody cherry wood table.
Waves crash on her skin
white foam lingers,
tightly clenching my heart.
Musk scented shirt and razor
on my toilet floor -
all that was left.
never worn. Never will.
Magenta feather kisses
a roseate blush
when she says - I love you.
Red flames devour
scars, wounds, flesh;
They fall, one by one,
break their necks. Sighs.
Locking the door she heaved
now that there is no one.
Smoldering coals crowd,
flaring reds burst
hissing in anger.
Her palms enc
First Lovei.First Love6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
rows of fairy lights rope
towards the turbulent city
Warm evenings, playing in the park,
till your mam came shouting .
Every night of summer.
You never cared how different we were.
Toilet paper decorates leafless trees and
your lungs fill with newly discovered smoke as
You admire your handiwork.
The sexes split. You tease
the girls for attention.
Those amber lights merely rows
upon rows of ugly terraces all designed by the same architect.
We never talk.
You were seen
with your hands
down her trousers
tomorrow you will blame intoxication.
Under the red skies, we exchanged memories like
veterans warmly recalling fallen friends. Swings rocked
in the winds, squeaking slowly sharing our dynamic;
juxtaposed on that faithful bench. You told me you hated what
you had become.
Red turned grey turned black,
drizzle soaked our skin.
You held me close as we walked
back to your house--
It wasn't your first time
I ignored the pain.
You never visit the park anymore.
Words from ChainsAs I differ words from chainsWords from Chains6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
crosspanes spin out of control.
In one of which -- under looming sun --
my kris fingers crack like a fractured crock;
a façade of being a flexile toll.
My bleached upper lips
smell rotten in their fear
of being framed, outed, exposed
by the heat of burning oak under
smoldering monumental tea pot.
We stir that pot, stir it good
so all the juices of our lives
mix and merge; a pot-pourri of tastes.
Then we pour it down our throats
slowly, as not to burn by the intensity
of being alive.
I used to stare at this brooch of yours,
that grandma-green below your neckline.
I used to stare and think this is not my love,
this is us. These are these, and those
Now I differ, once again -
words from chains, words from chains.
The sun still looms above our heads
with crease-crossed skies -- we swore
if you remember, not to forget --
the fire still stands still, and you
and me, and they These are not wrinkles
at the alcove of my fingers; this is m
Saint PaulWe are female, we are flammable.Saint Paul7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Feathered cologne reeks of skies and miles
It makes us retch;
Us skeleton girls with smoking bones.
I do not care for birds-
the jackdaw and wren.
They locked us underground, grave girls.
We were interred, soil filling our ears;
our cotton, our stuffing.
Earth worms whispered-
"These skeleton trees do not belong,
they will soar past things that are built
they will grow spiny, dry and yellow
sick, sick to the sky.
They will only care for the height."
We were buried amongst scholars and kings,
Us poets, we Queens, below the birds.
I do not care for their creations;
They are the reason we have no flesh-
picking our eyes, fresh and fine,
the best of the crop, our drooping eyes.
They saw them, globular like eggs
and took, cuckoos, to raise as their own.
They wish their young were as green.
Haikuwrimo - Feb - 2009Haikuwrimo - Feb - 20097 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
behind gray cloud;
without a shadow.
fast approaching- rivers drown-
fall on blades of grass-
breaks winters silence.
all in vain- rains pour
from all directions.
a crystalline stream and green meadow
before the hurricane.
the only fruit of winter;
life has written on her face
heavy, drove cattle
down the mountain
dressed for death-
fall like angels
macabre as they fall,
cadence of clouds
plovers fly over-