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 song6 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
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,
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.
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-
she saidshe saidshe said9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i think i'll take six sleeping pills
just to see what my pupils do
she laughed, she was joking
don't you ever wonder what insanity
tastes like? a swirling, anarchic tantalising addiction?
and we'll violate the bordersi.and we'll violate the borders6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I set sail;
My dreamboat a séance in the tide
That would not overlook my own disposure.
Misplaced, only by convenience
Was my attention as I stood before the coastal guards
Who displaced the borderlines between Côte d'Ivoire
And dead metaphors that lined the shore.
Those governors of words,
Masters of their craft;
They told me, instruction clad, enigma strong
There's a quiet enchantment that the world offers,
It arrives like a wave, but shatters like a storm.
Might you stand firm against the waking dawn
That threatens to rip apart the essence of who you are?I fed from the contents that spilled from their lips;
Their words a ship anchored on the edge of imagination
In semblances of a tutorial about poetry this and poetry that
And like the dreamer I was,
I sauntered into the horizon of urban poetry;
Burning coffee-cup aspirations
Rising on the edge of my fingers, the tip of my tongue.
Consorting envy, my muse
I watched a man string
JourneysBrown charred eyes strolling wistfully downJourneys6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
ancient roads embedded with Jerusalem stones.
Stale mildew-scent of young memories rests
against fresh baked bread on moss covered walls.
With slow stiltish steps, an aimless jaunt,
thoughts drift back to small precious things;
marble words rolling down flushed cheeks.
Ode from a hamburgerI saw you staring -Ode from a hamburger10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
how could you resist?
No woman here could blame you for
wanting me between your lips
(and maybe I'll go lower,
and get friendly with your hips).
And I'll bet you've never seen
so much meat in one place -
or a pair of buns like these.
I could be so bad for you;
but don't worry,
I won't bite,
even if you do.
A Generic Horror PoemFather, I spoke with a knot in my tongue, Why do we hide and run?A Generic Horror Poem7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Father was despondent in look, but cheerful in speech, We conceal ourselves so there is no end for us to meet.
But what of mother and sister; we left them behind.
We had to my child, for they had lost their minds.
The skies roared as winds churned raucously. The brightest star in the days sky had become the darkest dot in our eyes. There were no others on the empty street; just my father and I, our faces bleak.
Why must we move, when theres nowhere to go? Cant we stay, and watch all else flow?
No my son, we cannot halt our pace. As long as we stand, it is our scents that they trace.
There were tall buildings all around; they blocked the tenacious screams and shouts, leaving only my father and I to walk about.
What if they find us as we walk this trail?
The SearchI have hounded mythology, legend, fable,The Search6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
for words to do justice
to the depths of your eyes
I am not surprised,
that though I have hunted,
my throat is still parched
of appropriate words.
Aloe vera. Pine.
The paint-shade on maps, of oceans, of tree-tops,
the spectrum of sea-breeze, the north wind, star-shards
Lime. Avocado. Apples. Grapes.
Pears. Olives. Parsley. Sage.
They are too mundane, too common, too dull,
they acknowledge this:
your irises rule
more than one sense.
when they saw the aurora,
did they hurry to name it
or for once, simply stare?
language hates indecision,
science fails at our hands,
geography writhes in confusion,
art buries its pr