Month: April 2010

fire and ice twizzle through me i am born again i am born through the burning ice and biting flame lackadaisically floating strawlike on lost cusps of wind that seem to multiply with every

with every single

with every single breath…

spitfire grail and deep black coals she walks among us

relentless in her silence

it hits me hardest.

she comes bearing the gifts of her virtuous body, open to me to me to those who see.  she comes and i come and we come and

she doesn’t know what happened.

Pink rising floating far and to the bottom back again and
the petals swoop up in a whirlwind, back down again and

they fall

until it is evident they were never rising ever, but rather shooting into the horizon of naught, wandering far and far

and far and far.

Specks of brown filter in front of my eyes, dashes of blues and grays, sparkles of white. I hover dangling

dripping

supreme surprise on the horizon

(oh, the horizon!)

until I fall relentlessly back to earth into the shrub-brush that has held me thus far and I am built to the castle in the sky, thoughts and feelings flutter helplessly up and around and down and back around to my toes…

…the numbness supersedes the pain and I learn (again) to ignore all else in pursuit of the attainable….it is all attainable.

Friends, it is all attainable.

Heatherboard cork screwing and twisting into the breadth of the mysterious blackness. A void of nothing and everything, metal and flesh interconnected as if there is no tomorrow, or even yesterday, and only today (the here and now) matters.

I tell you with all clarity and sincerity that in order for this jigsaw of flotsam and jetsam to incorporate you, the mere player, you must give yourself relentlessly to it (as I have).

Fall down, merry friend, or forever hold your

piece.

She grows old and tires of being restless and, ultimately, with great trepidation, forces herself to settle down. She marries for all the wrong reasons, seeming right at the time, and fakes happiness, as it waxes and wanes with each additional year. Every moment is a nightmare and while most would be truly happy, would be settled and firmly content with what has become, her thoughts drift, as they always have, to turbulent things. To things thoughts should not drift to. Perhaps her childhood has ruined her, strayed her course for good…

I don’t do poetry often, but have been getting back into it recently (for whatever reason).  Here’s one I did a bit ago that I quite like.

Enjoy.

—

her skin the color of honey sugary sweet eyes like long-forgotten pathways to a place I can only just recall her hair in twists and her hands touching it fondling it tucking it back  behind her ears as she rubs her legs against each other crosses them at the thighs dreaming dreaming of my hands on her back on her body touching rubbing feeling measuring and that smile her smile cocked at the ends like she knows of course she knows her hands touching and grazing and moving along the tabletop over her papers and things she looks up to me then down smiling big beautiful knowing then looks up at me again with a glance that doesn’t need words to elaborate and it shakes me cold shakes me to my core her eyes her lips her curves her skin the color of honey