Monday, January 30, 2006
Swung for love
cold earth and sky’s embrace
green willows as my garland
my sadness in degrees does soar away
and whispers back again
my soul now belonging
in the horizon’s complexion
time so briefly spent in tumbling clouds
divides more wide than tides to moon
but still my flight cannot wait
as I swing to delight
and back again
" . . . maybe he doesn't love me, I just took a trip on my love for him. . .he's here again-
The man with the child in his eyes . . ." - Kate Bush
My lover’s eyes are further than the sea,
The sea more fierce, than eyes of his are fierce.
If touch is far, why then his words are key -
If words are grace, his grimy grace did pierce
I have seen precious pearls both black and white
But no such pearls reside within his eyes
And in some romance is there more delight
Than in one word my lover would devise
I’d love to hear him speak, yet well I know
That music might a far more pleasing sound:
I grant, I never saw gods walk, although
My lover, when he walks, looks childlike round
Still in my heart, I know this love is rare,
As pure as pearl of black without compare
(this is a rewrite of Sonnet CXXX by William Shakespeare)
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
they felt so warm- inside my
mouth, salty, soft, a hopeful taste
my words, to be
in a breath stained with fear
dreams, denials grasping particles wrapped
from my soul I dipped in tears and
swirling round us, my dry mouth
aching, to hold them back in safety, they
screamed for freedom to
plunge to the unknown, to savour, to suck
s l o w l y
lick its bittersweetness, and to howl
tears of love, to bite, to consume
their desires; their swirling
makes me so dizzy,
I cannot think.
to speak even of the
trivial is too difficult.
and still they will torture
with sharp scratches, for unmet
for their pain each time
I leave them
Friday, January 13, 2006
cataclysmic cosmic approaching catatonic
The best laid plans
careful what you wish for
things couldn’t get any worse
you can’t please all of the people all of the time
or even some of the time
sometimes none of the time
sometimes not even yourself
so what’s up with this stupid pleasing thing?
and this you must always remember
no good deed will ever (ever) go unpunished
friends don’t let friends ... what?
and what is it that friends let friends do?
what do you do with friends who hate each other’s others?
let do, don’t do, should do – with who?
will this be on the final exam?
planning is over rated
spontaneity on the other hand
(there will always be another hand to keep you on your toes)
spontaneity can bite you so hard on your ass it bleeds
(ass biting on the other hand can be under rated)
and as a rule try to speak the same language
as the man you’re having that wild affair with
and another thing
scratch that last thought
and skip the conversation – its over rated
and can lead to planning
and we all know where that can get you
and sometimes even well placed
"humorous loving support"
can mean fuck all
yes, yes heartbreakingly sad, but true
these times may call for biting sarcasm
and excessive speed
and when you plan
(plan a four letter word)
to run away
when that escape opportunity opens up
you should Get the Fuck Out of Dodge
do not pause
do not think
and when you miss that chance
or the chance misses you
or the fates intervene
what do you do?
What if there is no fuckin message?
What if you’re really stuck in dodge?
so what if you’ve simply fallen into a
Cataclysmic Cosmic approaching Catatonic
and THAT’S where you were always
meant to be?
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
today I wanted to carve the words
carve them into my skin, so
all could see
what I am
when we spoke, had you asked, I might have told of the holes - I carve - inside,
maybe you could have seen the ardent slice ripped out, to quietly lay at your deeply restless feet.
but all it touched was your breath, passing backwards in your constant cool drifting words.
had you understood my voice –
could you have heard?
known my songs are all written for you?
did I tell you?
of bloodstained views on woodgrain hall floors – knee in my back, fists gripping long hair,
of the stripes of our walls getting closer just before they turned black.
or was it you who told me?
of the view from mum’s hand standing in doorways –
watching, blocking escape.
should I have warned you? of trusting too young, and of pain, and fear, and of blood, sometimes first –
and of tears locked in rooms, could this have saved you?
I would have saved you – you know, taken your blows, swallowed your bitter bruises, your raw pain,
and sent you away whole – if only I’d found you.
even now that you’re here, I've lost parts of you. and no longer can I wrap you in blankets.
I can’t find your song or your bruises. so I keep carving these slices of me to make us both whole,
but your restless feet walk by them with your words always drifting backward at me.
I wanted to carve the words
into my skin
so all could see
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
A wondrous thing
her puddle was,
wondrous, and terrible as well
for it was not too deep -
(the same might be said of her)
and this may or may not - be true -
(as it may be with anyone)
its condition - dependant
upon many things
(as it may be with anyone)
like rain -
the possibility of boys
seeking new novelties;
in the end, it was this
and had she ever known another -
they'd likely think the same
they’d be mistaken;
for it was more her
situation in life;
in her puddle
(for this is how she came to - think
that was not so deep
and being all she knew, she
only half breathing -
just a parts of herself -
for each breath;
one eye up, unblinking
one eye in the mud, unseeing
half cool and wet;
and, one half warm,
(except on rainy days,
oh how she loved those days)
she didn't like to think
and so she lived
once, after praying
she wondered - if she
the Correct gods
in the appropiate order.
(or if gods cared of such things
of eyelids and of order)
or was it
(despite best intentions)
that the Proper prayers,
had not spoken
or had been spoken,
(or if gods cared
in the end,
she thought, it was most likely due to her
apparent “Lack of Depth.”
(this she came up with on her own)
the days without blinking
in Sunshine have made her
blind; and, perhaps that itself
was the answer to the prayers.
(dutifully she noted to be more
precise in future requests)
can moonlight still bath me
can the dreams of
ocean still touch me?
and so she slept
one eye blind
one eye buried in
and dreamt - of rain -
and sun -
and boys -
and of the thing her bones
the thing she called
Ode to a Man on a Honda
Shall we dance?
just you and I?
take a ride to our horizon’s end…
shall I wrap my thighs
your leather hips -
lean into you
as black ribboned road’s vibrations
consume us -
combine me with
can I close my eyes -
and feel your lashing hair
into my mouth?
will it taste
myself, machine and man -
wide open to the sky
as we blister sunny fields of flowers
their faces turned in awe.
chrome keeps flashing
while rubber treaded miles are
with our blended beads
as we race
Friday, January 06, 2006
I will be anywhere
it is not me
still upon this boundary,
soar rapunzeled whorls;
from bare flesh – today
dangled like chains
for - no one, as they
with curls, first
floating, now descending
beneath bleak waves
this is not
me gazing on the
of the cell - you
choose for me
I made myself,
so small inside, that
it will not be me
though tangling hair, and
chains and in blood
have left long
body caresses the
frigid release, drowning
my songs, my heart