Fractions

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Photo by Amanda Flavell on Unsplash

Fractions

Even now, forces battle for fractions
of light and dark, air and earth, truths and lies
the spoils, ripened treasures and abstractions
like oil, our foods, as humankind’s soul cries
split to the bone in factions
honed for overreactions

My soul’s not known for overreactions
compressing, sealing night into fractions
of morbid amusement, viewing factions
through porous veneers of their willful lies
unmoved by their biased cries
on currents of abstractions

Our sun will yield to night and abstractions
leaving the void and overreactions
light evening showers won’t drown-out the cries
of justice-seekers sliced into fractions
divided by clever lies
blinded factions fight factions

I welcome rain as night deceives factions
truth is our souls are merely abstractions
these lines dividing us all are sad lies
gains of few, fueled by overreactions
many fight over fractions
immune to his brother’s cries

I remain in-tune with my brother’s cries
but turn a deaf-ear to brother’s factions
I see us whole, and not just the fractions
bellies are filled by more than abstractions
stilled by overreactions
humanity’s fate still lies

I wonder which side will win through the lies
will we have our peace or feast on war-cries?
I still observe the overreactions
blackening hearts into soulless factions
they have killed for abstractions
weighing lives by the fractions

I wonder which lies will fell the factions
silencing the cries; soulless abstractions
overreactions leaving fractions.
***

Written for dVerse  Poetry Form: Sestina, hosted by Victoria C. Slotto. Other poets have contributed to this prompt here. The Sestina is an oily form, super-tricky to pull off, like Jello-wrestling a sexy, nude, female vampire who’s riding a velociraptor. Naturally, I had to give it a go (the poem, not the Jello-wrestling, though I’d probably be game for that too.)

Also sharing at Real Toads

Her Scarlet Smeared onto Me

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Image by Pexels from Pixabay

Her Scarlet Smeared onto Me

“Your move, Mr. Bedroom Eyes,”
the words oozed from her coiled rubies,
mingling with her strawberry scent,
joining the rest of my taunted senses.

“She’s made so right
for all the wrong things,”
I think to myself
in her moon-drenched room,

willfully ignoring my own complicities.

Even when she turns away,
concealing her lewd loveliness
in muted midnight shadows,

her elongated shaded nudity
jiggled in ways that seemed
to beckon to a deeper need

transcending the lust and greed
gripping us within this bizarre gravity.

“And don’t you dare pretend that this,”
she added, gesturing generally at the
space between us, “is all one-sided.”

She read me effortlessly, relentlessly
just as she always had, dynamically
consoling, enticing, demanding,

“It’s just us now; be honest.
Don’t act like you don’t want this.
No lies between us tonight.”

She wasn’t made for me,
but her eyes perpetrate the lie;
giving none of the game away,
expecting to be taken,

inviting me to consume
all that I crave to taste,

daring me to meet
where her heat beckons;

the divine junction of where abstraction
melts into sensation, defining touch.

Using only the sight of her
copper-kissed marbled frame,
the ripened flowered goddess’ scent,

and the hot-buttercreamed
sound of her verbal dare,

she deftly sculpted my need
to close the distance,

to thrust my ugly intent
deep inside her beautiful taunt,

to drown her velvet purrs within
undercurrents of my straining grunts,

our bodies rising, falling in unison,
fueled by primal need to occupy
the same finite space simultaneously.

This is what I want
and what she invites.
Of this, I cannot lie.

But it’s also true then, that if we
shackle ourselves to our desires,
indulging ourselves, yielding to them,
we will forever be enslaved by them.

I take a step backwards, fussing with
half the buttons on my shirt that I
don’t recall how they came undone.

Turning towards me, her smile widened
leaning into my gaze, the moonlight falling
upon her contoured sex slowly opening
in my direction, cooing her incantations;

“Even now, you would deny your ache
to possess me, knowing by your pulse
that you were already mine long before,
when we first exchanged glances,

even in that crowded space of fortunes
untold, we saw what we saw in each
other’s eyes, the clarity of potential,
the unspoken intent, and even then,

I knew you were mine,
and that you wished it so,

and while you looked away,
you couldn’t help but to return
to my gaze to see if I was
still looking, and of course I was,

with each time our eyes met,
from you, I stole yet another breath
till now as you stand apart from me,
allowing yourself to breathe

only when I will it;

draw breath now and
tell me, am I wrong?”

I look away, failing spectacularly
in my task to rebutton my shirt.

“Look at me,” she commands.
I comply, my chest becoming tight.

“Breathe,” she says gently, and
I felt my chest relax as I obeyed.

“Now, don’t lie to me,” she demands,
“and don’t lie to yourself, either.
Right here, right now, speak truth.
Tell me what you want.”

“You,” I confess, my chest
once again restricting airflow.

“Who rules your air, your earth,
your body, your soul?” she asks,
knowing the answer.

“You rule me,” I answer,
my unbuttoned shirt now
on the floor behind me,
discarded with my integrity.

“Why are you still dressed then?”
she asked, and then suddenly I wasn’t.

“Still your move, Mr. Bedroom Eyes,”
she taunted again. “I can’t do
everything for you, you know?”

I moved towards her,
overwhelmed by the ache
to feel my skin pressed into hers.

Just as our lips pressed
colors into touch,

just as I tasted her scarlet
smeared onto me,

I smirked at my
illusion of helplessness,

yielding to the power exchange
we demanded the moment
our paths crossed.
***

Originally posted on Medium.

Shared at dVerse Open Link Night #249. Other poets also shared their work here

Bonus song, because I couldn’t get it out of my head after hearing the previous song:

gripping the path like we ain’t gettin’ no younger

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Image by Ichigo121212 from Pixabay 

gripping the path like we ain’t gettin’ no younger

master bedroom,
tinted garden-green
with golden glints
of morning

sun rises
with my grip
on the circle of
your hips

we circle back
to forest-hidden roads
traveled in youthful
exuberance

wizened
upon shared intimate
garden paths

wicked giggles
yield the voice-box
to guttural yearnings
***

Written for dVerse Quadrille #85 – Raising our Poetic Voices, hosted by whimsygizmo. Other poets have contributed here.

Also shared at Real Toads The Tuesday Platform, hosted by Rommy.

 

fear, despair, and apathy within the echo chamber

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Photo by Alan Tang on Unsplash

fear, despair, and apathy within the echo chamber

I’m muted snowfall
not a whisper

your dutiful servant
I will comply

you inquire deeper
I offer surface

still, you insist
my voice matters

I demur again
not from shame

I’m muted snowfall
not a whisper

you pontificate, listening
yet never heard
my cries
***

Written for dVerse Quadrille #85 – Raising our Poetic Voices, hosted by whimsygizmo. Other poets have contributed here.

And I’ll Paint Love Upon You

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Image by bdpeterson from Pixabay 

And I’ll Paint Love Upon You

You see your freckles as
the sun marking you as you age;

I see them as a hybrid game
of connect-the-dots with kisses
and color-by-numbers where

my lips brush skin till filled
with a rosy blush, augmenting
exquisite mixed-medium
masterpiece.

Pucker-up, sweet
sun-kissed canvas.
***

Written for dVerse Quadrille #84, hosted by Mish. Other poets have contributed to this prompt here.

She Would’ve Spun a Splendiferous Anime from This

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Photo by Banter Snaps on Unsplash

She Would’ve Spun a Splendiferous Anime from This

“What are you doing here?” she asked, pulling away.

“Just holding you,” I murmured drowsily, gently pulling her close.

“This is inappropriate,” she protested, squinting. “And what’s with that light?”

“This is only gratitude,” I replied. “Nothing more.”

“Gratitude?” she scoffed. “I don’t even know you.”

“I know,” I said. “And I don’t know you, but thanks to you, I know a thousand words for the color blue, and so I dreamt I was the moon creeping into your window, spooning you, comforting you with borrowed glow of yesterday and tomorrow, coiling your secrets into the crux of my crescent, never to see daylight again.”

“Oh,” she said. “You doing this for all of us?”

“Yes,” I said. “Now shh!”

And after a pregnant silence, she said, “You know we’re all gone now, right?”

“Yes,” I whispered through tears.

“But take this with you.”
***

#HelpKyoaniHeal

This is a tribute to the victims, survivors, and families of the Kyoto Animation Studio arson/mass-murder that claimed the lives of 34 innocent and brilliant artists. I don’t have any more words to convey my grief and sorrow, but if, like me, you ache to flood the void caused by this act of hate with acts of love, contribute to the GoFundMe setup by Sentai Filmworks. Other ways to help can be found here.

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Written for dVerse Prosery #2, hosted by sarahsouthwest. Others contributed to this prompt here.

Also shared at Poets United Poetry Pantry #488.

#HelpKyoaniHeal

Cosmic Indifference and Crisis of Meh

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Photo by Tomas Sobek on Unsplash

Cosmic Indifference and Crisis of Meh

One day
the sun
will rise
alone,

radiating light
on not a single tree
nor even a blade of grass,
warming a barren earth for no reptile,
nor bird,

nor even a single bipedal mammal
to bend a knee
in humble worship of Ra’s
once life-bringing magnitudes.

I won’t try to tell you how to feel about that
nor will I implore you to stand up and
do something to slow the inevitability,
for even if we collaborate to stem the tide,
it will happen inevitably.

One day the sun will rise alone,
scorching an already sterilized planet,
eradicating every gaudy man-made
monument to ourselves, and we
just may knowingly accelerate
this unavoidable fate
exponentially.

I won’t tell you to save a world that is
well beyond our combined will to save,

for it seems like hubris to even
entertain the notion of saving a world
from the cosmic nature of its
unavoidable demise;

saving our planet, to me, sounds
as ludicrous as saving our lonely sun
from burning though its
finite supply of hydrogen,
and then its helium,
collapsing into a
cooling carbon cinder
of its once majestic brilliance.

But why won’t you think of saving the sun?
We’re wasting its resources, you know.

Why not warm your house with clean coal
and save some of those precious
hydrogen-fused released photons?

I won’t ask you to do that
because that would be utterly ridiculous
and just speed things along and
I greatly prefer slowing things
as much as those
sensible conservationists,

though I won’t ask you to recycle either,
even though it would be rather kind of you
to join me in doing so.

I won’t tell you
to protest Big Oil
and petroleum products

because the cabinet full of pharmaceuticals
extending my lifespan, health and comfort
would compel me to mock my own hypocrisy.

But our planet is dying and
one day the sun will rise alone.

That was always going to be the case,
though we are helping to speed the process
significantly, and with cosmic indifference
bordering perverse zeal.

I won’t sit here and tell you to
get up and go do something about it.

But do get up
and go do something
for me; stand up

and take inventory
of the beauty and wonders
we’ve all taken for granted
from time to time.

If you’re fortunate enough
to experience the ongoing miracle
of waking tomorrow,

go stand outside and listen
to morning wipe the sleep from her eyes,
unfolding her wings, singing all around you.

If luck favors you with a summer rain shower,
let it soak you to your pores
and breathe deeply,
inhaling her perfume.

Observe regal, billowing,
wispy clouds march overhead
towards the horizon,
dissolving from view,
but still existing in both
mystery and memory.

I’m willing to wager that what you see
may cause you to gasp as you tenuously
grasp at your own insignificance,

and maybe, just maybe,
you may find yourself compelled
to preserve some of these moments
a few moments longer.

It’s not much;
perhaps even too insignificant
to make a sliver of a blip
of a microbe of a difference.

But one day the sun will rise alone.
What will you do until then?
***

Written for dVerse Poetics: On Climate Crisis, hosted by anmol(alias HA). Read other poets’ prompt contributions here.

Where the Rocks Kiss the Sea and the Waves Embrace All

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Photo by Hugo Kemmel on Unsplash

Where the Rocks Kiss the Sea and Calm Waves Embrace All

Standing on rocky midnight shore, the sound of the Sound beckoned his return to where he began decades ago; his wish, to bookend his life where ancient kinship first drew breath.

He intended to breathe saltwater and snuff-out all that rotten progress.

He’d just wade into the frigid current until the chill melted into warmth, freeing him of the dread of empathy among the specter of cosmic apathy.

Inhaling brine should sever the unending sinewave bouncing between two extremes.

Knee-deep within numbing, moonlit, black-reflected muck, the cold needles through, forcing his breath shallow. Waist-deep, and the current beckons him forward to rejoin infinity and nothingness.

He begins surrendering to uncompromising fate he’s chosen when far away an interrupted cry of a drowning woman breaks him from indulgence. He summons reserve to drag her back to the rocks.

“You’re welcome,” smiled the mermaid he “saved”.
***

Written for dVerse Prosery #1, hosted by Björn Rudberg (brudberg). Others have contributed to this prompt here.

On Transcendence

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Photo by Sora Sagano on Unsplash

On Transcendence

Koi become dragons
if they want it enough.

I’ve heard the lore,
seen both koi and dragon,
but never observed one
push through.

Swimming
with the current,
I doubt experiencing it
personally,

but
the Yellow River
is long, and
unpredictable.

I haven’t seen everything.
***

Written for dVerse Quadrille #81 – Here there be {poem} dragons, hosted by whimsygizmo. Other poets have contributed here.

Inspired by ancient Chinese myths.

Scattered Vapor (Blue Side of Pale Series)

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Photo by Msh Foto on Unsplash

Scattered Vapor (Blue Side of Pale Series)

Blue sky is a liar; her limits are blue
Her lies transmute fires that weld me to you

The sun brings to light every pigment we hide
Our surface perspires; misty deja-vu

The wind carries laughter, cool respite, rain’s scent
Nostalgia transpires; soil smelling of you

The earth turns away as my summer sun sets
Our shadows conspire to blend beyond view

To know is to love – is to hurt you, I fear
My love won’t expire; pain melds me to you

Whisper to the night, as blue-sky gathers lies
When your Bear retires, new moon guides us through.
***

Written for dVerse Poetry Form: Ghazal, hosted by Grace this week. Other poets have contributed here.