“You look good all dressed up”
a voice said, and I turned
to see her two grey eyes fixed
upon me, devouring my contrasts
and contours, reading my reactions
as if she knew I’d always wanted
for her to say something, anything
to me, knowing I wouldn’t know
how to reply as I stammered out
a cheesy, but sincere “well, uhm,
you look good anywhere” retort
that made her snort, her crooked
smile twinkling down upon me
from the declining escalator we
both shared that seemed to descend
endlessly into the gutter of dirty
things I wanted to do with her that
made me blush as if she could
read my intimate thoughts on what
had to be the protruding horns of
my corny forehead that she reached
out to touch gently, having heard my
thought that said “please, for the love
of everything holy, reach out to
touch me gently, or even not so gently,
I don’t even care, thank God you’re
here-” my thirst interrupted and
quenched by a tender kiss and a soft
reminder that it’s time for me to end
the escalator ride towards the center
of us and awaken to the real world,
and much like my dream, this poem
will end abruptly with a vague sense of
dissatisfaction.
***
Written for NaPoWriMo’s day 30 prompt: write a minimalist poem. “What’s that? Well, a poem that is quite short, and that doesn’t really try to tell a story, but to quickly and simply capture an image or emotion. Haiku are probably the most familiar and traditional form of minimalist poetry, but there are plenty of very short poems out there that do not use the haiku form.”
Also written for Real Toads’ day 30 prompt: “Write a poem in praise of a source of inspiration — your muse, your life, your own web of thoughts, your dreams or sleeplessness, your daily tasks, a favourite artist or musician, nature and environment, et al. Also, let’s keep it between 30-60 words — there is a certain beauty in brevity after all.”
The poetry gods have spoken, and the word is brevity.
This was a challenging, but fun NaPoWriMo. Thank you to all my fellow poets who participated and/or offered feedback.
This month, I eclipsed one-thousand views for the first time ever in all my years of hosting a poetry blog. Obviously, I don’t do this solely for the views, but it’s good to know that my silly little stories from this corner of the world are being read globally.
I chose not to reply to any comments for the duration of NaPoWriMo, hoping to focus all my energy on creating (hopefully) quality poems. I’d like to take this time to thank you all for taking time out your days to send some love my way. I truly appreciate it more than I can say. Thank you, my friends, and I’ll see you soon.
(Yeah, I know I owe you one more poem. I haven’t forgotten!)
I am the blackened
canvas where the
flexed and slackened
sinewed ghosts
of your regrets
come to disrespect
the light by making
reckless love to us
each night you dare.
I lovingly share
draping myself
over you both
countless times,
embracing you
and she – whoever
she may be
for I’m not choosy
and lack any
discerning light
– I embrace all,
lie and truth,
blessings and guessing
earnest grinding and
deceitful pressing;
but you only
ever noticed me
during the lessons
the lie sessions,
the self-deceptions,
the indigo-black
lack of reflection
contrasting with
the random gleaming
revealing moonbeam
showing coveted
curved, selected
mounds of flesh
waiting to be blessed,
devoured in secret.
I am both cloak
and receptacle
of our naked
sweat-soaked spectacle.
Only I recall
how frequently
and sweetly you
enjoyed your fleeting
secrets as I took
you both, erasing
your sordid twisted
tryst from view of all
but just us three in
the menagerie,
but don’t fret
on our vignette,
regret is staved-off
just as long as you
can let the triad
of our ballad be,
refraining from your
banishing me
from our night
by reaching
for that light.
Take what she gives
in my shadow;
fondle us both
as you fumble-grip
her hips within
our colorless sin.
It matters little
to me, for when
the lamp begins
to bring you clarity
to see your folly,
I will be long gone,
leaving you to mourn,
facing this self-made
quandary in solemn
solitary.
I’m just the night
who loves carefree;
what comes to light
ain’t up to me.
***
Written for NaPoWriMo’s day 17 prompt: “write a poem that similarly presents a scene from an unusual point of view.”
I.
We are born with no expectations
needs are another matter
connections are made and broken
attachment chains us to fallacy
nostalgia affixes our affections
regret is an illusory gift
II.
I knew you had another
saw you kiss him, looked away
saw through your lazy lies
embraced an empty peach pit
knowing that I deserved it
and perhaps, even less
III.
Told you I’d walk my “friend” home
you saw us flirting, looked away
ignored my brittle excuse
you waited in our empty bed
as I fumbled her darkness for light
leveraging for fullness
IV.
Briefly escaping her fiancé’s warmth
she incinerated herself upon a stranger
telling herself it doesn’t count
thighs crush demands for clarity
trading vows on embers of virtue
fading blissfully into warm sunset
V.
No one deserves anything
ready yourself to release infinity
embrace, learn our broken landscape
most hymns sung are incomplete
from revival to wake; no joy without sorrow
we own nothing, for we are everything
***
Written for NaPoWriMo’s day 7 prompt: write a poem of gifts and joy. At first glance, my poem may appear to be a subversion of the prompt, but that wasn’t my intent.
I gotta be honest, though I’m pleased with the outcome, I wasn’t a fan of this prompt. I found it a bit restrictive, like trying to box a kangaroo inside a telephone booth. (If you’re wondering why anyone would ever do that, well that’s kind of my point, isn’t it?)
I know the prompts are obviously optional, but I’m a sequential thinker and not one to bail on an artistic challenge. Well, not today, apparently, as I managed to box all three elements inside this telephone booth.
Showing my work:
“I ain’t much on Casanova” is from Casanova, by Levert.
“I would love you anyway” is from Sweet Thing, by Rufus and Chaka Kahn
Do you remember me, Eurydice?
We danced the summer in the upside-down
In moon-soaked gardens of Persephone
Below the fruit-bats, we swooped through town
Do you recall the bells we rang;
the song I should not have sang?
Can you trace our song back to me?
Or did you forget the key?
Our harmonious flight
You took wing beside me
Our alighted midnight
When we swelled like the sea
Whether wrong, it felt right
No time for a reprieve
Weather right for delight
Harmony our main key
I could live in your light
Did you want to believe?
Do you remember me, Eurydice?
August nights in electric tide pools
You inhaled habits that felt unhealthy
We exhaled our smoke of fools
Do you recall my answer, miss,
when you asked me for a kiss?
Do you regret the spell?
Cause I don’t kiss and tell
Reminisce on our bliss
Time much shorter than this
Did I comfort you well?
Lost our reprieve from hell
On this I feel remiss
Looking back gives me fits
An improper farewell
Orpheus when you fell
Can we crawl from abyss?
Do you remember our kiss?
***
Written for NaPoWriMo’s day two prompt: write a poem that resists closure by employing many questions and ending with a question. I enjoyed this one and wanted to add to the unsettling vibe by playing with the cadence and changing it up from time to time.
Allow her to drift back into blissful slumber
next to you
even after she gently tugged you
from your own dreams
to indulge in her fragrant valley
for the second time that night
long before the glow
of the very first time
you urgently knotted yourselves
had dissipated.
Sitting up in her bed,
with moonlight kissing her skin
where you had also done twice-over,
observe her naked breast
rise and fall
in melodic peace
as she
begins adding snores to
the composition of frogs outside
singing for their own
companionship.
Reminisce about two months earlier,
when random chaos
compelled your collision with this woman
whose smile gained a foothold,
whose laughter melted your guard,
whose eyes conspired with your own,
creating a micro-language,
with syntax known only to two.
Resist,
as much as you are able,
the persistent feeling that
even if this woman
is not to be yours forever,
so be it,
for some part of you
will always belong to her,
no matter how much you
rage against
this peculiar sensation
while simultaneously
flirting with abandon
to gain her favor,
knowing that in some way,
she also fails to resist her own
internal battle
as she is drawn to you.
Believe the lie,
with all your heart,
that you must stay the night,
for it is too dangerous to be
on the road alone
at this ungodly hour.
Accept the backrub,
for you are indeed tense.
When she kisses your bare shoulder,
your neck,
gently turning your head to kiss your cheek,
offer your lips,
for it is only polite
to accommodate a host
who holds your next breath
within her breast.
Allow what is occurring naturally to happen,
and then allow it to happen a second time.
Return to the moonlit moment
as she sleeps peacefully in the aftermath
mess-of-afterglow
you both created.
Overwhelmed by unwanted emotion
that has always been a persistent companion
to her captivating charisma,
nuzzle your naked frame into hers,
holding her close
as if you could grasp and own this moment
forever,
and whisper into her ear
the inexplicable truth
part of you wishes was a lie;
“I love you.
I don’t know why or how,
but I do.
“Perhaps I always have;
certainly, I always will,
but I do love you.”
Watch in muted horror
as her snoring stops suddenly.
Sigh in relief,
once her snoring resumes.
Add your snores to hers.
Awaken to a new day as if nothing happened,
for after all, this is just a casual encounter;
just a “friends with benefits” thing.
After all,
feelings are for suckas,
right?
In fact,
once she drops you off at work,
don’t even lean-in
for a goodbye kiss.
But do pause before leaving her car,
as she has just said your name
and tugged at your sleeve
to gain your attention
(as if that were ever in question).
Allow the goosebumps
to infiltrate your skin
as she kisses your cheek,
and when she turns your head,
offer your lips,
for it is only polite
to kiss the one who
offered you a ride to work
after claiming your body, soul,
and dome the night before.
Try not to react,
even as your heart
leaps from your chest
when she tells you,
“Oh, by the way; I love you too.”
***
Written for NaPoWriMo’s Day 1 prompt; write an instructional how-to (or how not-to) poem.
I have loved romantically
while being oblivious to its depths,
confined to the surface,
grasping at facades of
who I wanted to be
and who I wanted to
completely consume me,
growing mystified by
its brittleness
and inevitable indigestion.
I have loved, by sticking my head
inside an alligator’s mouth on a dare.
I have loved the greener grass
and the path untraveled
until detours revealed illusory scope
and textures tricking optics
into grasping curves
bent into ripened shapes
by light’s deception; I have loved
but a figment of her living ghost.
I have loved an imagination
and watched it slain by her reality.
I have loved deep
into the core elements of another
swiftly and inexplicably,
with the instant shock
of total immersion into
freezing waters,
slowing until bonds arrest us
in an exquisite insanity,
tricking the brain
into seeing love and attachment
as one and the same,
which renders all into ashes.
I have loved at first sight
and it seared my retinas.
I have loved
despite my best efforts not to love,
which, in essence, means that I have failed
at both loving and not loving
nearly simultaneously.
I believe therefore
we call it “falling in love”,
for no sane person
would willingly choose
this brand of nonsense,
steering directly into it
as one who wishes to be warm
plots a course directly into the sun.
I have loved over time against my will
and it was wonderfully traumatic.
I’ve flipped
the game
on its head
countless times;
each time,
my game piece
lands inside
the gator’s mouth.
I now love, knowing
its tremendous highs and incalculable lows,
the capricious nature of reciprocation
and whimsically fickle access to action
to fully experience and share,
fully aware that I wield little power
over the gambit,
only my position on the board
of an ultimately unsolvable game.
I now love with a full heart, knowing
that though I often experience bliss
and wield love to lift her
to fleeting triumphs with me,
ultimately I can never win,
and even as we run out of moves,
as we retire or surrender to fate
and, inevitably, as we
begin to lose each other,
the game will continue.
I now love,
not as a matter of choice or dare,
not with purpose nor design on winning;
I now love without purpose
because I see little purpose in not loving,
and also, aimless, purposeless love
is just love for love’s sake.
Hephaestus’ Waste & Cosmic Rubble 