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Showing posts from April, 2012

Learning to Walk

My bed, a refuge.
Here, the covers make of me a
second flesh,
protecting me from the harsh winds
and blistering suns.
For my life, as long as my breath can remember,
I have been a mole,
scrounging around my sheets,
abounding on the bed,
wallowing the darkness that darkness can allow.
Constant people, mirrors of people,
floating by my face,
checking the tubes, hollow veins of my body,
haunting my dreams, awake and asleep.
My nighttime terrors, confused by my daytime horrors,
convinced me it did not matter when my eyes were closed.
Today, my fingers feel out for my legs,
my shriveled excuses for legs.
I could be lucky to feel.
I could be lucky to feel anything,
a needle prick, a hint at cold, the flesh of a woman,
and respond with my flesh, controlling my fear and pain and private convulsion,
and contolling hers as well.
But, that,
that,
may never be again.

I sigh. My breath a rattling revulsion,
my brain asea without a propeller,
my fingers...
my legs...
She comes in now, her deft han…

Tanka

I recently discovered a modified haiku named the Tanka. So, here are a few of mine:
"Ahead of the Curve"
Dreaming of a house
built on the firmament of
deepened, blue waters
surrounded by luminous
wings of solid gold feathers.

"Simple People"
We are proud people
too proud to be disgrace-ed
though we spit distaste
on the feet of tradition;
too proud are we to atone.

"Underwhelmed"
Wet lips, salivate
fingers brush the flush-ed cheek
eyelids flutter closed
open to impassioned breath
this agonizing rapture.

"To Travel: A Thought"
A suitcase is full
only when the lovely
memories of the
past find a place among the
small necessities of life.

"Night Orchid"
Before the day wakes
before the dawn shakes the Earth
before the light shines
the delicate blue orchid
smiles and sheds its nightly skin.

Friday and Dreams

"Dinner alone"
Dinner.
Sure.
Of course.
Thank you.
Please pass the salt.
Wine.
Water.
Wine.
Wine.
The night slowly slipping to dawn.
Laughter.
Touching.
Laughter.
A smile, nervous smile. Corners of my mouth
salivating, slavering with the ring of a bell.
Sardonic lace.
A moment. Connection.
Wasted.
Daylight brings a loneliness.
Tomorrow?
Time and money.
Dinner.

Poetry, from the walls, and in time...

I haven't been on here in a while, and it feels a little awkward trying to get back in to it, like falling off a bike and swearing it off for a time. So, I thought I would ease back in with something I am more comfortable with, a poem.

"Bespoke and speak"
Our last communique
tempestuous and writhing with the agony
of a too short message.
For within that spanse
expectations hang nigh,
floating and weaving,
sputtering and spoiling;
Words losing sight of themselves,
drifting further and further into static.
Dialogue, dear precious conversation,
confined within that delicate prison.
Pick up.
My words would truer find your ears were
your ears listening.
Pick up.
This unholy ringing in my ears leaves my breath
baited.
Pick up and speak to me.