MAKING HISTORY (a page from, my new collection of poems, Reckless..coming soon..)

MAKING HISTORY

Looking around the room

I took notice of the artifacts

that define our era

and think of us as a part of the history of now;

We are creating an atom of eternity,

a sexy 21st century

love affair

with all the markings of its time

When you touch my naked face to your lips

I wonder if I could’ve been more passionate in past lifetimes,

had I lived without

all our conveniences and luxuries

This could be all we know or an illusion,

this free-loving feeling that twists

my thoughts

all the while bound and tied down

by exotic and diverse things in this city

like lace ties and handcuffs

You’re mine with the press of a button,

a click, or a text

Its modern sorcery

We are equally objectified,

Changing clothes,

Wearing costumes for each other

quickly becoming just another device

Replaceable,

like my digital camera and cell phone

I look into your body language searching for the possibility of camouflaged romance,

trying my hardest to see traces of it

like an optical illusion

in the lines of your flexed arms

Photo Credit: Calvin Klein

Imperfections

I stroke the letters of these sweet syllables as I erect the sleeping

prose Until it comes to life... These words in my head were seeds

planted under the richest earth...soiled under sheets of smudged

paper that smell of sex and liquor.

Words from a lover are the Word for a hopeless romantic libra.

The heavy ones cause my scales to tip. I RoCk uNbAlAnCeD.

But finally find equilibrium

when I slam a pen to a free flying strip of paper.

Prose, a colored feather, I weave into my free flying hair that

bends and swirls where it wants when it wants to do it. An extension

of myself. A medium for heightened senses. A release from the

confines of a tightly bounded hair tie.

Roses without thorns may not be roses at all, but impostures of

a sort and far more dangerous. The natural ones are often long

stem and wild. I stare at you funny when you hand me a striped

love symbol- naked roses.

You've entered into my greenhouse. And now my imperfections

are showing. Your prompted to examine my nature that looks so

perfect from a distance. A nature sprung from wild seed, lonely

moons, and unpurified water.

Cut at the stem, I'm analyzed through your lens. Under these bright

lights I am revealed, seen as you like, a stranger, a danger to

your health, poison as ivy. I look deep into the mirror, poised, under

vanity lights searching for my natural self.

photo © Sarah Klockars-Clauser
for openphoto.net CC:PublicDomain

Lit

LIT

I would have turned up the flame if I knew it was going to burn so slow...

There are no next times, no. Only past times screwing new ones,

but I can let them go-

you know, when the wind takes lit ashes

they look like fireflies in the dark

and I have learned to gladly dance in them.

Photo credit: http://weheartit.com/dannyhorst

Chocolate Bubbles

My heart makes me a foreigner.

Without language,

I bathe in a tub of strawberry cream

Blowing dark chocolate

bubbles off my palms

dreaming my reality moons away.

Published!

I haven't been posting much here because I've been busy trying to put my poems together. It's finally finished and I couldn't be more excited!

Thanks so much to S. Clarke, from DreamWriteNow, for editing and doing a lot of hard work for Like a Fairy in Love. Check out his beautiful site devoted to the arts.

You can get a copy of Like a Fairy in Love online.

Mourning

I see cemeteries in the patterns of

the cushions on the couch

There are no floral embroideries

only death lilies in distant funeral homes

that I believe may be planted

in my nose.

Wearing black,

Sometimes I feel I am invisible,

Other times I am a chameleon

on this couch

Mourning

I crush into my own rubble.

They question my stability

Trying all natural remedies

they wont turn off the lights

that sting my wounds

incapable of clearing these red eyes

they are afraid of my pain.

I lay the fetal position

dreaming of head stones and dirt-

I am clawing at the top of a coffin

covered in mud in the rain.

Language: Part One

At first glance the morning appeared to be still
A sudden- BOOM! POP!
Silence. And a tickle to the eardrums
Chirping birds
Chatting loudly; a rapid fire of sound through the trees
Each sensory bullet is separate and distinguished.
Disperse….- Converge
A tumultuous linguistic relationship.
Engaging in a syntax dance over and over again:
Sounds flying over and under, twisting, spinning, stepping, clapping
Symphonizing and harmonizing:
Bobbing below, above, and in between the others
Tick. Meep. Cheep. Iii. Eeet. Tiii. Keey. Cuuu.
A structured chaos fluttering through my ears
Stuck in a whirl wind of sound
I reach for free flying feathers

Photo by Im on Tabouring posted on Flickr.com

Breezy still

Candles light the stairs
Reflecting little mysteries
on stone walls.

The green ruffles of my dress
bounce.
Dancing as I ascend;
tickled by romance.

The summer breeze blows still
as our soft words slowly
bake under coal lamps.

Photo by Dysonstar posted on Flickr.com

Cattails in the wind

A predictable sequence of events

life

Were often asked to walk this line...
...well in the direction it is going,
of course.

This line is drawn
with much resistance and disappointment,
as we are governed by the cyclicality of our inescapable
humanness.

It is often the humanness subconsciously
guiding us to cry to nature and wonder
by rivers that overflow with confusion.
Many measure the length of our strait legs,
while others notice the strait cattails bending in the wind



Inspired by "line", a prompt on Weekend Wordsmith

Photo by donsutherland1 on flickr.com

Blue sprouts

Humidity lurks at the surface

of thirsty pupils and suddenly

dives,

piercing,

slicing,

pouring

when blue buds
magically sprout

and then shoot
towards the powder blue sky

as magic dust does
from fairy wands

when a fairy demands romance
in a thunderstorm


Image by Peggy Collins at Flickr.com