It seems the skies are shedding the tears
I’m now too damned tired to cry
I thought saying hello to you was hard
Until I had to say goodbye
NaPoWriMo — The Hardest Word
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Tag Archives: National Poetry Month
NaPoWriMo — Know That
BBBHM
Know that you are formidable
And while your strength
Is not necessarily in the physical
The sheer force of your physicality
Cannot be ignored
As the masses yield
For you to pass
Know that you are king
A giant among men
That everyone sees
Yet so many are so blind
To the fact
That for all your might
You still
Know that you are human
A sizable imperfect in a world
That demands
A smaller perfection
Near impossible to attain yet
Unlike many who share
The burden of your weighty crown
You are blessed
Know that you are desired
For the sight of you
All that is without
The yielding solidness that
Deeply moves me
To the very core
Of my inner soul
Know that you are valued
Just as deeply
For the thoughts of you
All that is within
The concrete essence
That moves my heart
In ways which
need not be understood
By anyone but me
Know that you are loved
Beautiful
Brilliant
Big
Handsome
Man
Yes, if nothing else…
Know that.
NaPoWriMo — Why?
just a little brutal humor for a Saturday
Why did he have to raise his hand?
His mind just must have upped and gone
I’m not the type he could command
Forget about put his hands on!
Forgot who he was married to?
Why did he have to raise his hand?
It was a stupid thing to do,
Picked the wrong girl to make a stand
And had the nerve to say demand!
To me! A cleaver yielding cook!
Why did he have to raise his hand?
For just one swipe was all it took
For there it was, hand on the floor
And finally, he understands
The only thing you knock are doors
Why did he have to raise his hand?
Imagine
hello darling
clear your mind
and just imagine
imagine me walking in the room
and you’re sitting there sipping an iced libation
(Got the drink? Sip it. Good.)
imagine you are listening to soft music
(Got the song? Hear it. Good.)
imagine that I give you this soft, warm hug
then look deeply into your eyes and kiss your lips with affection
imagine that I as I start to remove my jacket
you realize that all I’m wearing underneath
is my charm
imagine the feel of the shag on your back
as I lay you down
(The beige plush. Feel it? Good.)
imagine the emotional dispute on where to touch me first
until I run your fingers over each moist inch of skin I’ve exposed
slowly
imagine that I fetch a cube of ice from your glass
as I start to take off your clothes
slowly
imagine your deep throated growl
as each inch of your skin I expose is iced, and then licked
slowly
imagine the manner of my hands all over you, my lips all over you,
as I hit all your spots just right
imagine my tongue’s downward slide, as I engage your salute
with the proper oration
imagine that you want me so badly you begin to tremble
from my oblique slide on top of you
then imagine just as you’re on the verge
I do everything you want me to do
everything
imagine the feel of every whisper, every touch, every kiss, every lick,
every move, every growl, every thrust, every moan
everything
imagine as we calm down softly
whispering how much we love each other,
laying there in afterglow
then imagine I say ‘again’
so? are you ready for tonight?
Good. Because I’m putting my key in the door,
now…
====<>====
Even As
These stolen moments with you singe my lips
Even as I stand in the blaze of summer’s sweat
Even as I stand in the midst of winter’s onset
My need for you overrides my hardships
Caught in your haze, my resolve slips
As with each touch of you I love and regret
These stolen moments
Even as I know how your poison drips
Even as I know you’ll be my death yet
I stand here and light up another cigarette
I pray each day I’ll free of your grips
These stolen moments
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Thursdays Poets’ Rally Week 49 (July 28 – August 3, 2011)
NaPoWriMo — Return to Gray
Sun-kissed ballerinas took turns dancing
with the red-brown foliage of the trees.
They fluttered their arms like birds in flight,
dusting the forest below with white and gray.
Blankets in monochromatic shades twisted
themselves between the trunks. With might.
sunsets and sunrises came and went: majestic,
beautiful, romantic with each season, and now
it is winter again. The gold of morning hints at light;
Never truly day, never truly night.
Her head was tilted back, in a vulnerable pose,
waiting for the cold fist of melancholy to come
uninvited, and knock at her door. Love was a riddle
branded to her lips as she sighed his name
one more time, for old time’s sake. She swore and cursed,
as the snow fell outside and her tears, pale and white,
remained. She just wanted to remember how she
hasn’t been able to forget, and forget that she still
remembers. His memory spilled from her lips–spite,
This whispering place between dark and light.
She thought the she could control the sentiments
but they snaked their way to the surface.
A rosary of emotions tumbled forth
from ones time dulled to ones vivid – bright.
One more time her fingers travel paths familiar
only to her subconscious eye,
paths his fingers once gently traveled
across her soft yielding skin.
Experiencing again all his colors with an audible sigh
Living a dream, wishing on a star in the sky.
And not for the last time she’ll wonder what if,
what if all had worked out as once dreamed.
Try as she might, she can’t push them away.
Bead by aching bead all their moments
now only alive in her memories,
pulled so deep to a point even she can’t deny.
She does what she has to; to get past this need,
to return to the more controllable feelings of gray.
Relinquishing the hurt she’s trying so hard to let die,
Surviving this pain, refusing to break down and cry.
Reflections on Maybe
Penned this over 25 years ago for my late-husband.
Praying I get to feel something like this again someday…
I think of him night and day. If not exactly twenty-four hours, as close as humanly possible for anyone to honestly come. He opened the closed book that was my mind with knowledge. He filled my hardened heart with happiness and refreshed my weary soul with joy.
Maybe it’s just imagining things.
When I’m not with him, everything becomes dull and lifeless, off kilter. The most exquisite of items have no appeal. When I am with him however, everything has color and magic. I can suddenly see the majesty in a variety of ordinary of things.
Maybe it’s all in my mind.
When time comes in two forms; how long it has been since I last saw him and how long it will be until I see him again. I find myself saying things like ‘It must have happened on Friday because it was the day before the last time we went out and that was two days ago.’
Maybe it’s just being silly.
When I’m with him I feel changed-different. That things can be good solely because he is apart of it. He leaves me feeling so fulfilled, that for a long time afterwards, I forget how hardened and empty my life felt without him. He calls and whispers sweet everythings for an hour, then I’ll call back a minute for an encore. And the charm of it is, we don’t have to speak to each other, we just seem to feel what needs to be.
Maybe it’s crazy.
I find myself opening at just the thought of him. I can feel his presence even when there’s an ocean between us. I find myself doing extra things that are pleasing to him, because what he feels-I feel. When he laughs-I laugh, he hurts-I hurt. I choose to stand by him, not because I have to, but because that’s where my heart knows I should be and death defy all who dares to down him. When without him I can’t breath and with him I’m breathless.
Maybe it’s imagining things.
Maybe its all in my mind.
Maybe it’s silly.
Maybe it’s crazy, but
Maybe, just maybe, it’s
Love
NaPoWriMo — Final Goodbye
You charmed me with a personal obsession
Made me feel our stars crossed above
I was the best and the best was your possession
Too late I learned possession isn’t love
The morning’s desperate heartfelt plea
You didn’t mean to go off about the pen
And you kissed the newest hurt tenderly
I was desperate to believe it wouldn’t happen again
In the good times you made me feel safe and sound
In the bad times you were someone I never knew
In the phantasmagoria mess I found
I was helpless as to what to do
Our life was perfect from afar
No one could put the sham to task
A nattily tied scarf to cover a mar
Bruises hidden behind a foundation mask
Even in the face of your constant rage
Saying goodbye was never an issue
The fear of being alone far outweighed
the fear of being with you
I played the perfect partner for so long
I started to believe my own sham
So used to tapping to your song
I couldn’t tell you who I am
And I’m not sure when the tide turned
Or just when it all fell apart
I just knew this love you once earned
Became a huge gaping hole in my heart
You went off on a business trip one day
And I just simply went out
By the time you returned I was a continent away
Redefining who I was about
And for a year you cajoled or threatened or yelled
I was terrified to go out for a walk
but by God’s grace my new convictions held
As I let you in for a final talk
The charm was still there I had to concede
But I was no longer yours to command
Your look of resignation made my heart bleed
But the signed papers stayed clutched in my hand
Still ‘Come back!” wanted to rip free from my lips
But those are words I know I’ll never say
Goodbye’s a word my soul has learned to equip
It’s in my tears as you drive away
The final goodbye lay in a teary puddle on the ground
Memories of you fading into the morning mist
As I remember love comes many surrounds
But never in the form of a fist
Somewhere…
somewhere
(in the folds of lasts week’s)
(or maybe last year’s laundry)
the person
(when I’m not a mother)
who wrote poetry
(or being a lover )
drew still life
(balancing the checkbook)
designed clothes
(scrubbing a dirty collar)
and painted murals
(while vacuuming the carpets, again)
that did embroidery
(after the button is sewed on the shirt, again)
is in the mirror
(that needs to be cleaned, again)
trying to find herself
(after working overtime, again)
because she got lost
(showing someone else how)
somewhere…
(in the folds of last week’s)
(or maybe last years’ laundry)…
<>==========<>==========<>
This poem is actually a little over 12 years old. We were in the process of packing to move into our house and my then fiance, now late-husband, had found my composition book from high school with poetry. We had living together over thirteen years and he had never known that about me. He asked one thing: What happened? I did not have an answer for him. Nor did I know how to pick-up my pen again. One day I was looking at my reflection in the mirror, asking myself the same question. I was depressed to realize, though it been a of couple years since he had asked, I still did not have an answer.
Whenever I was upset I would write my feelings to sort them out. Usually, I would write it, read it and toss it. This time I did not toss it because something in those words had reached me. What reached me became the first three/last three lines of the above poem. It was perhaps only the third poem I had written in a nearly twenty year span at that point. Granted, it was one small sad little poem, but it was the first big crack in the wall of the dam blocking my creativity. A dam I was only just beginning to realize I had built and now needed to tear it down.
The Rain
I
like
the
feel of
the rain
upon my face.
A thousand drops
of water from outer
space. Everyone says
I’m just getting wet. To me
it is the best feeling I have
come across yet. Falling
just hard enough to
be felt; caressing me
with its gentle
pelt.
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Entry for dVerse ~ PoetsPub | Poetics – The Watering Hole
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