The Between

He brings her a bracelet and a bunch of roses
For the fifteen years they’ve been together
She reads the card and the bracelet’s engraving
And something gut deep in her looses its tether
Conclusions once jumped to became solid proof
As Dinah reads his words of love to a Heather

She smiles sweetly handing him a poisoned plate
It’s a slippery slide between love and hate

She’s always been ‘such a good little girl‘
But she was never up to snuff among the pseudo rich
All she wants is to have what all of them have
For kids are cruel to those not matching their niche
Just once she cries, her fingers touch the jewelry case
Filled with a longing so deep her eyes start to twitch

She lets go of the ring and walks away from the site
It’s a slippery slide between wrong and right

A mother gently rocks her new-born babe
The first to come home after many tries
A stray bullet sails through the pastel drapes
And the newborn babe, quickly dies
The husband knows he’s lost more than his child
By the hollow blank stare of his wife’s eyes

And all he’s ever loved leaves this proud man bereft
It’s a slippery slide between life and death

Machines click, whoosh and beep their sounds
His sister copes by force of sheer will they say
But without a transplant, her body deteriorates
And all wonder if she’ll make it another day
They found a match! There’s a thread of a chance
And for the first time in years he kneels to pray

That she makes it as the organ flies through the air
It’s a slippery slide between hope and despair

When he was young it was always “not me”
Even when he was caught red-handed
As he got older the fibs were more creative
Going with whatever the need demanded
All but one he could lie straight in their faces
His truth and lies mixed as he commanded

He said he loved her, but walked away with a sigh
It’s a slippery slide between white and blatant lies

He kisses her cheek, ready to take her home
But he can’t seem to get his thoughts in sync
She feels so good as she leans in oh so close
Knowing she’s had far too much drink
But the scent of her thrills him and she can’t say no
They’re both naked and done before he can think

She never talked, but his own bullet put his guilt to rest
It’s a slippery slide between his love and incest

Hadn’t seen each other since grad school
Where animosities brought love’s ugly rend
Now global businesses made them partners
But will their past uphold or upend?
Their eyes lock as she comes off the passageway
Somehow knowing they’ve regained more than a friend

Two shy smiles first start to grin, then burst into laughter
It’s a slippery slide between good-bye and happily ever after

The between is that space that we hold dear
The whispers of hope in our ear
That susurrus haunting our deepest fear
It can save you from a life of crime
One step further from a life that’s prime
Or straight into the end of your earth’s time

It’s the slippery slides that no one can eschew
But how you handle them? Well that’s up you

====================

Hyde Park – Poets Rally Week 69 (June 7-June 13, 2012)

The Bloom

.
.
I saw this little sprout one day
A sprout like none I’ve seen before
Unique

Rising between a concrete crack
From time to time I would notice
The growth

Against the forces deigned to halt,
Something so delicate and free
It thrived

From spindly bud to luscious bloom
One day it caught my eye and held
Me there

I knew then any further growth
Would need the help of one who cared
Like me

For I then young but determined
Had learned sometimes even the tough
Need help

That I needed this bloom as much
Was revelation in itself
Welcomed

The bloom that grew to be my wife
That watched me grow from boy to man
To hers

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Today’s form: Synchronicity

“Synchronicity” (The state or fact of being synchronous or simultaneous; synchronism. coincidence of events that seem to be meaningfully related.). This form consists of eight three-line stanzas in a syllable pattern of 8/8/2. This poetry type has no rhyme and is written in the first person with a twist. The twist is to be revealed within the last two stanzas.

Theme Thursday | Evolution

dVerse Poets | OpenLinkNight – Week 47

Bill

His complexion is dark
even more so in the dimness of the night
A smooth polished ebony
what little light there is
playing on the curve and contours
of his wide shoulders
          broad back
               long thighs
                    knobby knees

I know I should have been asleep long ago
          I can’t
there is such a screwball perfectness
to his form in sleep
marred only by
          scars collected over the years
               each one a separate story
                    each one a separate delight

He turns in is sleep and reaches out
I move just close enough to lay within
His reach
his hand slowly slides down my arm
          from the shoulder to the elbow
               to the hand to the fingers resting on
                    my hip and thigh searching

For something
          even he doesn’t realize
               that he’s looking for
I smile to myself
and nuzzle close to him
          feeling him
               smelling him
silently whispering
          I’m here
               right here
                    right next to you

And finally having found
          the something
               only his sleeping soul can find
his hand relaxes
and I feel his body
          go deeper into the sleep
               he never woke from
                    and finally I join him

====================

Thursday Poets Rally Week 68 (May 17-May 23, 2012)

Memory


Oh sometimes I see her undressing for me,
she’s the soft naked lady love meant her to be
and she’s moving her body so brave and so free.
If I’ve got to remember that’s a fine memory
Tonight Will Be Fine – Leonard Cohen

It’s been seventeen years to the day
Since the love of all time went away
I have taken up some count of others in time
A fleeting rendezvous, a phase, merely a mime
Of she who’s measure of love was so sublime
In my minds eye the only place left to see
The unabashed beauty she brought to my life
It’s been quite a clock’s beat since she was my wife
If I’ve got to remember that’s a fine memory
Oh sometimes I see her undressing for me, 

Sometimes shyly, sometimes bold
Her shift of moods just never grew old
She was a force of nature in a human space
I know it’s a period of time I just can’t replace
Still I know it’s what I search in each new face
Just a smidgen of her essence in each body
Granted their faces are hardly same
And it’s cruel to them caught in my game
Oh sometimes I see her undressing for me,
She’s the soft naked lady love meant her to be 

In public she joked she hated my whiskers
Our joke word for liquor and how it just tickled her
When it dripped in my beard then I kissed her within
She had a rhythm that filled me with such a yen
That only she could fulfill again and again
Time softened us both as time should
But like aged whiskers and cheese – so beyond good
She’s the soft naked lady love meant her to be
And she’s moving her body so brave and so free. 

Sometimes in throes, I’m almost there
Where all I can feel of her fills the air
And in those moments on the verge
I’ll swear it’s her passions I feel surge
But try as I might I can’t hold that urge
And must lapse to facts of my reality
But in that moment life’s so incredibly kind
In those visions of her I hold in my mind
And she’s moving her body so brave and so free
If I’ve got to remember that’s a fine memory

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Back to my beloved Glosa form and more borrowed lines from Leonard Cohen.

The glosa is a Spanish form that also works well in English.   Glosas open with a quatrain from another poet, called the cabeza, followed by four ten-line stanzas terminating with the lines of the initial cabeza in consecutive order.  The sixth and ninth lines of each stanza rhyme with the borrowed tenth line and is the only required rhyme of the poem. There is no set meter or syllable count for a Glosa, however, a good flow is always recommended.

Entered in:

dVerse Poets Pub } OpenLinkNight – Week 41

Another Chance

Oh my love, no, give not into these fears,
Know ‘tis naught but love in this heart that sears
My words do not flow as a poet’s would
I concede I don’t speak them as oft as I should
Yet my feelings for you are very much there
Let not jealous tongues cause doubts of my care

Mistaken was I to take it for granted
‘Tis now I see how your views were slanted
Say you will give me the honor of thus
Aye, I will prove there’s a chance for us
Come my love; please, let me start fresh, anew
From this dearth to an abundance true

Of always showing the passion I hold for you within
Love, never will you have cause for such qualms again

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Written for

dVerse Poets Pub – FormForAll – Framed Couplets

Lock / Key

I had closed the door upon my heart and wouldn’t let anyone in
Trusted and loved only to be hurt swore it to never happen again
I had locked the door and tossed the key as hard, and as far as I could
Love would never enter there again yes, my heart was closed for good
I thought that tossed tiny key would be next to impossible to find
Then you came into my life without my even knowing changed my mind
I never imagined how quickly and quietly seeds of love are sown
But can I trust to give my heart again, letting go all the pain I’ve owned?

My love for you is growing, but can I trust in fate?
Should I take one more chance on love, before it’s too late?
Every fiber in my being, tells me this is so very real
But I’ve been down this road before, how do I trust what I feel?
When this heart of mine has been broken more than I can take
I have the fear of again repeating the same love mistakes
Will you let me grow so close to love you, only to let me go?
Or are you my life and soul mate just waiting for a hello?

Artwork: Lock-Key Female / Lock-Key Male by Wak

Resigned to a life of quiet chaos, I figured loneliness was my due
Never imagining the peace I’ve sought would be found in you
Wanting to prove how much I love you, so I did the hardest part
Offering what’s most precious to give…the opening to my heart

You’re my alpha, my new beginning, the door to a peace beyond
Everything I have ever wanted, have ever needed to carry on
I realized I was ready to love you, but didn’t know how to start
So I offer you my most sacred treasure . the key to my heart

Artwork: Lock-Key Male / Lock-Key Female by Wak

In your arms there is no concept of time and place
I’m lost to the passions found only in your embrace

Never would I have imagined there could ever be more bliss
Than the joy, the passion, the serenity found in your gentle kiss

Artwork: Lock Exchanged by Wak

Two lonely separate souls now joined, never again to be apart

Melting together to become one love, one soul, one heart

Artwork: Lock United by Wak 

All Artwork:
“Lock & Key Male” / “Lock & Key Female”
“Lock & Key Exchanged” / “Lock & Key United”
by WAK (Kevin A. Williams)

 

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Entered in:

dVerse Poets Pub | Open Link Night ~ Week 39

 

Word

Oh I would not call this thing love,

much too simple.

Then what?

Word.

We’re talking love.

Our love.

Word…?

This love is ours,

Always.

Word!

<>==========<>==========<>

This is a Zeno poem:

Ten lines with the syllable count: 8/4/2/1/4/2/1/4/2/1 and a rhyme scheme of: a/b/c/d/e/f/d/g/h/d.

You know me and poetic forms, I enjoy the challenge of them. Short forms especially as I am verbose. My friend and fellow blogger GirlGriot is challenging herself this month by writing Zeno poems. You know I had to give this at least one try.  And of course, typical of me, I break the rules, by using the same word as the rhyme.

It’s early in the month, I like it; I’ll be back with more…

Nice Knowing

Semi-long day at work, I’m getting home two hours later than usual, yesterday evening. For the last third of the train ride I suffered through the shenanigans of a group of five late-teens/early twenties females who were being, well, the near stereotypical archetype of hood rats. The attempt to simply out loud them via my iPod was futile unless I was willing to risk hearing loss on my part, I wasn’t. Between way too much intimate detail of sex acts than what is proper for a subway during rush hour and the volume, I was really hoping the next stop would be the one in which they disembark.I really hoped that for several stops. As Murphy as his blasted Law would have it, I’ll let you guess at which stop they finally exited… Yes, the same stop as mine.

Grouse. Grumble. Grimace. Groan.

As I’m walking down the stairs from the elevated trains, a few steps ahead of them, I feel this odd tingling that stops me in mid step, but is gone just as fast, so that I barely break stride and continue. I can tell they felt it also because whichever one was cackling at the moment went silent and I heard another let out a “Whoa!”. Before I can even begin to fathom what that could have been, a mighty roar of thunder rolls overhead. If it was four seconds between the tingle, the stop in mid-step and the clap of thunder it was a lot of time. The bark of thunder was so loud, fierce and sudden that a couple of young women screamed in surprise. Every now and then my mind surprises even me with how fast it can extrapolate information, process it and come to a conclusion. The girls screamed; I on the other hand was, without an emoticon, laughing out loud.

Note to self: Bursting out in laughter in front of a group of ghetto girls that just screamed because of thunder — bad move.

Girl A: What the fuck are you laughing at?

Me (I turn quickly already knowing the answer): Are you addressing me?

Girl A: Yes, what the fuck you’re laughing at?

Me: May I ask you young ladies a question? Why did you scream just now?  (You know the saccharine was dripping quadruple time, right?)

Girl B: ‘Cause the lightning scar- suprised us. (I give this one points for catching herself before letting it slip that it scared her.)

Me: Was it the lightning? Any of you really see the lightning or was it the sudden thunder?

Girl A: Okay it was the thunder. Big fucking deal, ain’t sayin’ nuttin’ on whatchu think be funny.  (I know the expression on my face slipped for one second at the butchery of our native language; I know it did.Luckily, they either didn’t notice or more likely had no clue that was the reason.)

Me: Okay, you are all younger than I so I am going to presume you remember more of basic science than I. What comes first, thunder or lightning?

Girl C: Duh, lightning! Light travels faster than sound, so most of the time you see lightening before you hear the thunder unless it’s like right on top of you. Then it looks and sounds like one. (Plus points for the NYC edumacation system – yay! Minus for the tone of voice that was obviously proud of knowing something most primary schoolers learn by first-grade and thus missing the entire point of my snark).

Girl A: And the lightning hadda be like right ova our heads to be all loud like dat. We gots all dis metal ’round us we coulda like died and shit. That ain’t funny.

Girl D (obviously not wanting to be left out of the conversation: That’s why it made me yell.

Me: So those of you that “yelled” did so because you thought you could have died? Right?

Girl A: Yeah and?

Me: If you hear thunder and you have enough time to scream about it, however close it was, and I agree this had to be right on top of us because we all felt a piece of it, that means we survived it. (I literally see the epiphany dawn in Girl C as I speak.)

Me: You screamed because you were thinking “Shit! I could have died!”. I laughed because I was thinking “Shit! I survived!” See the difference? (Girl C and the up to now silent Girl E nod.)

Girl E: See (Girl A’s actual name)? Lookit you all ’bout to start some shit and the lady ain’t even thinkin’ ’bout ‘choo! She just happy she ain’t dead. Now let’s go ‘fore it start coming down.

Me (turning to go): Goodnight ladies, stay dry!

Two of them, I think Girls C and E respond. I hear one say (Girl E?, presumably to Girl A) “Don’ hate, ’cause you know you wrong”.

Weather wise, while other places were pelted with hail, we didn’t get a drop of rain in our area last night. The entire storm for us existed of that one hell of a bolt of lightning that we felt but didn’t see and the ensuing thunder. I personally think the entire exchange was a message from the universe to the two of us (Girl A and I). Girl A and I felt the exact same tinges of current and heard the same loud thunder, yet we had two very different reactions to it.

Of the two mindsets, I have to say – it’s nice knowing where my head space is at these days and I like it !

My Sin

‘Then have my lips the sin that they have took.
Sin from my lips?
O trespass sweetly urged!
Give me my sin again.’

– William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

i bask in the feel of silk across my eyes
i feel Him come so close then walk away
A teasing touch, but one that causes sighs
He knows i pray that this time He will stay
i arch my back with all that it implies
He reads me well i am His open book
He opens a window making me shiver against my will
Under the autumn’s breath He knows i can’t keep still
He parts me with blunt threats to more than look
Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

Whispering that only i make Him yearn
i know the svelte voice misleads
It’s an unexpected pleasantry i earn
Flechettes, blades, ben-wah beads
His tirade wicked and wondrous in turn
As i, His personal armiger do equip
His tastes for things shiny and steel
Their icy touch a torture surreal
Halts a Freudian slip
Sin from my lips?

It’s me He chooses first to disrobe
A weakness rarely on display
A hard pinch to already tender globes
Signals it’s one for which i must pay
Oooohhhh! He increases the speed to the probe
To the point where nice and naughty converge
Yes i do accept the blame
When His sacrosanct name
Is moaned in passion’s surge
O trespass sweetly urged!

And as His desire burns faster
Mine is halted as His get
Stark and hard He is my Master
Pliant and supple, i am His pet
His liquid heat drips as blessed oil from pastor
But my crescendo He orders to abstain
i tremble for failing Him won’t endear
With a brute mercy He releases me from my fear
Until naught but unrepentant memories remain
Give me my sin again

====<>====

Glosa form with borrowed lines from you know who.

The glosa is a Spanish form that also works well in English.   Glosas open with a quatrain from another poet, called the cabeza, followed by four ten-line stanzas terminating with the lines of the initial cabeza in consecutive order.  The sixth and ninth lines of each stanza rhyme with the borrowed tenth line and is the only required rhyme of the poem. There is no set meter or syllable count for a Glosa, however, a good flow is always recommended.
Submitted to:

Thursdays Poets’ Rally Week 44 ( May 19 – May 25, 2011)