Tag: Poem

Swept!

lips taste of a soft invitation
after all lips are begging of a request
to kiss you there, there, and here
where you least expect it, where you
want to be touched most of all
where you are center center
and the spotlight makes you come
as you’re electric with each strand of
hair that stands up, now with a tremble
you want more, but can’t bear your wail
being exposed, in front of your armor
a culture of selves pirouetting a levity
jigsaws into place, a pattern that is unseasoned
one that burns with desire, one that is swept up.

 

Be Rid of You

You can keep your sentiments
and all your love attachments.

You can keep your loneliness too
because I have my own.

You can keep everything that draws your face
or expects you coming through the door

I’m going to free myself of you, all of you
I will free myself of you and all your things

that lingers alone and anticipates
when I don’t need them anymore

I will free myself, free myself
free myself from you!

She made me love more.

I woke up, but I was already too late
gone she was from my spent desires.
To find your rhythm, find you no more
to find you… Wanting your kisses
like dreams, to whisper secrets in my sleepy ear
but found you when longing knows nothing about
sensibility, all it knows is my accordion love
listing each and every discovery of your light.

Esme and Zami

Esme and Zami are siamese twins
Esme, the temperament of water, fell in love with whirlwinds:

The secrecy held in the world beneath the ocean.
After admiring the girl in the reflection she dove in

Living far beneath the surface, returning for fireflies in summer
Sometimes just to listen to the city’s rooftop raindrop drummers.

Zami, the temperament of fire, her blood runs close to her skin
At the bald of her hands and feet feel the rush of cold sin.

One night she awoke breathless, off her body cold sweat dripping
She ran out of space and slowly the walls crept in.

Anxious for air and with fervor in her muscles
Leaping for the night, scaling over walls and fences, Esme became bionical.

Esme and Zami are siamese twins
No overnight miracle of a mischievous nymph.

There was time for a breath between days for a hush
And defeat to soak itself at the root of a purpose.

Hear it escape in a wail, a laboring sigh to playful fantasies
Masked in the ringlets of an occasional lover’s kisses.

Zami was leaping over water over two nights
Stopping to rest, finding shade from the moon light

Under the thick yellow of a poui tree in bloom
Catching breath, crouching to her knees, smelling Esme’s perfume.

Blue moss, wild strawberries decorated her
The dancing Esme muses on stories told by her mother.

Tightly closing her eyes, she keeps the music to herself
Repeating the words in a lullaby.

Her mossy blue arms reach for no one
But the gentle caress of the ocean.

Zami bemused, came closer to the moon
Caught by Esme’s mystery about her lips, about her blue nakedness.

She found pleasures so much so she had forgotten
About walls and fences to scale, but found comfort in this harbinger.

Finally she held her breath and dipped her head in.
Surprised Esme, but not afraid she smiled and began to sing

Tal vez amor
Tal vez tu debes mi amor

Saber como nadar
Saber como nadar

Antes de hundir
Tu cabeza en mi agua.

Esme and Zami, they are siamese twins
Joined to the heart and mind ever since

Zami found shade from the moonlight
Under the blooming poui tree one night.

Letting go of the tree branches
Letting go of her fences

She relaxed and extended her arms
Looking up to face the moon shining

She pushed her chest out to embrace
The currents.  To kiss the waves.

Broken

So quickly the erasure has begun
as pieces of me are being removed.
From that heart, I’ve been gutted out
from that mind, my reflection turned into shards.

I was suppose to know it was happening
that the coils my hair makes no longer brought joy
and understand that a betrayal was for me to take notice.

But it doesn’t matter now, as all the tenderness
as all the dreams, like abandoned leaves, dwindle away 
trapped in a dusty old box filled with memories, well forgotten
displaced by some new desire to excite the tête-à-tête.

So quickly the erasure has begun, in one day
what once was comforting as a simple embrace, a brush of the hands
is being replaced with talk of sleeping arrangements.

Maybe She Just Didn’t Wanna Dance With You Dude

discoball in Japan
Image via Wikipedia

Well thank goodness for dat, cause I woulda been confused
being as it’s a queer disco ball spinning its bacchanal lights tonight
shiny confetti glimpses of why you’re here, staring right back at me
from across the room.

Did you find my gaze entertaining?
One to test out but never wake up to, cause you’re so sure
you don’t want what society prescribes, and yet you’re here
with us, where poverty procures a so call lesser being.
You wait for him.

I’ve become your novelty of sorts, I’ve become your snicker
with your friends in a corner, watching me to see me
build up the gumption, waiting for the right song to cheer me on.

Did it make you feel wanted?
Most beautiful of all?  When I didn’t ask for your name
your number, who you’d like to fuck on a regular
I didn’t ask for your life, I asked you to dance.

Bully

DSCF0339
Image by dentsadventure via Flickr
Bully, I wear my scars well
the scars meant for me to remember
to remember something that did happened
 
the scars are there for me to remember
oh how I remember how you bullied me
into submission, I watch you hate yourself
as you tell me, want me to tell you what to do.
 
Bully, I watched your need to be needed and then
you hated yourself and hated me for it.
You’d prefer control, you’d prefer control
since you’ve never had it. 
 
 

Bowl of Soul

She talks about friendship like the rest of them
and already I know what she means: Never call
Never text, Never reach out with your hellos of
“How are you?”  But yet I hope, she is different
as I build sandcastles for things beyond my reach
as the ocean pulls in and then devours everything.

Elegy for Ma

single clawed petal of Dianthus sp.
Image via Wikipedia

There is always the question of destination:
when and where will I go?
A sudden sadness erupts as we become witnesses.
When the flowers–once so voluptuous–turned prints,
dust, patches of petals–we try to reconstruct
only to discover what is lost is gone forever.

There is always the question of destination:
when and where will I go?
But never do we ask how is a flower a flower?
Was it her love petals that gave her beauty?
Her blooms to be gifts?
Did her soft aroma dare us to feel the fabric of her skin?

Accordion

Taken by Cocoyea

wanted to give you the greatest
the greatest melody for others to wonder
but I only have what I know, some sketches
of the skylines setting in the evening’s
polluted glow. Some unfinished thoughts in
my empty hole ridden pockets.
I wanted to love you like no other
so much so, nothing could stop me
I wanted to… I wanted too much.

Daffodils are Lilies

She said it was a bad connection as she summons
the executioner to sever my heart and banish me
my presence erased for always, thrown aside with the rest
while I still search for the correct signal of what she seeks.

From room to room, I roamed and performed
played with different identities I possessed
but none of my faces she could recognize, nor
did she have the patience for it, to see what I see.

She said it was a bad connection as she didn’t
want me from the time I made my introduction
with my best language I pursued her current interest
from my best seeds I gave her my daffodils
when it wasn’t I, I wasn’t the jester she was seeking.

Injured by Need

when the days run faster, you fight
and search for a pattern, but you
you remember not to lean sideways
as you bend, you can’t remember
the last time she crossed your mine
nor can’t you remember her presence
what she looks like, or what she
sounds through the recorder
that is memory of a day
as she walks across your page.

Dressed Up in Time

maybe you should recognize|
my rest isn’t a pause, my count|
of one is really many, my heart|
maybe you should recognize|
my occurrence, my wave signature|
before telling me to stop beating|
breathing my dissent fire, blowing through|
the night, what it means to dream|
what it means to see|

Already New

PhotonQ-Young solar System
Image by PhOtOnQuAnTiQuE via Flickr

What a night it was, when I realized
I have myself, and shouts of victory
sings, claps, praise a release that
doesn’t wait for you to recognize
validate my breath as it breathes
for the night’s fresh air, with it’s majesty
of stars, glory that is the moon, with
the coming sunrise, I kiss absurdity’s latitude.

History

Fantasy Masterpieces #10 (Aug. 1967)
Image via Wikipedia

I made a bed of marvelling
a spectator that risk nothing
as I live to work, since everyday
is routine, I plan events to escape
the monotony exhaling in pores of
last night’s adventure of nothingness
and then drown my sorrows in a note
a blind note bottled with the spirits of
the dead drunkards, I leave my last breath.

Can’t keep you Away in E flat

Romance Stories of True Love No 50 Harvey, 1958 SA
Image via Wikipedia

Can’t keep anything
Can’t keep you and your mind
Can’t keep your love, our love alive
Can’t keep the ghosts of unbelieving outside

Can’t keep you, as you’d want to be kept.