Tag Archives: nostalgia

Nakedness, dawn breaking. Feel.

Nakedness, dawn breaking. Feel.

Wet blankets hanging us
The guts wrench
With twisting sensations
Of sickness
Bodies and lives

A song can take us by surprise
And just as quickly, kill us

Our ideas for tomorrow from the wilting of the spring’s tulip
Take their lead
In this oppressive summer heat

Unquenched kisses for woman primed, for a lady who will and has
Like knees in the fold of an ironed slack, a tug,
A pull, an infinite night for years upon years
Heaps of them all piled
Are piling

Can the forward motion go on
A lifetime without being kissed back

Empty lips, hollow soul
Unfold into nothing, explode

And still the winter will swallow
The seeds from the tulip inside,
As if tucking a death into one’s self
Should be so easy
…It is, in this small way

Seamless greed, the autumn keeps
Its secrets free of shame
And me, uneased
Unhinged and thieved
And always never being the same

But I a lonely nocturne came
And in
The shutting doors
The fruitless branch
The hiding place
Will be remained

A tight-rope walking
Dance of flame
A lonely girl
A nameless name

The breasted beak
Will speak and break

Out, away, forever


The Guardians of My Heart

The Guardians of My Heart

My children, my litter of dewdrops, my empty womb;
Men in the making
Whose smiles reach my sight with the propensity of blisters
My anxieties collecting just to linger there
Threatening to burst at the slightest touch
Reach too close, love too much, mother them just enough and pop! disappear
Is it practicality or fear?
I watch them in the meadow, the open spanse of nature across the hurry from where we live
A lone donkey in a barbed cage of wire waits like puberty
On the shore of his lot in life
In time, he has not once let us down
Stands taught, posture of a proud soul, still and quiet and expectant
As a fed animal should be
Routine; the feedings, the adventures of these walks, the passing of their childhood and innocence before my eyes

My heart takes its beatings in this way

I Am Taught


shell of a woman
shell of a child
neither and elsewhere also
i am not
caved in and hollowed
by the never of my own becoming
never knew its place in me
all along, all in all
i came to a lot of places
and i came to be a lot of people
be without becoming
without once settling down
my heart
beatbeat ravenous
to explore the wilderness
the world
the wild of it all
native dirt between my toes
long enough
only to feel lost in the grit of it
the harsh sands of it
and time had nothing on me
no watches, no tears, no goodbyes or plans
just going
knowing nothing
but that desire to go
and learn every possible thing there could be
to learn
tumbleweed soul
taking the stars at night as my own
personal orphans
each of them, breastfeeding the constellations
i was a widow then
of all i’d yet to know
barefoot wanderer
who always kept the fire
through the desert midnights

thirty three degrees

i never came of age
i never cried at the most important losses
i never set out to conquer grief
or anything really
becoming one with things always felt more natural
as in organ-like, pulsing, a living thing
if it flowed i followed
sometimes taking lead
myself my head to a sleepless bed
in an infinite twilight romance
this world
my hunger for it

the quietest of natures
calms the silence of our souls

such gluttonous, reckless freedom

i came crashing into this life
addicted to my own explosion
transfixed by the impact
of curiosity on consequence
childhood; sunsets
not a care in the world
in the wild, my hands were fearless
squishing slime-covered bodies
up and down
in and out
covering my hooks

i always sang
the beguiled worm to its grave

becoming bait
i give you thanks
for all the fish
i will have ate

shadows of a feeling


All of the pictures collapsed to the floor. A giant thud. A violent smack. A collective sigh of bitter longing. Decorations from the long ago littering my now. Variously faces facing all the sorrow. How. It happened, while expected least. On my knees, forced to see the many deaths I’ve died in me.
All the lonely faces, calling out my former name. Haunting all my unsung songs and singing broken melodies.
The faces. All those faces.
Gone now, each and every one. A phantom of my life gone by.
Appearing as a wanting does, whispering and taking from me a sense of well being I thought I had. They take it now, those photographs. My joy is always theirs to have. Those faces. All those faces.
Like a wind against a wide-paned window, wild framed windows to my soul; their eyes, their many many eyes, and how they laugh. Come from my past, reminding me of all I lack.
The windows will not open and the blinds here are kept shut.
Above, a turtle type of dove. Just one. Flies now away. But its sadness, all its loveliness, right here in me shall stay.