|
|
|
All poems are © 1996-2004
Love in Gold Tile: Klimt
Love in gold tile,
Haiku I.What hungry angelBored with Heaven, craved release And gave us this Spring?
Sonnet I.To write you words while I am in this state,Words to match those found within your eyes, I wield the pen, my blood, my heart, incise. Thoughts through the haze, condense, and wax in weight - No black cloud this which brings down such a spate But crystal sun - Oh Zeus! Shed your disguise! - No, more than he! Your light does mesmerize, Your visage, Love, your touch, inebriate. As tender blooms dance daily with the sun, My heart's face turns and searches out your blaze, And though this end is near, I've just begun To learn the things in you that do amaze While you delight and move me, thrill and stun, I seek to find my path within your ways.
UntitledMy hair whips about and I feel like a milk-weed pod.Any moment, faeries will fly out of my head, Lifting on the wind with red silken wings. Later, you open your window and the pod on my dashboard explodes, Tiny faeries fly on white wings about us. My hair strains to join them as they lift out the sunroof, following our laughter.
DreamThe blossoms stir,Lifting their bright faces To my breath, Pulsing out color with the beat of my heart. He takes me In his arms And our single embrace tells us More Than a thousand Endless nights. We part, leaving the flowers Exploding Quietly At our feet.
UntitledBreathing softly,So close. His body is too much to leave (even in sleep) I press nearer, And when he leaves, His scent surrounds me, And still I cannot sleep For loving him so.
UntitledAnd morning has come too soon for me.The sun has risen even sooner, Jealous, perhaps, Afraid, Unwilling to rise and do battle with the light of you. And so you sleep on. And I am left With morning And a light too bright to turn away.
2:38pmTulips,Standing sentinel, Bright heads nodding at the passing cars. Petals in puddles reflect the smiles of running children, Splashing colors on the ground like paints on a palette. Laughter in the air like prisms, Glinting off the water Cupped in the tulips As they Bow.
UntitledTime today,Staring out the window Sun on my face Wind on my body Birds' lyric cry of "Spring! Spring!" Filling the air like violins. Watching the gentle shadow of the screen slide across my skin. The mesh is cool to my lips and I am Caught In the regular Gridwork, Transfixed By the pattern, Lost in the comfortable predictability In the mad whirl of the season which surrounds me.
Taking Back Egypt
My AppleHissing,I slam the lid Back down On the box I Told myself -- Promised, in fact -- That I would Leave Closed. So many emotions, Stomping each other In their haste To splooge All over me. Ugly with the drooling of their Rabid mouths, I must make my face over again To hide The cost Of the box.
Follow-ThroughTrapped in the bathroom,Waiting for my dye job to finish, Fragments of phrases filling my notebook, Open before me, crying for my attention. Sweat salty on my upper lip As I Turn to a fresh page, Pondering my propensity For starting from scratch Instead of Working With what I already have.
TrimI cut my nails too short,the bare nubbins of my fingertips raw and tender to the indignaties of dishes and potting soil and the hot asphalt under the penny I tried -- and failed - to pick up. Even holding the pen to write feels strange. Later, as blunt fingers meet smooth keyboard, I remember what it is to fly, with my thoughts pouring out onto the screen, a flow that will slow with the passing days until I remember to cut my nails again.
UntitledThe road is strewnwith the bodies of dead butterflies. For the thousandth time today, I see two of the winged creatures in the throes of their mating dance, oblivious to my approaching windshield. Their carcasses clog my grill for days, and I curse as I scrub them off. Months later, in the icy rain, one yellowed wing flutters, caught in my wiper blade, transporting me back to clouds of gold and butterflies in love and I am able to love them at last.
UntitledWe laugh together, and he tells me,"The longest measure of time is stairmaster time." I shake my head, because I know, The actual longest measure of time is the time it takes for my computer to boot.
UntitledAnd I found comfort in the details,The yellow stitches on my cuff, The faded patterns on my jacket, The spots of blood on his hand. And I find it now in the rote, The nightly rituals, Teeth, face, hair. Anything to forget The hurt Downstairs.
I35 - NorthboundMy armHeld tight to your chest, Resonates As you tell the story of your morning. In the sun, Listening to the roar of the wind As we shoot down the highway, I am *moving* -- Jumping Careening, Spinning With the vibrations Of your voice In my life.
Meat-EaterYour eyes are flat as I ask you what's wrong.You don't even offer a simple "Nothing". Instead, you smile, showing your teeth. "Why?" you say. "Do I seem strange?" Your smile looks like you're preparing to eat some small animal. |
- Help Me Keep My Site Afloat!