A Carrie Retrospective

[champagne1982]

Beltane's Witch

Natural hemp hem down past her knees
just above ankles swathed in hennaed
swirls to tease the grass to growth.

She curls each step in glad graceful
dance and blesses seeds below,
until the magik glimmers all in dew.

Breasts bared in goddess moonlit night
she rises up atop the mount that, rounded
low in age and forest, sighs in welcome

to the king. They join in joy to greet
the spring until the flowers' bruised
petals scent the ancient rite for merry

begots born midwinter's day. These shall smile
their blessing on the feast of vanquished
night and dance, in turn, one day in May.

 

[champagne1982]

Tangled Web
May 2008

The spider's legs curl inwards
to the centre
of a dark and poisonous carapace.
She hangs in shadowed gloom.

The web entangled
round empty husks
of happiness,
sucked dry through fangs
starving for a taste.

Hang now alone;
companion to the dust
that shrouds each sticky thread.
This is the house she's built

No matter that the walls
are true perfection
and that the sun glitters
through each faceted window.
No matter these,
when naught more than a gust
of truth gently brushes
past, they tear away.

All that's left is the spider,
curled inwards,
empty of all but regret.

 

[champagne1982]

Rain For A Joshua Tree

Like some antiquated x-ray machine spews
Roentengens into my flesh you say it's normal
to feel this way. Normal for the earth
to shake and collapse upon itself.

A new fold in the calloused crust irritated
by constant picking. Layer upon layer
of rawhide dried by dessicating desert
moans over sifted sand. Mourning brings tears
to dew the Joshua tree but not enough to drink.

Two months before my insides began to rattle
against my rib cage you said that it was good,
ok, perfection but then later as I fell apart,
remarked that it was time to relinquish control

again.

My ragged heart clutched at my throat
I knew no denial would slow the insidious
scalpel from slicing away my life

again.

No tormentor's torture would feel so hot,
a brand pressed to my skin--
its stink reminds ashes to ashes
and the odds shake my roots
grown shallow in youth.

I never thirsted as the desert
pine, the well was mine
until siphoned dry with sucking
lips that deny how ill I feel.

I'll turn my back on your wily prattle; you--
worried more about what they will think
of you than for my erratic heart; to find
solace in the eternity of Earth.

 

[champagne1982]

Night of The Iguana
2008

Purple shadows creep up the coral
pillars, across the bed
where we lie in naked bliss,
linen twisted over hips, asleep.

Indolent in the tropic
heat, a torpor steals
along the balcony rail
with bougainvillea petals

black, in the predawn silence.
A restless shift out of a dream,
forgotten amidst the scent
of limes and bitter mescal.

Oily weight descends with fiesta
rhythms, falls into inebriated
sprawl against fan-cooled sheets
and bloom-scented intoxication.

Leopard moths and geckos hide as night's
last serenade stirs somnolent virgins
then drifts, with bonfire smoke, away,
on fresh breezes in the dawn.

 

[champagne1982]

Daylight Savings Comes Early
March 2007

Would a crocus bloom
because man sees the sun
before the moon sets? Tulips
rest, hyacinths slumber
deep, snow lies heavy.

The garden sleeps until
it's time. Expectant
cows low with the first
pangs of laboured birth,
woke with the sun beams
through dusty windows
that press welcome heat
to spring's newborn eyes.

The buds nod their heads
to a slower rhythm
of birdsong still unsung,
nests not feathered. Breath
held, frost suspended, we wait
for flocks and the wind
to fly over and break the ice
that holds the lake captive.

 

[champagne1982]

I found another painting neo!

Mule Deer (in sepia)

In the sandy bottom land
she stood, one leg poised
as if the world would crack
should she place it wrong.

Earth tones and muted grays
blend with the scrub
jack pines and clumps
of sprouted wild oat fodder
almost ready for fawn weaning
days of early summer.

As if a kiss descends, tension
trembles to the ground; released
in exhale as once more flies
buzz, birds sing and the deer
fades into the sighing trees.

 

[champagne1982]

A Walk Together
April 25, 2005 (A challenge response for BooMerengue's Here's A Challenge)
V2 2008

Walk with me.
We'll seek a better world
where, although
death is still a part of living,
tears shall be no more.

Walk with me.
The child I am wants to rest
my hand tight in yours,
reassured that although
the path is new,
the way is not forgotten.

Walk with me.
Once we've come full circle,
there, rest a while and look
back to all we've seen.
All we've been is hidden
just around the bend.

Walk with me
until I can walk no more.
When journey's end
has brought us to the winter
shore then rest with me,
for without you,
I will walk no more.

 

[champagne1982]

Adam's Child


The pine's tortured boughs
point to heaven in silent
blame, echoed by limestone
faces, pressed to the valley
floor where once, a broad river
flowed and is no more.

Time insists we continue,
no matter scars we bear
or tears angels weep
onto clouds until their sorrow
is beyond the strength of the sky

to carry. Adam's child, what
have you made with free will
and power to reason
Where do we go but down,
once we've touched the sky?

Ask the father of his dying son,
don't deny the comfort of tears;
allow sorrow to come. Mourn
together; his grief is great
so slake his empty soul with tears.

Choirs sing the requiem, despair
flies through the buttressed arches
in cathedrals built to honour His name.
Lord, Father, God - which are we to know?
Doubt assails the wayward children.

 

[champagne1982]

New title

Heartbeat

On days we find ourselves so close
we know it's impossible to breathe
a single moment of life's pulse
without our lover's touch;

times when we feel the disturbance
of not knowing why you and I are
essential to life's passage,
whether we are here or apart;

those are moments I cherish;
the ones that fill the echoes
between sighs and heartbeats,
when we are together.

 

[champagne1982]

Advice to a Depressive

Live sweet darlin'
with no fear that cuts
and burns nor if wounds
and choking will end
it all. Instead,

draw up into a ball
and fly on with the devil
to dance with demons
as they cavort between
memory and today.

Live sweet darlin'.
Time's short, broken
like booze bottles
on school steps;
let it go, let it go.

Pour away and puddle
on an island in need
of spice and find
the palace waiting
with the spinning wheel
and the loom and weave

the shroud to swaddle
babies never born
and sing Mother Goose
to suicides who bleed
their stain upon the floor
and live no more.

 

[champagne1982]

To Be Taken With Coffee

I open my mouth and you serve me
a taste of exotic, wrapped inside
a sprinkle of bitter umber
and sugared marzipan blossoms.
Melting truffled delights
over tastebuds, jaded by too much
elegance and pretense. The will
to savour every nuance and suggestion
had been soaked out of this palate
until you came along and taught
me the art of flavour once again.

 

[champagne1982]

Naked Came I

Naked came I in from out of the deep
where dolphins swim and maybe sharks sleep
I know not what they do in nothing but skin
but I know all the sins of the skin that I'm in.

Vanity bares the smooth turn of a cheek
lust feels no shame and pride's never so meek
as to quietly hide my face and blush
no the pink in my cheeks is passion's flush

Bold lips have found those most sensitive planes
where muscle and nerve, stroked drives me insane
his fingers find that impossible place
and twist each response to intricate lace

I know joy in hearing my own reply
of love and passion when naked came I.

 

[champagne1982]

Spoken Words
I wanted to talk to you today,
just to say hello with earthy
and plain bits of conversation
we use to fill the silence.

Tell you about the girl at work
and the way she flirts
with the boss
and me

with her brilliant teeth
flashing, as if she can hardly
wait to take a bite.

Then there's this thing I have
with my neck, the tension
just won't leave it
until I get a chance
to talk, a minute, with you.

 

[champagne1982]

Puppy Yips

Musty smells of decay tantalize
puppy paws and noses
dive into the muck
for just another glorious
moment of enjoyment
at the Earth's consumption
of death. The merganzer pair
paddles by, just beyond the edge
of muskeg shore that floats
on tannin pools, outside
the interested reach
of queries raised by ears
and paws lifted in excitement.
He barks and pleads for them
to come near and they swim
blythely by, caught up
only in each other, mates
with a duck in clutch
and the drake in proud display
at what's soon to hatch.
And the puppy wriggles in glee
at the scent deposited on his fur.

 

[champagne1982]

A Visit To Gran's House

There it is, the silvery hair,
the dimming eyes and the life
that's been lived behind the brow
creased and folded
almost obsessively
until it fits neatly inside
the credenza in the kitchen.

She looks across the steaming mug
of milk whitened tea, no sugar
to soften the bitter lines
of moued lips that mention
how it was when we
were young and beautiful
and perfect
don't forget how perfect
lives fit the mold.

You understand that this needs
patience to get through.
I really like how pressed
linens feel to sleep on.
No one presses pillow slips
anymore. Why can't she
just ask to have them pressed?

Passive aggression
to keep you repressed
in case, someday,
it works out that you
are content.

 

[champagne1982]

More Feeding Hale
To be sated you
Must first find a source,
Replete,
Complete,
Surfiet
With all that you can eat.
A buffet of tastes
Redolent of oriental spices,
Sweet,
Meat,
Treat
Bright, red chillies with heat.
Perhaps a table
In a dark back corner,
Greet,
Discreet,
Seat
Where together you secretly meet.

 

[champagne1982]

Fall

Walk this path, cinders crunch
beneath our soles, leaves blown
away enmass, the rushes' ditch

flowers bold and brittle wait
devil's paintbrush bristle's touch
on seeds to tint the trees

a sweet star waits to wake
from this extended sleep
not death: too bright,
the sky to call it otherwise

don't dream of this life behind
sorrow claws too deep; pulls
my heart until a void remains

fill it up with hope: you sleep
and dream future perfection,
bliss found, frost coloured trees

 

[champagne1982]

How I Spent The Last Three Hours

I like coffee in the morning
and I only mention
this since I had one with dinner
yesterday and it kept me awake
until after one.

He made me a coffee with milk
and sugar in it and thanks
were what I gave
even though my petulant mind
could only think about French
Vanilla flavouring keeping chilly
in the fridge. So, anyway,
the phone sounded off.

At seven thirty the tone
isn't as ominous as it seems
at three a.m. It's still
the harbringer of ungood news.

So, she's in a coma?
This shock isn't as tough
as I expected.

Mom needs to be told.
clichés are ok. Yep,
it's been a full and long
life. Not really easy.

At ten to nine you told me
you were driving to her side.
Always as bad as your gran,
you asked what I wanted. Silly,
I want what's best for us all.
I want the last decade back.

DNR on her chart, I pray
for the best but I hope
she doesn't linger. Give
her permission to go. I know,
hon, I know. Tell her not to wait.
I'm still days away.

I wish I could leave right now.
But, there's my job,
there's tickets and hotels...

Tell her I love her, ok?
I love you, too

 

[champagne1982]

I Watched A Nail Hang

I contemplated my hangnail
as they brought you from sleep
and mourned the ache of throbbing
loss as I chewed the remnant off.
Strawberries and The I Chong
waited consciously by your bed
as did tears and I began to cry
when you told me what you'd done.
I drew the line and they took
it there, my choice and only mine.
To lose the whole instead of life
to smile instead of pine
for what should have been
So, proudly stand and brave
admission make that though limbs
fall and souls weep
terror can be faced down
in the light of hopefulness.

 

[champagne1982]

I may have written this for a required elements challenge or a Gunfight!

Knots Of Memory

Greatgranma of whom my mother speaks
with great affection, braided these cords
and tied them round in spiraled turn to lie,
beneath our feet on the warm, wooden boards
of the kitchen, where she cut long strips
from the old blue jeans Grandad once wore
out in the yard, the country chic curtains
once lacing the windows there by the door
bound into this work with the flowered
apron now pressed into service as part
of a practical heirloom on my bedroom floor.
a tale of generations, a gift from the heart,
Greatgranma's rag rug proves that love and trust
draws family lines through past ages' dust.

 

[champagne1982]

Autumn's Kiss

I wake in the morning,
A beam of bright sun in my eyes,
I rise, I peek between the blinds,
And see a world of wonder.

The grass turned white with frost,
The sun not strong enough to melt,
Leaves not yet fallen shimmer,
Golden in the day.

I rush to dress,
Excited to feel the cold kiss,
Of autumn's lips upon my cheeks,
And embrace the day.

 

[champagne1982]

Thrown Clay

It's enough that her hands
warm the clay and smooth
the surface even as she moulds
folds and creases in a spiral
down the barber-pole hardness.
She loves this work, fabricating
something out of clay, as if divine:
She makes him.

He takes shape, round and masculine,
a simulacrum of Adam with feet
of clay, waiting for Her to descend
and breathe life into this, Her Art.
She accepts this divinity as her fingers
sweep along his rigid symbology.

Her new religion allows
this manifestation of the need
that, clasped tightly in her hands,
consumes her as she holds
this symbol out, in offering,
to her mother goddess. Phallus,
fertility and ritual, sublimating
need through Her art
in a garage-studio out back,
behind the kitchen of her reality.

 

[champagne1982]

Dancing

You hurt me.

Only,
One I care for,
Could.

You hurt me,
So much.

I don't know.

What to do?

I wish you'd say.

What did I do,
To deserve this?

Anger.

How could I,
Make you so?

Upset.

I suppose.

That's part,
Of the dance.

I hate this dance.​

 

[champagne1982]

Everywhere I look today, I'm finding my paintings!

Self Portrait (the artist as a girl)

Pink ribbons in dusty, brown,
field mouse hair, quick,
nervous fidgets at pleated
chiffon skirts threatening
to swallow eyes too big
and pointed chin
below pink-ribbon lips.

Set free in denim
and fleece with meadows
billowed around tight
held legs and arms
strung with sinew, taut,
to spring all at once
amid strawberry
blossoms new green

 

[champagne1982]

Nana

Will you ever know how far your stories
sank inside my little girl heart
to remain and tug my flesh each time
I try to forget how painful
it will be to let you go?

I want to live out on the farm where cows
and chickens set the clock and aproned
mothers pump water from the creek
into the wooden bucket standing
beside the summer kitchen sink.

I understand the warmth of potbellied
fires, there's one out in the neighbours'
shop, on winter Sundays it gets fed
fallen silver birch that the cows
pushed down in the fall.

My kenning fails when I think of hunger,
the kind that lasts past lunch today
there is so much in my pantry
that starvation is a hollow word
and only felt in distant worlds.

I'll miss the presence of your warm arms
I've long outgrown those boundaries
that kept me tied in your kitchen
where I heard stories that sank
inside my little girl heart.