all of a sudden passion suddenly

[normal jean]

folie à deux

.................

 

[vampiredust]

The Bump

I would trace my finger
around the curvature
of mother's bump
when she was pregnant
with her third child,

eager to find the source
of its mysticism.
Fat like Montgolfier's
bastard child,
it could absorb heat

and light. Defying
gravity like an Indian
Rope Trick was an easy
feat. The way it absorbed
father's coiled fist

made me weep
and I would dream
of it merging into his drunken
face like a Hollywood
effect when I slept .

I slouch whenever I look
in the mirror to recreate the bump.
Sometimes I feel a kick
and feel it stir, fluttering
like a newly discovered echo.

 

[tungtied2u]

Don't make me remember the good times
when i had someone to share with
when a rainy day was an excuse
for fingers tracing paths in flesh

and the sun shone and we stripped down
to bare essentials, barbecuing burgers
and ribs looked so tasty smeared with rub
you just had to take a bite while noone looked

and laughter, so much and so often
we thought we would die. We couldn't
breathe, then the moment was over
like a dagger withdrawn, immediately missed

Where did the moment go ? It was exhaled
while you were preoccupied. Life required attention
but when you returned, the rain stopped falling
the sun stopped shining, and you were left alone

 

[sassynyc]

'Round the Way in Summer

Heat rising from asphalt
in sizzling waves
Flashback.......

80's summers, 90 degrees
Back when entire brick villages
still raised each others young
Play in front of the window
so moms can clock your time
"Be back when the street light comes on"
she calls, to tiny blurs scuttling past

Out the door like lightning
living Flash Gordon dreams
Riding 25 cents bets between friends
"Bet I can beat the elevator downstairs"
Off like a shot, you can outrun the wind

Sometimes the inevitable.....
You collect your quarter in the lobby
because today just happens to be
The scheduled weekly elevator break-down

Your friends are mad, but they pay up
and it's off to the corner store
for 10 cents ices and quarter waters,
Bon Ton chips and Charleston Chews

Next stop, the park
"My Girl" floats from boom box speakers
A seal-shaped fountain spews relief
from the mammoth heat

Streaking through the sprinklers
in jellies and supermarket slippers
you think, plastic and rubber must be
the greatest inventions known to man

Rip and run 'til the sky is streaked
with purple, orange, pink and gold
Then the street lights come on

 

[satindesire]

Edited Out:

 

[vampiredust]

The Way

Cars digest the afterbirth
of a moon slipped out
of its cloud womb,
slipping below the hill

before regaining
its footing and perching
itself high above
the humming motorway.

Talismans are hung
on dashboards for safety -
the rabbit's foot, (pink dice
being the only exception),

four leafed clover. Zodiacs
map out the way for the lost,
a blood-red Mars swaying
a rusted compass needle

for the damned.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

the haze over you burns off
and love shifts over you
becoming a hungry animal
hips slung below knees
in a squat kiss pulling

there is the fear of the mantis
the thrill of being taken in
whole and alive
pumping

and the point where you are helpless--
even knowing full well
there will be consequences
her pupils open
at the same time as her cervix

you fall in and shove up
thinking everything else is portage
to this stream carrying
ancestral trunks

 

[unpredictablebijou]

the haze over you burns off
and love shifts over you
becoming a hungry animal
hips slung below knees
in a squat kiss pulling

there is the fear of the mantis
the thrill of being taken in
whole and alive
pumping

and the point where you are helpless--
even knowing full well
there will be consequences
her pupils open
at the same time as her cervix

you fall in and shove up
thinking everything else is portage
to this stream carrying
ancestral trunks

Perhaps if it weren't
a way to disappear
something being engulfed
it would be easier

but would that ocean
be as worth sailing
without the storms
the teeth of sharks

dive for pearls
come up alive
shifted by the depths
having lost everything

to her chaos, but gained
a glimpse into the velvet
a taste of that
singular dark apple

 

[Eluard]

replies to replies

the haze over you burns off
and love shifts over you
becoming a hungry animal
hips slung below knees
in a squat kiss pulling

there is the fear of the mantis
the thrill of being taken in
whole and alive
pumping

and the point where you are helpless--
even knowing full well
there will be consequences
her pupils open
at the same time as her cervix

you fall in and shove up
thinking everything else is portage
to this stream carrying
ancestral trunks

Perhaps if it weren't
a way to disappear
something being engulfed
it would be easier

but would that ocean
be as worth sailing
without the storms
the teeth of sharks

dive for pearls
come up alive
shifted by the depths
having lost everything

to her chaos, but gained
a glimpse into the velvet
a taste of that
singular dark apple

Liturgy

Lord, I was taken into the whale's
depths and found that the
darkness was your darkness
your particular way of soaking up
light from the bread of evening cloud.

Lord there was nothing and now
there is something.
Have you merely taken away nothing
to leave something?
Is this the solution to the mystery of

your making of the world and love?
Is this all your spells and conjuries are?
You remove nothing and the world appears?
Then do it again and again and let us see
what worlds can be made from us.

 

[vampiredust]

Poem

Let me burn you off
like excess alcohol
in a pan, feeling
the last of your flame

try to reach my lips
for one last kiss.
Let me wash off
your residue, charred

like the walls of a mine
shaft. Let me scratch
my name there, leaving
it to move closer to yours.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Liturgy

Lord, I was taken into the whale's
depths and found that the
darkness was your darkness
your particular way of soaking up
light from the bread of evening cloud.

Lord there was nothing and now
there is something.
Have you merely taken away nothing
to leave something?
Is this the solution to the mystery of

your making of the world and love?
Is this all your spells and conjuries are?
You remove nothing and the world appears?
Then do it again and again and let us see
what worlds can be made from us.

A star
for all its scale
is simple

geometry and chemistry
impressively arrayed
into function

with little complexity.
It overwhelms
only because

its end is far
from our sight
even if forseeable.

More complex
and somewhat less
distant is

this hand with its
soft, frail skin.
This blood

with its vulgar
pumping warmth
and its need

always pulling
(predictable,
lamentable, intimate--

yes embarassingly
intimate). And it asks
but only quietly--

in its effort of fingers,
uncurled and reaching,
in its upward palm--

it asks if you can
feel? This love
speaks even

when your eyes
are cast
skyward.

 

[annaswirls]

it was not so much my 7 year old
droning on and on about how I was so uninteresting
uninteresting, uninteresting voice
just
so
but no it was how you sat
poking the grilled jerk chicken I made for you
special
and did not defend me
could not think of one reason
he was wrong



...............

of course
my big news was how
I bought a sweet potato for the baby
his first real food besides rice

..............


remember when we discovered Jerk seasoning?
at the festival on the waterfront
I thought it might help

no
comment

...............

 

[annaswirls]

??????????

 

[annaswirls]

I wish I could pull time's ribbons and gather us back
together again, one place, one time
maybe down in the meadow you on the lowest branch
of the sycamore
me with my baton practicing a routine
and protecting us from the cow beasts that grazed there
he has his baseball bat
is trying to hit walnuts into the creek
and she is picking at the patches in her jeans
wondering if it will ever be like this
again

 

[annaswirls]

on that bush by the spring that never bloomed

of course, dad,
of course the roses
are nana coming back
to let you know she made it okay-
that she is gone but still with you

you do not need to apologize to me
for this magical explanation
I know the dead come back
I am a poet, dad, a dreamer
I know the dead come back
it's okay, it is okay
to admit you believe

 

[normal jean]

I have lost my voice
my fingers are numb
my mind still races
and ideas are born
but my ears are deaf
voice is mute
the poet has come
undone

 

[annaswirls]

it has to be important to someone

I could write for an hour about
the trip to the store,
across town, the higher end HEB
with organic produce, peanut butter
you grind yourself, folks from the retirement community
next door who wonder what my family
is doing
in their store

the produce.
I am there for the produce
and maybe sushi but today
it is sweet potatoes

today
is the day I introduce my baby
to flavor
and color

for the older boys we select pears
not too soft and bruised
but soft enough to eat in the morning

each picks a head of broccoli
each picks the best head of broccoli

you cannot really mess up a sweet potato
baked or microwaved, boiled in water, steamed.

I choose to boil my baby's first vegatable,
overcooked, mushy, blended with the water
to keep every vitamin

Last week I bought a shirt,
for myself,
first one since before the pregnancy belly.
It is orange and yellow, some red, stripes
like Guatemala, stripes
like sweet potato with ribbons of butter

no one else seems to see this importance
they run from outside with frogs or for popcicle,
they run on and on about elections or grants
and presentations, they talk about illness
or travel, weather, death

but we are in this
intimate moment, outside of them
this first taste
eyebrows scrunched then raised
surprise, and an open mouth,
more, more.....

someone tells me I am uninteresting
I know this
but it has to be important to someone
these small moments
these last first times

 

[annaswirls]

I have lost my voice
my fingers are numb
my mind still races
and ideas are born
but my ears are deaf
voice is mute
the poet has come
undone

there you go
winning your own argument
withyourself
shouting loud
I have lost my voice!

pssst.... news, poet-lady,
I just heard it
found!

 

[normal jean]

there you go
winning your own argument
withyourself
shouting loud
I have lost my voice!

pssst.... news, poet-lady,
I just heard it
found!

you're so sweet. but i need some drano fro my brain, so for now, it is back to baby steps, and god forbid, rhyme...lol.

 

[normal jean]

I could write for an hour about
the trip to the store,
across town, the higher end HEB
with organic produce, peanut butter
you grind yourself, folks from the retirement community
next door who wonder what my family
is doing
in their store

the produce.
I am there for the produce
and maybe sushi but today
it is sweet potatoes

today
is the day I introduce my baby
to flavor
and color

for the older boys we select pears
not too soft and bruised
but soft enough to eat in the morning

each picks a head of broccoli
each picks the best head of broccoli

you cannot really mess up a sweet potato
baked or microwaved, boiled in water, steamed.

I choose to boil my baby's first vegatable,
overcooked, mushy, blended with the water
to keep every vitamin

Last week I bought a shirt,
for myself,
first one since before the pregnancy belly.
It is orange and yellow, some red, stripes
like Guatemala, stripes
like sweet potato with ribbons of butter

no one else seems to see this importance
they run from outside with frogs or for popcicle,
they run on and on about elections or grants
and presentations, they talk about illness
or travel, weather, death

but we are in this
intimate moment, outside of them
this first taste
eyebrows scrunched then raised
surprise, and an open mouth,
more, more.....

someone tells me I am uninteresting
I know this
but it has to be important to someone
these small moments
these last first times

I remember those days and I envy you, yet I don't. I am not sure I could do it again. MIne are 25 and 19, and I am 45 and 5.

mama beat me to the "real" food with my first one- pineapple yogurt, pizza sauce and coffee, all behind my back, of course. But that's okay, now she doesn't eat beef or fried foods.... and swears her first born will be an astronomer or classical pianist. And to think, all I wanted for her was to be happy.

 

[annaswirls]

that's okay, I am not sure I can do it again either! life doesn't usually give you that choice...

I like your poem you write down there by the way....

mama beat me to
the "real" food with my first one-
pineapple yogurt, pizza sauce and coffee,
all behind my back, of course.

But that's okay,
now she doesn't eat beef or fried foods
swears her first born will be an astronomer
or classical pianist.
And to think, all I wanted
for her was to be happy.

I remember those days and I envy you, yet I don't. I am not sure I could do it again. MIne are 25 and 19, and I am 45 and 5.

mama beat me to the "real" food with my first one- pineapple yogurt, pizza sauce and coffee, all behind my back, of course. But that's okay, now she doesn't eat beef or fried foods.... and swears her first born will be an astronomer or classical pianist. And to think, all I wanted for her was to be happy.

 

[4degrees]

the last first times
bring us back
wake us up
to the real and the
valid

a chronic poet of
html hangs himself
discovered by loved ones
all saw it coming
and now shake their heads
what a shame,
what a shame
but the son, he cries
like a baby
recalling the last first time
he saw his father sober

i toss away last first moments
in exchange for a rat race
leaving me incapable of
tolerance
void of patience
i am missing those
moments, everyday.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

It's poetry the place where you touch me
just there, my special place.
No intellectual rhymes or reason
or searching for words, in fact
don't speak let me feel
the tease as you linger
inches away, till titillation
is all that fills my mind,
and I ache.Oh please!

 

[normal jean]

from the rhyming garden

meet me by the paw-paw tree
beneath the shade
that keeps her short and sweet
there'll be no deer to spy, you see
if you meet me by the paw-paw tree

we'll pick a few for Papa Hugh
then to the holler for berries, too
and Granny will bake a cobbler, if you
meet me by the paw-paw tree
beneath the shade, she grows so well

short and sweet, her custard smell
no persimmons to make you wince
you can take me by the split rail fence
we'll have a go on the way back home
your taste buds never have to roam

if you meet me by the paw-paw tree
her native fruit so custardy
from New York state to Mississippi
tasty relative of the Magnolia tree
Miss Prairie Banana, the paw-paw tree

 

[normal jean]

that's okay, I am not sure I can do it again either! life doesn't usually give you that choice...

I like your poem you write down there by the way....

Anna! how is it you can shake a bake a poem out of even my rambles?

I have so much to learn...

thank you