all of a sudden passion suddenly

[OpheliaQuieroz]

Canis of Barsoom

I always said
Tara was a bitch
(curves notwithstanding)
ergo
dogs on Mars
and
if dogs
then cats
to chase the rats.

 

[champagne1982]

Greatness

Is there a rightness
To the passing of the great?

Perhaps, instead of cures
For all our present ills,
Humanity should seek a way,
To resurrect the great,
Lost in passing.

Who would decide a great soul's name,
For surely a cognomen
Would not determine
Such an effort
On one's behalf?

Who exactly is Catherine the Great?
Would a Caesar be well thought
In these times of enforced democracy?

There are beings who deserve
To continue a life shortened
By frailties of our nature.
Surely, we could agree on those?

A commitee,
Of the world's great minds,
Could convene.
These great souls
Would choose great souls.
But,
Who would decide a great soul's name?

 

[eagleyez]

girls
playing bass
like the scrawny tshirt
redhead
in guadalcanal diary
at Eisntiens on the beach
all ages-

we danced in the water at
1 am,
just down the sand
from the Watusi Rodeo
and bodysurfed
in the moonlit foam
till shirts
clung to chests
and whitewaterwaves
yanked shorts clean off-
hang on to em with your ankle and
kiss me salty.

 

[Angeline]

Sonnet

If it but please you Sir, I will reckon
with the dawn, bid it spread its curling wings
and carry morning here. I will beckon
Sun to settle thus all days if it brings
vision to your eyes, annointing light
for I am in the manner of your smile;
an Eos come for you at death of night,
darkness my enemy. I will beguile
you with laughter for Sir it pleases me
to hear the rumbling tumble of your joy
lilting as water sparkled on the sea,
lifting us in pleasure. I am not coy
in love or friendship Sir, my senses shine
within the glow of pleasing what is mine.

 

[Angeline]

Van says
meet him in the lonely den
of midnight in the twilight,
which is falling here,
the sun dropping
with the night spreading
behind it like a comet
slowly trailing purple grey
orange blue deepening,
and the air is clear,
sweet from fresh rain.
Grassy summer musk
is right outside
the window.

Van rocks.
He says he's back
on the street again,
on the top again,
and dinner sizzles,
life bubbles .

 

[echoes_s]

i understand when you hit the end,
empty blocked walls,
soundproofed doors closed,
everywhere windowless

no return call, just
screaming pain,
a trembling hand falls
silent, held within

always the same,
no help, boundless shame
for weakness portrayed,
helpless, no hope once again

emotions pent
from tears to screaming rage,
clenching fists to beat
numbed plastered page

held back, crumpled,
overcome then deflated,
on knees, head to floor
anonymous, bland, faceless

some papered so thick
or painted with age
it’s the children this time
he has come to claim

playing his game
playing his game

 

[echoes_s]

wretched am i, her mind slain
emotions bleeding
soaking my hand
hovering her heart
from mine
powerless
for our definitive touch

distance came,
took her far off away
that i could not gaze
into pooled brown eyes
once trusting
now hazed

in a fogged reflection
of fairy tales come true
unrealistic promises
of the moment
made possible
by a passing fancy
until his blade struck

not once
but twice this night
his tone
her voice
so dead
unmindful of an echoed
“i love you”

laughter died
a last gurgle of coldness
creeping spines
shivering graves
twisting nightmares
coming true

 

[echoes_s]

she is innocent
i cry
four bared walls
pains reflection
nails grasped to stain
upon grained wood anew

leave her mind
don't twist her emotions
let her laugh
but a child
and breathe one more
fresh breath

it is i you hate
let me feel your wrath
take me on
knock me down
beat me tarnished blue

break my wings
drown my smile
just let her freedom fly
watch her soar
and smile that she is
a part of you

just this

 

[Angeline]

It's early, so probably you're all
still asleep. You might be up,
watching an old movie
or the World at War.

I don't know why the world
was always at war. I didn't
want it to be, but it slid
from favored-nation status
to guarded truce again
and again, until I pushed
the button and the bomb fell,
obliterated everything.

Are you on the couch
hating me, regretting me?

I went somewhere else.
You think my heart and yes,
that, but my soul flew out
the window and hovered
for so long before
you even think.

My babies,
who have not been babies
for so long are shell-shocked,
dragged through the middle
of the minefield. Why
was the world always
at war? Why?

I wanted words, not silences.
Gardens, quiet messy newspaper
days, not a war.

 

[Eleanora Day]

Too late to be up, mi dulce.
Too early, with the moon
full in the night, hanging
in blind omniscence. Distant
birdcalls approach. Dawn
stretches in cool mist
to lick the Earth's face clean

Amante, lift yourself.
Haga que su deseo pide.

Make your desire plead, Mendigo,
for my mouth and the grasp
of tongue, teeth pushing you
into sighs and the little
remonstrances of fingers
Here and here,
suavecito, supplicant.

The sky is turning to milk,
gray pearlesence; the birds
are speaking.
The night breathes its dying sibilance.
Silence. Skin rising, falling
together.

 

[Angeline]

We listened to
An American in Paris
on the little cassette player,
and talked about the movie.

Gene Kelly's elegant athletic leaps
Leslie Caron gamin-gorgeous, dancing
by the fountain, both of them taut
with such delicate strength.

There were barely any cars
on the highway when I left
the hospital, so I could hear
my tires spin down that blacktop,
and when I looked up
I saw the fireworks streaming
into the night in those grand strikes
of green and purple,
red, glorious really,
but like bells tolling, like you
were exploding in the sky.

 

[Angeline]

Came home late from the clubs
we saw Elizabeth and danced
got a little drunk
walked down the shoreline
two blocks to Spencer Street.

The Crest was shutting down
ferris wheel turned off
all that green neon
blinking out
until it was just beach
and waves rolling
and moonlight

Crossed the boards
back to the rooming house,
and Ricky from the first floor
touched my back,
put his tongue in my mouth,
but my eyes didn't open
till he kissed my ear.

I ran upstairs scared,
thinking two hours
to breakfast shift,
and I still have to wash
my uniform.

 

[echoes_s]

when sanity slips
through the cracks
what form, what color
what emotion would it be?

the pulsing red of anger
blood rushed feat
rising to white
steam
as it fissured your eyes
hissing

or inescapable pain
with silent screams
until reality blotted out sense
as you open your mouth
with keening shrieks

or sadness pulling you down
so heavy, fogged black
unseeing
unfeeling
uncaring of being

 

[SeattleRain]

pilot
precise V7 rolling ball fine point
Red

scratch a request drop it into my box
the word whore is IN

check tomorrow
return address request
of the cyber poetess
slut with the hostesses apron
strings included
snipped upon request

kicked from the nest

but not before
opening my poem wide
for the plunge and plunder

just leave the compliment
on the side trable
a pat on the head
good girl poem whore

and if you are really good
rtommorow I may say you are
the best
as a tip

perhaps asking you about your
childhood and inspiration

just stroking your ego
as I stroke my
self

thinking of new ways to defy
the laws of physics
nature
and man
with a backward twist of metaphor
twirling like a thread between
fingers not sleeping untuil

you come and come and come back for more
mind fuck from the poem whore

 

[echoes_s]

scruffy mongrel
slinked shadows of
in between
tail and tucked
body and legs
occasional body crawl

eyes darting
sometimes snarling
snapped fangs of reach
with a faint flicker
of hope
found feared and deep

he once had a home
children to keep
food and warmth
security
then one day it was all gone.

 

[Liar]

cell phone
headset handsfree
headstrong handsome

the best fucking suit on the best fucking doll

you know the type
closet freak Bateman sliders
teflon kevlar
titanium surface,
perfect impenetrable,
polished down
to diamonds

four hundred dollar hair

two cent
gutter spit
attitude

makes you wonder
about the little things,
doesn't it?

how does he look
when he spanks that
genitocured special soap
royal treatment and silk
boxer wrapped monkey?

or when he brews a big one
on his great white,
        gold and red marble inlays nonetheless,
porcelain teleporter
Flush-O-Tron x3000?

and what's the focal point
of his growing stash
of downloaded,
        too-paranoid-for-paysites,
Barely Legal eternal 18
TGP preview porn?

don't you ever wonder
whatever small and ugly
you have in common?

maybe you will too,
after reading this?

 

[echoes_s]

i’ve often wondered the little things
like how one can hold anger
and blow hate like gutter stench
backwash of swilled septic tanks
enough to swamp one side of the street
brewing larvae and nests of mosquitoes
West Nile…
human genocide
laughter petty
pained children’s eyes
bruised from a harsh squeeze
of hand print crushing hearts
while expressing abundant glee
giggling like banshee
as another tear falls
and one more bit of innocence lost

 

[Liar]

ask me

why the face-splitter grin
why the hop-along step?

and I will blink
a blank stare
not quite understanding
the question

then shrug
wink
open my coat
pull a pink rose
like magic
out of my sleeve

put it in your hair

and a sunflower
from behind my back

to hang
around your neck

then snuggle my fresh
buzz cut neck hair
between your breasts below

and say
look, we're a totem pole

then turn around
raise my head
and murmur
and you're always the one on top
lips to lips
into your mouth

it wouldn't answer your question
but then again
what would

when you ask for a reason
to happiness?

 

[tungtied2u]

Independence Day

From Chicago to Asheville,
a highway holiday.
Fireworks
flash independence,
celebrate freedom,
shout out liberty.
Such joy!

I weep.
My daughter,
independent now
in Chicago.
Me,
returning home,
alone.

Independence,
a mixed blessing
for the liberated
and the liberator.

 

[echoes_s]

philosophically happiness
is the opening of one self
and allowing life to flow
yet what happens
when life only bleeds out
draining joy, breaking souls
like a dried snapped twigs
in drought, so easily

mother outlives daughter
fingers stretch then span
before a wilting flower
cobwebs drenched
collapsing with dew
eyes fade in the mist
of unseeing

pain whisper pleas
“help me”
helpless to touch
hopeless to breathe
new life, love
and peace

now philosophically
how would one be
all embracing, happy
can one bleed the pain
to sow one seed
nourish life
feeding the bounty of being?

 

[Angeline]

Such beauty in this poetry--almost too much to hold.
Vocabulary speaks. I understand that form
should be constructed by the rules, but it is cold

and analytical finding the words, and being warm
is poetry--the presence, not the absence, of the thing.
Vocabulary speaks. I understand that form

is just a frame to drape the phrases, make them ring,
so somewhere someone reads and touches you.
Is poetry the presence, not the absence of the thing?

Does it fill empty spaces gaping in the reader, too?
If beauty is but artifice, I might make it to feel,
so somewhere someone reads and touches you.

Does calculated cause make the effect any less real?
There are so many things I've never felt. I do not know
if beauty is but artifice, I might make it to feel

an echo of a truth I've never held in my embrace.
You read--I am, although you've never seen my face.
Such beauty in this poetry--almost too much to hold
should be constructed by the rules, but it is cold.

 

[SeattleRain]

dont talk about poetics politics or religion
god and the like

slipsticksunset
your aim true and meaning agrees

the ripeness of the fruit
and the gothic stone
both inspired by the same
passion of life
to come to completion
be consumed
and die knowing


the seed goes on

sometimes when I pray I should out

shout shout
to the trees and creatures
create-yours
cry life I am so small
teach me
to understand


nature life speaks in the language of god
promising to never mourn for me
dropping ripe raspberries into open hands
without requestion requesting
thanks of opraise or payment
i whisoper poetry to ther pickers and stem
it is what ripens in me when the crows speak

without caw
quiet conversations
perched on the exposed roots of a fallen tree

they speak in low tones
when they think no one is listening

magestic

sometimes they speakin poems
knowing some one is

tucking head under
walking soft like moss

believing truth from the source

 

[SeattleRain]

he pulled me across the river
to the side I usually peer towards
always

but this side is good too new view
and bedrock not exposed to time and water

weather enough to have broken from cracks
flat surcace for writing on knee table toes soak

wondering why he wanted me on this side tonight

I write
until dimmer switch turns all colors into a shade of black
he watches in whispers
suggestion without comprehension
only question

sworn secrecy
of glass bead secrfest
secrets reflected in headlights staying on track

until night grows black

I cannot see the bottom of the river
black
shoes
disappear to bottom on
slip slippery rocks

I hear his smile

and smile back
both waiting for me to slip
into the black

feeling my way with snail smeared sandles
walking
slow

feeling every slant of depth

we make it and I understand
why

you took me to the other side tonight

and love already pressed tight
grows again
breaking the looking glass

 

[SeattleRain]

lipstint sunset

your legs look better every day, Seattle.

That's poetry........and religion!!




heat -new poem.

what color are your lips, ticksunset?
I will tint my legs to match after the

purple nerple
grin and gurgle
whistle for the thistle
lie back in the lilac

challenge before
I rhyme againm


god how I want to delete but
this will be moy penance

submit reply
and cry

 

[Angeline]

Sonnet for Lady

Can you imagine what went through her head?
She was more sad and somehow more alive.
She sorrowed much--more than she ever said--
though she was never someone to contrive,
but stood inside the maelstrom of her day
and threaded careless fears within each song,
and righted wrongs in blue-inflected play,
walking behind the beats that rolled along
through years designed to take a lady down.
Yes, blackout-curtain years that hid what's true
behind the backdoor entrance in a gown
and a gardenia and the alley view.
The spark within her eyes that never died,
the sheen of unshod tears she never cried.