all of a sudden passion suddenly

[echoes_s]

Outside of me

I can’t do this
she cried,
searching scattered
seed of mind.
This is outside of me.

Dirt squalls gather by
root scuffed knees,
dust stained cheeks
where tears weave
tiny soiled petals.

the only image
found…
a perception of sanity

I plant and water,
nurturing this life
yet always the
ground is parched,
sustenance of insignificant
cracked pods, void,
picked by insects of vile,
vast majority wins.

Grasping browned grass,
support gives without roots,
arid air screams,
terracotta pain cracks
under peril and spits
splintered sobs
as the earth shifts in terror
again

I can’t do this
she cried,
slowly losing sight.
The sun waned at noon
merging darkness to blight

 

[tungtied2u]

Mileage

Time and distance
traveled thru circumstance
wears on the body
tears at the mind

the terrain is ever shifting
drops out from under you
or raises you above the horizon
you are at it's mercy

the end of the road
never comes
always just afew more minutes
and a few more miles

 

[Angeline]

Time and distance
traveled thru circumstance
wears on the body
tears at the mind

the terrain is ever shifting
drops out from under you
or raises you above the horizon
you are at it's mercy

the end of the road
never comes
always just afew more minutes
and a few more miles

Dear friend, this land is strange,
but we are not strangers
to suffering or perseverance.

We see each other
as if sorrow films tears
to mirror our humanity,
our eternal toddlerhood
stumbling between needing
security and independence.

One can say miles are meaningless
or even time, say everything exists
in the beholder's perspective, my snow
and your spring, my one window
shattered or yours, and all that matters
is the moment that leads to the next.

The corporeal moment of my hand
pressed on the glass before it broke
and this vapor where we live,
not by choice, where my ghost fingers
clasp yours to carress some elusive
understanding.

 

[Angeline]

Sunset striated
in layers like sherbet,
cold colors, the orange
dripping to yellow, deepening
blue and the fading purple glow.

Night creeping down
between crevices of mountain,
hushing the road to silence,
listening for the distant train.

I imagine darkness falling
in drops of flower on cotton snow,
my grandmother's bedsheets
sprinkled with lavendar,
crumbling, unfolding spring
on the davenport cushions
where I slept.

 

[annaswirls]

Sunset striated
in layers like sherbet,
cold colors, the orange
dripping to yellow, deepening
blue and the fading purple glow.

Night creeping down
between crevices of mountain,
hushing the road to silence,
listening for the distant train.

I imagine darkness falling
in drops of flower on cotton snow,
my grandmother's bedsheets
sprinkled with lavendar,
crumbling, unfolding spring
on the davenport cushions
where I slept.

far be it for me to intrude
but I fear a mistake has been made

this grandmother of which you speak
is most certainly mine...
I just hope I get there first,
scavange the change that falls
from Uncle David's work-pants
every night at 7
Jeopardy...

maybe we can sleep feet to feet
heads propped on worn arm rests
and circle crocheted pillows
with that damn button sewn in the middle
that ruins everything



dear god ange and patrick have gotten to me
I am hyphenating words in the passion thread
someone smack me quick
a swirt smack please
pass it through with the sharp sting of contact in motion
not the heavy thud of a slow moving hand
that stops dead



AND whats more,
between your sherbert and T's fruit loops
y'all should start a sunset diner
open only dawn
and dusk

bring your own spoon

 

[tungtied2u]

Canyon

It's bloody deep and wide
red clay, white limestone
the stuff of bones and bricks
torn down to essence

time is a toy
to measure our passing
this canyon could care less
it gathers us in

only to let the rain
wash us away
finally settling
silt ofr mankind's future

 

[Angeline]

far be it for me to intrude
but I fear a mistake has been made

this grandmother of which you speak
is most certainly mine...
I just hope I get there first,
scavange the change that falls
from Uncle David's work-pants
every night at 7
Jeopardy...

maybe we can sleep feet to feet
heads propped on worn arm rests
and circle crocheted pillows
with that damn button sewn in the middle
that ruins everything



dear god ange and patrick have gotten to me
I am hyphenating words in the passion thread
someone smack me quick
a swirt smack please
pass it through with the sharp sting of contact in motion
not the heavy thud of a slow moving hand
that stops dead



AND whats more,
between your sherbert and T's fruit loops
y'all should start a sunset diner
open only dawn
and dusk

bring your own spoon

No Uncle David,
but Uncle Davey had a dry cleaner's
near Columbus Circle. Models,
he said all the beautiful girls
bring their clothes by me,
which sounds perverted but Davey
was sweet with his loopy grin
and outrageous politics, waving
his hands and The Times Book Review,
raving and laughing with Daddy.

Outside Lewisburg,
on a hillside far away
from the picnic he lay down
on the grass and smiled at me,
fluttered the Book Review
over his face and slept.

The smile was almost a memory
of the Oak Room where I drank
my first Campari and soda.
His liver-spotted hands shook a little
when he handed me the glass.
He used to stride with such grace
as if Gershwin set the fascinating rhythm,
playing a private concert in Davey's head,

rhapsodic piano rolls
Gershwin and Uncle Davey
ebbing with the tide.

Shhh ghosts. Let me sleep.

 

[Angeline]

Listen.

Do you hear that?

Doug's ghost is speaking
to me. His voice flew in
through my ear, his rumpled
rumbly old voice full of giggle.

I'm a goof ball he said

and threatened to have pizza
delivered to me at 4 a.m. Ok

I'm a girl who can appreciate
the benefits of a pizza-bearing ghost,
but there will be no piece
because all Doug wants to tell me
is passion means no edits.

There are no edits,
passionate as I am
about them.

 

[Angeline]

move over.
i'm sorry I sneezed
on your chest, but let me
put my face next to your back
becaue it is my favorite spot
in the world now
that the six lilac bushes
are gone.

 

[Liar]

got milk?

there is a chair and two ears
and deep frozen blueberries
sweet as Eden
as fresh as it gets
in a winter that just won't let go
over here
and extra sugar
if that's the way you like it

got time?

slow those tap-dancing soles
down to a saunter

sit
just sit

watch flakes tumble outside
for a while

speak if you wish
or not

the berries don't mind
niether do I
as long as you got milk
and drown your sorrows
in such simplicity

got breath?

no? didn't think so

here are
simple pleasures
in a quiet room
conversation, not discourse
and blueberries
as fresh as an arctic March
can allow

 

[Remec]

Wrapped in Brown Paper

slowly stalking through the deli
case by case
until picking out a final choice
nice and fresh
grabbing the butcher's attention
next number
thick hands lifting the selection
to the scale
parceling out the right amount
asked for
rolling it into a compact bundle
nice and tight
taking it home to add a new sensation
soft and cold
warming within palms and against skin
bit by bit
then slipping into a hot pan
hmmm, the smell
nothing erotic about meat?
that depends

 

[annaswirls]

No Uncle David,
but Uncle Davey had a dry cleaner's
near Columbus Circle. Models,
he said all the beautiful girls
bring their clothes by me,
which sounds perverted but Davey
was sweet with his loopy grin
and outrageous politics, waving
his hands and The Times Book Review,
raving and laughing with Daddy.

Outside Lewisburg,
on a hillside far away
from the picnic he lay down
on the grass and smiled at me,
fluttered the Book Review
over his face and slept.

The smile was almost a memory
of the Oak Room where I drank
my first Campari and soda.
His liver-spotted hands shook a little
when he handed me the glass.
He used to stride with such grace
as if Gershwin set the fascinating rhythm,
playing a private concert in Davey's head,

rhapsodic piano rolls
Gershwin and Uncle Davey
ebbing with the tide.

Shhh ghosts. Let me sleep.

Uncle David's version of dry cleaning
was sprinkling a little Avon powder
onto white t-shirts to get an extra day
out of em.

That powder, you know it
came in a cardboard cylinder
packaged to look like a speckled bull's horn
briown black tan and the powder
to smell like a man who selled a little like
a bull

Uncle David was not even an uncle
Another one of the foster kids that never left
grandmoms house.

Liverspots? nah. David is more of a gout man

he still has his favorite spot in front ot the tube
covered with a purple towel now
and his belly has risen up
you can see it over the arm of the chair

 

[annaswirls]

4am pizza
no pepperoni for girls
who edit
their
passion!!!


couldv called him on the threat
cash only!
wait
he says plastic was reserved for secret
and slick gifts tricks and other such indulgances

magnetic bar code
scratch


dont be surprised
if one shows up still

think he has connections
with YDD
he drops greasy pepperoni circles
onto the heads of cheater
and petals onto the heads of pretty ladies
while she shoots spitballs at cliche

sometimes I throw one in jut to make sure
she is still paying attention

 

[annaswirls]

what happened to my
edge

cut through every extra line word comma
fuck it

that is all i have
for now

that and poens written with a basalt
flour
grinder

glass thin eyes

and a reminder
there is
a sun outside warming a space that should be you

 

[Guest]

Somewhere out of sight, between
right eye and ear, hides
a minute-sized wench.

She pinches much too hard,
pulls neck muscles
tight like barbwire shoelaces.

Worse, double-knottted with loopy bunny ears
an ill sense of humor juxtaposed,
which is surely lost on me.

Pitching that bitch a handful of Advil
wouldn't due as my gut is too raw
the consequences of worry and overuse

Not even heated fingers with cool side
pillow comfort, brow kisses
can loosen today's grief.

It all makes the insides bleed.
There are no relievers,
only deliverers, "I'm sorry, our friend is gone."

 

[Angeline]

I am wary of strangers
and the faces they make
with their animal shadow hands,
and the way they cast out their lives
over sidewalks, pissing the intention
of their territory like dogs
because you've seen eyes
speak a story in a second
of passing they close the lids
of their humanity, and Lord
knows why would I want
these fractured flashes
of displaced air to bloom
into knowing your cracked coffee mug
or that your striped shirt is missing
a button on the left wrist. So keep
moving with whatever convictions
you've prayed or painted or politicized
into a rubberband philosophy that snaps
you to the next attention and I will, too.

 

[annaswirls]

death promised to trade his knight for my queen

and I challenged him to charades
down along the stony banks
it might have been Placentia on the shores of
Newfoundland's Avalon Peninsula

same fog
smooth oval stones
like in the bin at home depot
who knew
they came home grown like that
for the step and skip and
drying of fish

the ones that no longer pass through
I have forgotten their names


But Paddy showed us the whales, he did
out past Bay Bulls and told us of their kindness


they'll save yeh, they will!




this is not the poem I intended tonight

I sat to write of tricking death
into changing his game

 

[annaswirls]

i have never washed my face
in the salted sea

nor have I been greeted by death

stalling for another moment to understand
the point of all this
non
sense

better to be painted in a travelling troupe
twisting cameo
night to day
with a turn of cheek

step high bow low

the people do not want your gaity now

they want your cross
fresh with virgin who sees satan
on either side of outstretched arms
burning
burning


better to be the monkey in the tree
death chops
without a pause for the torture of
the truth of
nothing ness

I make the sign for Movie.

death rolls his eyes

the ancient text were far more convincing
although Tolkien got the horses right
so many misguided
mind numbing reels
he never could stay awake to see them all


and damn if this girl doesn't trip up death

on the Olsen twins. what a risk
as he should be getting to know mary kate, or is it ashley?
quite well by now


we laugh
he never saw them coming

 

[annaswirls]

remind me again
how it was I caught your attention

raw sexuality combined with the neurosis
that lets the gates hold nothing back

it the desire exists
it exists

to wake your offerings
open hands cupped or
tight tied clench
of letting go


remind me again
how was it I brought you back
was it the satin ribbon tied
so softly against your hardness
bunny ear looks pulleb with teeth
brushed by tongue

do I ask you how you want me
where you want me
or

offer resistance to be broken
down to begging


brutal truth
or seductive lies

I cant remember

 

[annaswirls]

i always liked Sophie.

some days
i even cross the tracks in daylight
to get at her.

she sure is pretty enough,
easy on the wallet.
that outweighs her ignorance
of politics and Shakespeare.
i can get those at home.

low-rent sluts are underappreciated.

they’re so very fine to fuck
and never ask questions.
why worry there is so little stimulation
after the cigarettes are crushed?
you can always talk of weather
or how they manage to maintain
their exquisite aroma. and
when i need to relieve the boredom,
Sophie never minds
if I tell her to shut up
and spread again.

she never minded Richard crossing the tracks for a quick stop
never had to play nobody
she was enough of a thing to be seeen
without putting on

no need to hold back
this man was not buying any milk
or the cow either
might as well spend the
smacked face
tight knee frustrations out on him

his teeth were straight
briefs white
fingernails trimmed short
before probing through her tenders

sophie knew it was nothing then
knowsit is nothing then
but a fine cigarette
and practice runs

knowing she got the best of him
while
Mrs. had to fake interest on Thee and thou bob her head in iambic pentameter
and read the papers to see
who
was
where

when what mattered was fuck while you are young
and watch for the clouds that come in
send the others away.

 

[Angeline]

I knew Sophie
better than you
before the lime green
shimmy dress
with the purple star
that attracted you
and scared me
because she looked so hot,
and she was so vulnerable.

Once when Flipper called me
a dirty Jew she slapped him
so hard that he flew off the swing
and lay in the dirt, crying.

Before the lime green dress
with the purple star, we ice skated
on the frozen Delaware.
It was so cold our noses twitched,
and daddy called us bunnies,
brought us hot chocolate,

long before the dress
and the needles.

The last time I saw her
I told her I wanted the dress
but she said no, it's not for you.
I was young and a virgin then
and she was young and old,
but she was always a person
even when she didn't know it

and it doesn't matter
if you didn't love her
because I did.

 

[fawnie]

perception
trickles down from my umbrella
puddles slosh below
hiding dead of winter
where flowers bloomed
and petals dried in olive jar
spring fragrance and vinegar
pickled memories
transparent longings
kept safe within the glass
a closer look
a sniff of yesterday
nostils turn away
for aroma reveals no thoughts
of gardens nourished by the rains
of seasons past
love fades atlast.

 

[sandj]

i have never washed my face
in the salted sea

nor have I been greeted by death

stalling for another moment to understand
the point of all this
non
sense

better to be painted in a travelling troupe
twisting cameo
night to day
with a turn of cheek

step high bow low

the people do not want your gaity now

they want your cross
fresh with virgin who sees satan
on either side of outstretched arms
burning
burning


better to be the monkey in the tree
death chops
without a pause for the torture of
the truth of
nothing ness

I make the sign for Movie.

death rolls his eyes

the ancient text were far more convincing
although Tolkien got the horses right
so many misguided
mind numbing reels
he never could stay awake to see them all


and damn if this girl doesn't trip up death

on the Olsen twins. what a risk
as he should be getting to know mary kate, or is it ashley?
quite well by now


we laugh
he never saw them coming

I imagine,
if death came knocking
literally, he would not be
dressed in the traditional
coal black cloak, shadowy and grim,
a scythe or a sickle in his skeletal grip,
floating rather than stepping
through the door, followed
by a chill and the sound of wind
but no breeze.

No, I imagine
he would probably dress more
like a traveling salesman:
button-down shirt, necktie
with paisleys loosened
at the collar, hair combed
neatly, clean-shaven, with a warm
handshake and a “Good afternoon, madam,
could you spare a moment of your time?”
That way you would be more likely
to welcome him in, and
you wouldn't notice the echo
in his footsteps, the way he doesn't
breathe, or the pale gray slowly creeping
at the edges of your vision utnil
it's too late. But by then, he's already
ripped your head off, and you've decided
maybe it's best if you just lie down for a while.

 

[annaswirls]

what I did instead of writing poetry this morning

what I did instead of writing poetry this morning

~

this summer I let a geranium die
from dehydration, never made it out of its market pack

it sat on the grill well into the winter months
brown sticks
when three deformed red blossoms appeared I knew it had proven
right to life

today
I moved it into a bigger pot.
Purple.

~


today I made four air dry models
of our family

stuck to popcicle sticks


~

I have yet to shower
Which means the Eminem look a like
from two doors down will most likely knock
to use my phone

~

cleaned the floor.
found magnetic poetry

pound
low
could
honey
beneath

bribed the young one to help
or at least remain occupied by putting all of daddys change
into his own yellow pig

~

read all the zoo stories in the house
even Barney

~

I saw the sun
Paid bills
in
the
sun

hold on a second, I want to go get some more
SUN


~

I remembered someone
I forgot something else

~

matched two baskets of unmatched socks

I lied
I did not match any socks
I hate matching socks

~

did I mention I re-potted the geranium that rose from the dead?

~

 

[Guest]

Café au lait Casanova 2

And today, the corner coffee house
with clichéd French art, fake ficus trees
and over-sized china mugs
won't have me as a permanent fixture.

Maybe, drinking venti vanilla lattes
but no cruising, no more 'fuck me' grins
or strange women kneeling
at these lewd boot heels.

Not today, or this day each year after
but any other in between are free
to feed a red-eye writer's insomia,
won't still this ever philandering mind.

After all, a man's wedding ring
is instant-girl-kryptonite
and a coffee cup can stay full all night
even though now, it's 'just flirting'.