Dirty 30 in 30

[champagne1982]

Dirty For...

Query

What do you want this time
you rattle and tighten muscle
banded around my chest
to make it hard to breathe
to make my heart heard inside
my head and felt behind my eyes?

Don't raise my ire with the injustice
hiding behind a diplomatic skin
slapped palms in a kind of applause
to yourselves as contracts signed.

Promises you'll break tomorrow
cemented in your grip and Janus
smiles which as soon as the wind
changes direction will turn ugly
but not until today is written in history.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

26

In a dream you stand at a window
early morning sunshine highlights
every leaf and frond,
lifting your robe
venture bare footed
through the dew,
each sense alert
while the mist drifts
through the tree tops
and no sound reaches this Eden.
Wandering through the gate
to the meadow beyond
damp grasses beneath your feet,
poppies in the hedgerow,
the distant hills call to you
and you must follow.
You know somewhere deep inside
this is your last visit
a ghostly journey
to the past and no future.

 

[champagne1982]

Dirty in Five

In Which I Beseech You To Come To Heaven

Be still my lovely and forget the world;
your presence here is not required.
Be free and let your spirit seek
the comfort that is peace.

The only sound you'll let inside the space
where you retreat is my voice raised
in angel song, a rhapsody that swirls
the light of heaven where you float

Untouched and waiting for my lips
to whisper hymns only you can hear,
to kiss a psalm against your breath,
to lick a prayer beyond your skin.

Use my body to blaze the path to bliss
I am a blade to cut the twig of birch,
the flame that singes bark in patterns
of mystic trails we seek within this dream.

Let me bring you here to pleasure's seat,
our egos bound as we are tied together
our unity gathers energy twice and twice
again, stronger than the force of one voice.

Sing now, with me this anthem of delight
and realize, that because I and You are not,
We begin to be: everything and nothing -
the All that is this Love.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

27

The author painted her sweetly
upon his pages,
young and beautifully constructed,
each reader loved her disposition
kind, generous and forgiving.
Swirling through each scene
set out to beguile
and draw each pages turn.
When out of sight of plot
resting in her sumptuous boudoir
or wandering among flowers
still fair of face but unseen,
her skirts would raise
and panties set aside
fuck all upon the index page
and preface everyone.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

dirty six

(Inspired by Sandra Cisneros's Salvador Late and Early poem)

Howard of the too-long pants
whose lmnop arrived with him in one heap
late in fall, skews his head to morning,
crossing between the school and the portable
where he punches a sweater into a bag.

Of course I will love him
even when he is angry
about mean life or when
He is tough.

You need that in the shelter
his mama says, I'm a good
mama Howard. I'm a hard
mama but good.

And I believe she believes
as he walks loud-heeled to morning,

Howard of the crooked smile
and the new notebook
with the school number
not filled in.

Teacher says today
we will read. Howard
nods, solemnly. Here begins
his life in words.

 

[ArnoldSnarb]

.

.....

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Submit ittt!!!!!!!! It's fantastic ! aghhhhhh the dreaded Sestina!

 

[champagne1982]

Dirty Six

Poetry Survivor aka an annual Post Script (PS a terza rima)

The muses have gathered to discuss poetry
and of course the angels just want to sing
and the lords need ballads of heraldry

and the poets say, "Yes but the rub's the thing
"that flitters a rhythm in my head
"along with the rhymes that the formula brings."

But the muses all checked out a chart on Excel
and couldn't agree on the forms all would try
but Erato (who I'll from now call Bill) agreed that none would do well

if the world needed these poems to fry
on the fire of survivalist gathered trite
that still the angst ridden will question, "Why?"

though the muses explain with all their might
the survivor challenge still raises a fright.

 

[ArnoldSnarb]

.

.....

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Poetry Survivor aka an annual Post Script (PS a terza rima)

The muses have gathered to discuss poetry
and of course the angels just want to sing
and the lords need ballads of heraldry

and the poets say, "Yes but the rub's the thing
"that flitters a rhythm in my head
"along with the rhymes that the formula brings."

But the muses all checked out a chart on Excel
and couldn't agree on the forms all would try
but Erato (who I'll from now call Bill) agreed that none would do well

if the world needed these poems to fry
on the fire of survivalist gathered trite
that still the angst ridden will question, "Why?"

though the muses explain with all their might
the survivor challenge still raises a fright.

To damn true it does!! But I am sort of looking forward to it now in a masochistic way!!

 

[loststar]

dirty two aka the most terrible writting ever

promised honesty
embedded in moonlight
comfort wrapped
linked
exhausted and terrified

you know the truth
why do i feel the need
to say it
aloud



why

the fear that it inspired
standing between us
clouding up my judgment

my rite of authenticity

it was selfish
but i needed you to know
i needed to not dance around it any more

dont want anything other than this moment
not promising anything other than this moment

said it now and cant take it back

 

[UnderYourSpell]

28

Akrasia you beguile me
with chocolate promises,
high desires and temptations
self indulgences.
Weakness of will
you come
in many guises
to spread yourself
upon me
and I cannot resist.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Dirty Six

..................Feel suddenly the back bared
.................as if waking from a dream, stripped
................too quick to be wary.

..........The first thing known about the other
........is his will. The flick of his wrist, ease
....of his breath. He moves all at once
..or not at all and watches, always
watches so that his hand will be
there first.

Feel his palm cup the instep
pull the foot behind.

Now do you curl your foot?
And if so, is it to be pretty?

Or to show
just how small
your foot can become
so that he will tie
the rope tight
enough
to hold?

 

[wespeak]

5

the secret life of woman

natural unpleasantness, my man
believes, is exiled in moon time
to the attic or hidden
in pillow cases.

but i am sweet musk
atomizer, a lit whisper
rain wick,
scented walls.
he names me mysterious

good woman,
intensely flawed. human-
withering is imperfect
perfection and we are captive
moths drawn to grave moments.
i am his flame,

some sort of glowing reaper,
grim
yet brilliant,
like a terminal sun.

let him believe in good,
that bad is pressed in pages of a book,
and that i lead a feminine hush-
hush life.

 

[wespeak]

6

He was dirty,
with his full jolly growth,
witnessing for Jehovah
vicariously.

"Goddamn flocks were not in the fields
and no shepherds came in December!"
They had offered proof
and left him with a Santa on a Hog.

She burned his socks in the dryer
and lost his breakfast.
Years of nights
before he got his common sense.
With the wife gone,
he lived with elk heads
and little rugs on rockers.

He often excused his goddamn language,
but I overlooked the profanity
and odd old smells,

because he was timid.
His walker plowed through antlers
and cowboy books on his way
to a stove-warmed seat.
"I am timid now." I leaned over
and pressed against his white bearded chest.

Buddy wasn't really that goddamn timid
compared to the rest of us.

 

[loststar]

sensations

its a light back rub
strangers staring into your eyes
the intensity of dark chocolate
rich bold wine
tart sweet apples
creme brulee
fillet minion
cold wind
rushing water
soft sweet pillows
deep drum beat
sweet release

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Dora, Wespeak and Star you are on a rolllllll

 

[champagne1982]

Derty Sex

One Hundred Three Canadians Dead In Afghanistan

How does it feel to be another number?
One hundred one, one hundred two,
sandwiched between the landmark
and the latest count.

I can't help but wonder when I stopped
remembering you as men, with lives
beyond the flag-draped box

You are important
a place is held within
your mothers' hearts
and your fathers' soul.

Is transference of place possible?
Can someone who has lived a full life
remove you from your fates
and let you live again?

It's cold here and made colder
with your passage. I bow to you
as you begin your journey.

 

[champagne1982]

Dirty... ate seven and became sex... eight

Over the past few weeks I've been writing a story, it's not finished, yet. I think I'll share it here, in installments as an incentive to keep working on it.

Kacey's Awakening (installment ONE)

Kacey was a quiet girl, not brooding, just shy. She would sit at the back of the lecture hall and listen intently as the professor waxed poetic, in his own way, as he discussed the lyrical rhythm of John Gower's poem about Sir Florent. Once the class ended Kacey stretched and moved her head in an effort to release the tension she held in her shoulders.

Her friend, Sandy, had suggested that she drop in on the yoga class held twice a week at one of her professor's house, one Doctor Samuels by name, "who," gushed Sandy, "studied with Maharishi Mahesh Yogi!" Sandy only cared about the yogi's fame because she was a fervent fan of Lennon and The Beatles. "Think about it Kacey. You really need to free your spirit and stop being such a drag, sometimes."

Sandy could only be described as a "free spirit" herself. She wore her mousy brown hair long with her bangs braided and pulled back in a tail. Kacey loved the style on Sandy but preferred her own hair to cascade over her shoulders in a less restrained fashion. She found she could hide behind her blonde mane if people tried to intrude on her space.

There were other differences between Kacey and Sandy; for instance, Sandy wore peasant blouses and flowing gypsy skirts in the style of some new age worshipper left over from a previous decade; Kacey chose simple jeans and a blouse, with a couple of practical outfits for fitness and lounging around in to fill out her wardrobe. She often wished that she could be a bit more like Sandy and enjoy unrestrained weirdness, too. Maybe a yoga class with Sandy's prof was just what she needed to loosen up her attitude, not to mention her stiff neck.

She was hurrying towards a favourite coffee spot with her books clutched close to her chest to block the wind. It blustered across the quad, as winds do in Minnesota in October, she lifted her face to curse at the sky when she felt a drop of rain, and lost her hat in the process. It tumbled along the walk and she knew its rim would be battered beyond salvage by the time she captured it. It was too Annie Hall-ish anyway so she really didn't mind, even though she was rushing off in the wrong direction, chasing the damned thing.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Dirty Seven

Dusk is the lipstick night wears
when she kisses the sky on its head
for solstice.

The men stop their labors; the women
continue to hip the constant hum-
hum of industry--the wine,
the village's furnishments,
and its children.

It is time to consider the womb,
whether we need
another footprint
on this land--another hand
on these rocks.

 

[champagne1982]

Dirty Nine or Ninety, I'm losing count.

Kacey's Awakening (installment TWO)

Finally, her hat tumbled against the ornamental iron fence that kept shortcut takers from crossing the grass at the library. As she stood up with the retrieved hat in hand, the clouds started to scatter their load of rain. Ruefully, Kacey turned to look at the coffee shop on the far side of the square and instead resigned herself to sitting out the weather in the library. At least its quiet environment encouraged diligent study, although, like every young adult in history, quiet was the last thing she wanted. With a sigh she turned and rushed up the steps and through the doors, leaving the drizzle to wash the leaves from the trees.

Kacey opened her notepad resigned to getting to work. She knew she should be concentrating on her paper on the role of the spell-caster in Middle English romance but instead, drifted into a daydream of being swept off her feet by the oh-so-sexy Scott Ferris. She'd been drooling after him for the past year but doubted he even knew she existed, he was so involved with his fraternity and the track team. Oh well, a girl could dream and seeing him this morning in the history class they shared had given her enough fuel to keep her fantasy alive for another week or so.

Shaking off her reverie, Kacey pulled the latest reading list from her notes and then proceeded to the desk and the bank of card drawers, hoping to find at least one copy of her references. She might as well make use of her time now that she was inside. The librarian's stamp thumped methodically as she prepared a selection of volumes for the man leaning on the counter.

He stood facing away from Kacey, on one leg with his feet crossed at the ankles and his hip cocked over to the right. She took in his square shoulders and narrow waist but her smile was definitely focused on his hips. His jeans hugged his body in the most perfect way and all of her previous daydreaming of Scott Ferris blew, forgotten, out of her head. Kacey licked her lips and quickly turned back to the files in case the object of her admiration turned to find her looking at his ass. Her hair swung against her cheek and veiled her quick blush as she imagined how it would feel to wrap her arms around him and tuck her fingers into his pockets.

"So, mizz," the man twisted to look at the name plate on the desk, "Jackson, can I leave these flyers with you? I know it's short notice, but I've been a bit busy this week." He continued to plead, "Please, make sure everyone gets one with their books."

Kacey looked up just in time to see him flash a smile towards the librarian and was stunned at the display of such masculine charm. He glanced over at her and she felt the blush heat its way up her neck. She ducked back to the card drawer, pretending complete interest in the Dewey decimal system and heard him mutter a hasty thanks to the librarian.

Once her cheeks had cooled, she raised her head and attempted to concentrate on her list and there he was, fluttering a piece of paper in front of her. Startled at his appearance beside her. She pushed the drawer in and caught the tip of her finger, gasping in surprised hurt. She looked at her nail and saw that it was broken. The pinch had snapped it at the quick and it was going to bleed. Moaning an ouch, she shook her finger and then blew on it to cool the hot pain.

"Oh, God. I didn't mean to scare you." There he stood, in all his cuteness and Kacey could only suck on her bleeding finger. "Let me help you." He took her elbow and was leading her to the librarian.

Kacey argued, "No, it's ok. Really. I've got clippers in my bag just let me..." She pulled free of his grip and stepped back to where she'd dropped her list on the floor and bent down to retrieve it. When she started to straighten back up, the drawer that hadn't closed properly managed to get in the way of her head. It was a hard enough whack that it knocked her off her feet. She grabbed the back of her head as her legs splayed in front of her, while a couple of index cards, bumped loose from the drawer, fluttered to the floor beside her.

"Jesus! That's a helluva a bump. Are you ok?" He hastened to her side and was trying to pry her fingers free of her scalp.

"Ow! Just leave me alone! It's alright, just let me..." It was all too much and when she realized exactly how klutzy she'd been, tears pooled in her eyes. Silently, she prayed that time would roll back and rescue her from this situation. She looked up and when she saw his concerned look, gulped out, "It's not your fault, I'm just gifted this way, y'know."

At her rueful smile, his lips twitched as the humour of it seeped in through his dismay. "Well, Miss?" His brow lifted at his unspoken question of her name.

"It's Kacey, just Kacey." She told him.

"Alright, Kacey. I don't recommend you take your talent on the road. Instead of knocking 'em dead, you'd be knocked out. Are you bleeding?"

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Your public awaits with bated breath

 

[champagne1982]

Your public awaits with bated breath

Don't hold it too long or I'll have to get Tihmmnmm over here to be the master breath bater beater, or something... I can't coerce my characters into bed, perhaps when the witchcraft finds its way into the plot I'll be able to spell them into an orgy.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I'll focus on his sexy hips till then!

 

[champagne1982]

Dirty Ten

Kacey's Awakening (installment THREE)

The Librarian leaned over the counter and held out a box of Kleenex. "Here you go, Professor." He smiled up at the woman and Kacey noticed the fine laugh lines at the corner of his eyes and mouth that marked him as older than she'd first imagined. "Is the young lady alright?"

Kacey was mortified at her clumsiness. With one hand still pressing the bump on her head and the other with a dangly nail tip, the offer of a tissue was ignored.

"I think so, thanks Mizz Jackson." He looked back at Kacey and extricated her fingers from her hair. "No blood here. You gonna be ok? I really am sorry." He helped her to her feet and then picked up all of the debris of the past minute and a half. "Do you want these books right away, Kacey?" He took the list and read it. "Oh, wow! This is perfect! I'm giving a lecture on Thursday," he paused and continued as if it surprised him, "in two days! It's on feminine spiritualism and eroticism in the middle ages and how the persecution of psychic women contributed to the loss of second sight in the Western human population." He smiled proudly as if he were a little boy who'd recited his ABCs correctly. "It would fill in your paper perfectly."

He pulled out the fateful flyer that had precipitated the ruckus and gave it to Kacey. She blinked and read it. Before actually meeting this professor she'd never have given something so obviously new-agey a second thought. She read his name. "You're Doctor Samuels?" She blurted in surprise.

"Yep, ole' Doc Samuels, but you can call me Drew, Miss Kacey-just-Kacey." He winked broadly and she had to grin. "But seriously, which books were you after?"

"The first two titles on the list are printed anthologies, the rest are the pieces that are found in them." She leaned over to her list and pointed at the top, "So I guess these two to start."

Drew handed the paper to Jackson. "Could you pull those two volumes from the stacks, please?"

Kacey couldn't imagine how anyone could refuse that smile, apparently the librarian couldn't either and she scampered off to fill his request.
______________________________

This is the end of Chapter One.