Thunderstruck

[HotKittySpank]

crow games


1.
high above the schoolyard,
with shoulders angled deep in speed,
urged on by friends on stick thin legs
on redwood branches swinging,
with clack, clack, clack of black beaks
clapping on their game, they flip wings
and grasp each other, tag talons falling,
only to start again with another round
of round the trees,
of you can’t catch me,
to caws and calls as more join in
until the small stand is a swirl of these
pulling playground eyes up with glee.


2.
he clenched the arm, head bobbing up and down,
anticipation clear in his caw, claws scraped along
a metal streetlamp to get the angle just as he likes;
as if one spot were better than another, just height.
he pranced back and forth across it in clamp-clamp
dances until the nut was hurled to asphalted ground.
gravity took over the work with smash of shell, but
his gratification was short lived,
lost to the fast action of another
scooping up the meat and quickly thieving off with it.


3.
wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up!
they spoke in dream restless words over my summer camp,
over that window looking out to woods from the top bunk
where my head rested on that mildewed pillow, sleeping.
each squawking endlessly to one another till they woke me
in groans over the insult of their daily watch and wait
until the sun poked its dreamy head too early for me,
till i could no longer imagine their loud calls away
like some odd nightmare blaring their conversational caws,
look at her, such a sleepy head, she wastes the morn in bed.

...
...gotta love a black bird : )

 

[HotKittySpank]

Painted Desert and Petrified Forest National Park
– Arizona 1996

i stood atop the petrified trunk,
a forest leveled at my feet
above the clouds, into thin air
i clung to breath and stood;
feet planted firmly on the wood.

imagined me in the trees
grass flapping around my feet
before the world was understood
before the color claimed the wood
in layers of stone, i
read the newspaper from a rock
in symbols and painted hands.

hovels of mud and dirt long gone,
now turned out for us to find
and wonder what happened here
before that meteor came down
into this cold and airless land.

i watched the new arrivals,
scavengers,
their curious picks through ground
battered by wind and rain
still coming in.
my arms lifted in its laugh

until they ran toward their cars
gigantic ravens hopping after them
not catching the significance
of vultures and ghosts
upon the empty plateau,
the painted desert all that remained.


...

 

[HotKittySpank]

(how’s this for a long title - yikes!)

examination of a minor murder:
death of a sculpture circa 1990

from where she stood
their backs turned in admiring,
back slapping men laughed at their coup.
she saw the too tight suit,
the too white shirt, smile too bright,
as they spoke of the right spot
just to the right of the campus biology sign
on the front lawn in front of his building.
too soon
they reached up to stroke the wood
looming over them in twists and turns
called attention to her corner of the room.

there she is, this is her.
now listen here, he wants this girl,
this will be a fine addition to our school.

she felt the weight of compound eyes
spying her from around the room
too soon for a wispy nineteen
too used to hiding anywhere,
any way she could.
too soon
they walked away, the suit,
her gravel coated teacher, eyes smiling,
their winner take all attitudes
still taking up her breathing room.

she stroked the weathered wood in sigh,
looked up into the face of its doom.
and eased the pain with a few words.

this is where we will part, my heart
can no longer be invested in your mass
of steel joints and railroad ties
because you were only one of a process.
you were only a step on my track
and i no longer need you,
and neither do they.

as she spied them drive away
the chainsaw felt nice in her light hands
as she cut it down to manageable size
and threw each limb away
after not a moment of indecision
months of work gone in an afternoon
of fast paced precision.

hell girl, what’s the matter with you?

the angry swagger stopped hands to hips
eyes hard, though he misunderstood her.
he wanted his next Brancusi soaring
but she was a Christo at the mercy of wind.
too soon
eyes swarmed around incomprehension
as she swallowed her lies, her lines of
i am not for sale,
and neither is my wood.

but she understood the implications
of rash acts and fear filled conclusions
as she dragged the thoughts away,
scavengers claiming what they could.


...

 

[HotKittySpank]

i have been told i waste my time on romance,
waste precious brain cells and intelligence
on petty things like new names for members
and the carnal acts of flesh,............perhaps.

but then i find such satisfaction in his glance
upon reading my efforts put paper to pen,
long hours wrangling the dance between two
fictional lovers – so what waste is this then?
what waste could it be if we make love
based on my imagination, my inspirations
come full circle in our daring marriage bed.

could i, would i, expend such efforts
on things the entire world would wish to see,
not just the private imaginings of a timid girl
bent on manipulating him to frenzy,
as if he were the entire world and nothing else
exists, nothing could be more than this?

and i laugh at this brilliant deduction.
no nothing, nothing but the world in his eye,
his mind that follows solely after mine.

besides, what harm to give in to my carnal?
he rides along those baser instincts
in a world that does not value what i offer,
as he does,.......as he knows only i can to be,
as he makes me and allows me, in freedom;
encouraged to explore my varied worlds.
for in this i find there is no wasted effort then.


...

 

[HotKittySpank]

it’s there in black and white,
in every creak of springs long past their lifespan, groaning.
News Photographer Magazine tells the sordid story picture
of a West Virginia reckoning in the broke down lay-z-boy
bought second hand for rocking grandma’s newest little girl.
her small body curls into an S on Granny’s great big lap,
legs bent back as weathered arms fight the bulge of pantyhose
cut in to sagging rolls of fat. one at a time she huffs to place
those pink princess training pants around each tender limb
as her granddaughter leans against a breast made for cuddling.
the old woman rocks the chair in tightlipped suffering to know
she won’t be here long enough to see her blonde curls grow
from child into a woman, wonders who will care for this one
once she is gone, and worries will love find her once again.



(*image stuck with me too long not to do something with it.)
…

 

[HotKittySpank]

we stood among those cold stragglers,
wind burned cheeks flushed into the spray,
not yet ready to give up our cliff side vigil
as we watched those daring Mavericks,
their lean bodies black rubber encased,
tiny dots too far out to believe them real,
where the corporeal world dropped away
into tumultuous winter waves, we waited
and studied hard the spectacle of brave men
riding those successive crests and valleys
of that churning water mountain range,
exhilarated as they outran their graves.


...
(Mavericks is an annual surfing contest
off the coast near Half Moon Bay, CA.
a truely terrifying thing to behold as the
contest waits for a Winter storm to drive
waves to over 50 ft. --yikes!)
...

 

[HotKittySpank]

mmm... it seems a few folks read this thread so i wanted to ask for a bit of assistance.

i'm concerned that i may inadvertanty nick other people's lines or ideas. i wrote something the other day that has me worried and i wondered why one of the phrases i used sounded so familiar to me. but still, after much thought i could not place it. don't worry, it hasn't been posted here yet as i am concerned.

sometimes i think i read something and it sticks in the back of the brain drawer waiting to pop out again as if it were a fresh thought.

please - please - please call me on this if you read something i wrote that seems to have been stolen. after that terrible deal of people thieving other's work - i would never want to be found guilty of such a thing.

ok? - many thanks. --j

...

 

[My Erotic Trail]

mmm... it seems a few folks read this thread so i wanted to ask for a bit of assistance.

i'm concerned that i may inadvertanty nick other people's lines or ideas. i wrote something the other day that has me worried and i wondered why one of the phrases i used sounded so familiar to me. but still, after much thought i could not place it. don't worry, it hasn't been posted here yet as i am concerned.

sometimes i think i read something and it sticks in the back of the brain drawer waiting to pop out again as if it were a fresh thought.

please - please - please call me on this if you read something i wrote that seems to have been stolen. after that terrible deal of people thieving other's work - i would never want to be found guilty of such a thing.

ok? - many thanks. --j

...

I think I heard it said: "that everything has been said before" it is the unique way that we word these old phrases that will catch the eye/ears of a reader. I often find myself using old phrases or quotes to relay a feel or thought then twist it into my little write with my own little flare. (~_~)

came to read your string of charming and witty writes (~_~)

 

[WickedEve]

mmm... it seems a few folks read this thread so i wanted to ask for a bit of assistance.

i'm concerned that i may inadvertanty nick other people's lines or ideas. i wrote something the other day that has me worried and i wondered why one of the phrases i used sounded so familiar to me. but still, after much thought i could not place it. don't worry, it hasn't been posted here yet as i am concerned.

sometimes i think i read something and it sticks in the back of the brain drawer waiting to pop out again as if it were a fresh thought.

please - please - please call me on this if you read something i wrote that seems to have been stolen. after that terrible deal of people thieving other's work - i would never want to be found guilty of such a thing.

ok? - many thanks. --j

...

I can't imagine you purposely taking anyone's work. But I know what you're saying. It happened to me once when I was first at literotica. I wrote a poem, then it dawned on me that the title, which was also a line in the poem, may belong to another poet. I started a thread and asked, "Does this line belong to you?" I swear, to this day, I don't know if I came up with it or it was something stuck in my head from another poem. By the way, that poem isn't in online. I don't even know where it is or which poem it was.

 

[HotKittySpank]

hey, its been a while. life... : )

here's on that just popped up:

there is symmetry to the Matisse,
the way the grapes fall in into the leaves,
the stacks and racks of CDs, his music as he please,
all jumpled up and rumpled and quite at ease.

 

[HotKittySpank]

thinking...
this would be better:

View from His Office

there is symmetry to the Matisse,
the way the grapes fall in into the leaves,
the stacks and racks of CDs, his music as he please,
all jumpled up and rumpled and quite at ease.[/QUOTE]

umm... CDs, his music as he please,
trips me up

i dunno ; ) i think its a stupid poem, kinda cliche in a 'poemy kinda way', but its the only thing that's popped up recently... bizzy bizzy bizzy