Thunderstruck

fish triggers

1.
the hooks were too big for our little expedition
and you ripped the lip off one and i felt the scream
of its dry mouth gasping.

in my childhood fish were terrifying,
especially when they were decapitated
in front of me, my first death,
the front of my dress covered in scales
from the body flopping next to it’s head,
eyes accusing me. the scream was on my tongue
then too, as now when i am reeling
from another death held so lightly in your hand.


2.
i never thought i would eat one until you
ordered fish cheeks at the sushi house. it was a treat

as long as i didn’t look into its eyes glazed and baked.
as long as i didn’t relive the memory of
you don’t know what you are missing
over bowls of shrimp cocktail and lobster bisque
gobbled up in front of me.

and that severed head was presented as a challenge
not only to me but also to you, to have me eat it.
with the sushi chef looking on, how could i not,
after all,
it was delicious.


3.
as silly as they are, he is an honored pet swimming in love,
won from the carnival fish bowl ring toss five years ago.
and we tend him as any other animal in our charge,
in other words,
try our best to keep him alive.

but i scream when you suggest we eat him,
saying he is simply too big and nickname him Sushi,
because he has won my heart, and i do my best by him
to make up for all the other floaters in my memory.


...
 
you saw them first

hundreds of balloons in every color rising.
first your finger and then mine pointed to the sky.
at first we thought it was a loss,
strings slipped from fingers.

but quickly
it became a celebration, each string released
in elation. suddenly i was seven and Pascal
wept for the lost one,

the red friend who followed him with its thick rope
too stubborn to slip away

until it was popped by a rock, where he fell
dejected next to his dead flop of rubber.

...............i see him in the sky
...............amid the mass of colored elastic,

fingers laced in strings as your fingers wrapped
through mine, our eyes on the sky, all smiles,
both thinking the same thing.



...
 
the cream rises to the top, she said,

as my eyes slipped in the spill of her
vanilla cleavage, where she lounged
upon my chocolate couch.

and you are the cream, she said,
making me feel as though she were
running her fingers through my hair.

relaxed with compliments combed
over my twisted nerves i eyed her

mouth like a cherry. i wanted to pop
it in my own and swallow the sweet
grenadine of her words.

twist the stem
of her tongue, twirl it into a knot,

until she melted in kisses all over
me and my cream rose up to taste her.


...
 
New Leases on Life

‘how delicate the ribs are compared with the massive weight they hold’
as i stare in awe at a photo of Kibble Palace in the botanical gardens of Glasgow.

its new lease on life was delivered quietly this year
and i repeat the quote in my mind over and over as i trace the lines
of glass domes stacked like three overturned ribcages glittering in the sun.
they protect the tender life beating out growth beneath their fantasy

of filigree cast iron
. and it is a shame that no one makes things like this anymore,
fine light filtered though white arcs protecting exotic vegitation
among any season in a most beautiful and cherished way.
thankfully it was saved from decay and not replaced by some testament
to modern man’s reason.

funny to find
all this nestled between the gloss of Town and Country’s dog eared pages
of young models clothed in gems and the latest high fashions,
each the latest and greatest rendition of the same old same old
in our passion for the contemporary.


(*quotes from Eddie Preiss and Terese Loeb Kreuzer, Town and Country, Oct. 2006)


...not sure if these quotes were handled correctly, or if it is even appropriate to do this. don't want to be in trouble. ? just loved the first line, captivating. --j

...
 
the train steamed forward into black swallowed by the tunnel and she turned to look back into the fade of light but couldn’t see the entrance just the grey smear of where the sun’s beam licked along the bricks next to her window and then only her wide-eyed reflection in the dimming glass.

then she was engulfed in black until the train’s lights flashed off and on in time with the clack of iron wheels clipping along the track.

the faces around her settled back into their seats like an old movie flickering in slow motion across a screen in front of her. they didn’t seem too concerned about where they were going or how long it would be before they finally left the tunnel. maybe they had seen this one before and already knew the conclusion.

so she gripped the armrests and slowly leaned back with them waiting for the screen to go white again, waiting for the end of the film and the exit of the black.

as the train whistle blew out its warning she could just make out the welcome stream of sunlight inching along the bricks toward her and knew it wouldn’t be long before the train was out of the dark and back chugging through the scenery.



(...experimenting, heavily... : ) this one will most likely keep growing)

...
 
float like a butterfly,
sting like a bee


come on rush
wake me up

feel the adrenaline
make me gush

but don’t burn
me up.

let’s deliver on
the push and shove,

those delicate words
that pack a punch.

: )
 
there was a pause

when she stepped out in front of me, eyes half-closed
in the discovery of music traveling along her body.

her hips swayed into my hands and i took the liberty
of kissing her lips while we merged into the dance hall
where the even the walls were hot and sweaty.

then she lazily smiled at me pulling my hands to her breasts
and i felt the gravity of our syncopation beat in my chest.

a little thrill trilled its way down my spine,
as her eyes locked on mine in a nod. so i continued
to tap out a new song until we ran out of time.

: )

 
learn from her mistake wearing a mystery fabric
the advertisement wanted to teach me

but i already know about the emperor’s new clothes
and the mysteries of shedding skin.

each time it gets easier for me to wriggle out
of the fabric and be naked again,

and so there is no fear in that mystery
only the thrill of making a new discovery.

i just need to remember not to parade it around
like i am haughty, naughty girl that i am,

‘cause i am already naked for all the world to see.
there is nothing new in it, just a little skin.

...
 
movement

the common man never leaves the town he’s born in,
never leaves his father’s knowledge, folded in
to his family legacy, just another cog in the wheel
spun through the mechanism of the world he is creating.

he learns the trade from his father and from his grandfather
and so on and so on in an endless chain that strings from
your pocket to your watch while the faces continue to spin,
in the same place to keep the time even though
their creators hands lack true movement.

this is how enclaves of dialect were formed between the Alps
even though they speak the same language in their craft,
towns in valley floors cluster around their houses,
perform cuts perfected over time, in artful precision.

finely crafted from solid blocks, gold and platinum ingots
cut by diamond blades wielded in steady hands still held
by their fathers tutelage. their creativity unbound
by successive years, encrusted with precious jewels
and wrapped around the wrists of aristocracy and those
rare few who can afford and appreciate their legacy.

so in a way they do see the world through the face
of their creations winding through time at a measured pace.

and the collectors
who admire their handiwork spread the dialect into the next
cycle of movement, passing on the tradition to the hands
of their own children.


...
 
today i wonder

what difference would it make if i were silent,
if there were one less tree in the forest.
would the birds miss my branches,
the wind miss my leaves caresses,

would the earth miss my roots holding it together,
would the ants find another tree to climb,
would the hikers miss my shade and
the hunters miss their perch, would the owl
find another home within another nook?

and if i fell, even if i were surrounded
by a thousand hunters and a million birds,
all singing and shooting and living around me,
would anyone miss the oxygen that i produce?


...
 
where is the

I in me that you see. the beauty
flees before my eyes caught
.........................in the corner

of where wall meets glass,
in beveled reflection
cut in half you still see..........it

......................but not me,
......................never me

held slightly in views that dance
......................along the edge.

can’t you see it? can’t you?
look at that smile, look at you.


and i laugh,
covering my teeth
..................with a quick hand.

don’t. don’t do that.
some people have a smile
that lights up a room,

you have a laugh.



...
 
detergent

once you have said it, you can’t take it back
the walls still hold the knowledge even if you try to erase
with the strongest of soaps, lye and even borax can’t scratch
the words from the pores where they were absorbed
into the smallest of cracks in the paint.

even new layers still hold the stains,
they just mask it, cover the truth under colors
designed to fool the eye into forgetting the proof
of what you said, what you did.


...
 
only when i lift my foot

does the shadow release it’s hold
to float
along the ground detached
in search
of another chance to hook.

each step
makes it stretch
as if i were always
six feet,

small steps bring the same result
so i jump sometimes
to see how far i can reach.


...
 
there once was a girl

who’s entire body
was made of fingers,
so many nerve endings
feeling her way along.

and on each finger
there was a tongue
tasting every flavor
the world had to offer
too strong.

she tried to wear socks
but they slipped right off,
clearly not made for tongues,
so then she tried band-aids
but they wouldn’t stick
to her spit.

so now she just lives
with her cuts and her nicks
savoring her thin trail
of fresh shiny blood.


...
 
a bit like Scarlett, fiddle-dee-dee, I’ll think about that tomorrow,
but every tomorrow has come and gone
and i am only now opening
my eyes to see that i still suffer
under the delusion of inbred grace and charm,
as you please sir, yes sir, please sir, may i have some more sir.

tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya tomorrow, you’re only a day away!
oh, shut up Annie, what do you know? seize the day.

i should be a Franklin
and not put off till tomorrow what i can do today.
so my hand curls hard around the bitter root
and i know as god is my witness, i will never go hungry again.


...
 
she uses her eyes like bright blue magnets
pulling people into her deceptive void
to hold them captivated
until they see the folly of her vacuous stare.

sometimes she uses them like daggers
tipped in ice, they penetrate
until you are frozen, a deer in headlights hoping
she isn’t really looking into your mind.

she isn’t, she just hopes to scare you into believing.

and while mine are shaped like hers, they are green
with flecks of pure gold.
but they also hold the alluring pull for people
unaccustomed to someone actually looking at them.

we don’t look, do we? we skim the surface of people
with our eyes. taking in just the impression
and nothing deeper.

it may be we haven’t the time.

but i don’t stab with mine, i shield,
not locking on too often out of fear. perhaps
it is from all the practice i have had looking
into hers through out the years.

...
 
wonderbread

you will never be anything but white bread
that’s what the professor said,
hands dripping in dough as he kneaded me into his mold
until i broke away determined to rise up on my own.

i felt deflated, a lump of unleavened life until recently.

and now, i feel that delicious ribbon of pumpernickel
curling its way through me, as i become marbleized
in the heat of my own oven.


...
 
the bird perched at the top of the bell

determined not to fall to either side of the curve
as it swung from side to side, the clapper
finally smacked into the walls
until it rang out in massive vibrations
all the way up to those trembling feet
that still clung to the metal
blatantly refusing to give in to defeat.
 
it is time to start the day

the top of the crepe myrtle was on fire with daybreak,
the last blossoms of summer smoldering in its rays
as i sipped my coffee in silence,
savoring these last moments of darkness.

birds stirred and dropped to the grass
in hunt of their breakfast
when the entire tree suddenly erupted in flames
as the sun slipped over the fence.

so i swallowed the dregs and rose
to wake the rest of my slumbering house
still caught up in their dying embers of sleep.
soon the entire yard would be engulfed.
 
HotKittySpank said:
there once was a girl

who’s entire body
was made of fingers,
so many nerve endings
feeling her way along.

and on each finger
there was a tongue
tasting every flavor
the world had to offer
too strong.

she tried to wear socks
but they slipped right off,
clearly not made for tongues,
so then she tried band-aids
but they wouldn’t stick
to her spit.

so now she just lives
with her cuts and her nicks
savoring her thin trail
of fresh shiny blood.


...

just a note to say...
I enjoy reading your poetry

this poem had be spell bound <grin
at least it started that way
I kicked the imagination maker in gear
to vision this woman with so many fingers and tongues <chuckleboned

thanks for the chucklebone!
 
My Erotic Trail said:
just a note to say...
I enjoy reading your poetry

this poem had be spell bound <grin
at least it started that way
I kicked the imagination maker in gear
to vision this woman with so many fingers and tongues <chuckleboned

thanks for the chucklebone!

so - thanks again. yeah, it it kind of doesn't end the way you think it will, huh. not too sure about the end, kind of morbid but that was the feeling that day.

btw-i like your little cowboy picture. he's cute.
rootin-tootin! ; ) --j
 
take me dancing.

not just one of our private night encounters,
the ones where i stand in the door and groove,
swirl as your belly dancer to our little boom
box, where you are my sole audience.

no i want the whole show, the rock and roll
of the crowded dance floor, my hands searching
over my apple breasts and down between my legs
for all of them,
......................they cast their glance,
......................can’t help themselves.
......................i won’t give them a chance.

and i notice, hungry eyes follow my every move
not yet satisfied while i back my ass into you,
feel you slide between my cheeks.

i want the longing heat of your fingers as they seep
around to cup me, merge with me and with the beat
until i become a Hindu goddess our arms entwined
in a seductive dance toward the core.

till they all dance around me,
till our arms mingle,
till our mouths speak in tongues.


...
 
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left

and so it’s left that i’m leaning
while the airplanes descend
under the stars that twinkle
in a matched time so i can’t tell
which is which. its always left
when you are right,
the red lights are blinking,
is it starboard or port,
starboard or port?
the left-handed always guess,
do you write with your right
or left with your right?
as the rat slips across the wire
heading left into the night,
i hear the football players
at the school off in the distance
making their plays right,
i hear the cheers while i’m left
here in the dark listening
as my smoke curls to the left
from the cigarette as it burns
between my left-handed grip,
because it’s left that i’m leaning
turning left and not right.
i am a circle turning left,
always left till i’m right.

...
 
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once again,
i drag myself up to beat down another tired day.


i hear the creak of the house as it settles into its bed,
the foundation settling its heavy head on the rock.
is it yesterday or was this tomorrow, is it today yet?

my children talk in their sleep, cry out in the dark
as the dog whimpers and muffles a bark, legs run in air
for a squirrel chased across a boundless dream yard.

the stuttering snores, the rustle of sheets, the midnight
run to relieve nature’s call, it all falls on my open ears.
is it tomorrow or was this today, is it yesterday yet?

i count the clicks of water as they drip from the faucet
down the blur of a hall gone still and flushed in the dark.
oh, my pillow is soft and i close my eyes to it’s white,

but listen to the sound of the cars as they swoosh by
one at a time far too late into the night, they take me
along on those endless night rounds. as my mind clicks,

catalogs the maddening words ticked away, whispers
and wanders of a mind split in two from lack of sleep.
is it today or was this yesterday, is it tomorrow yet?

revolving around sounds and times lost in mind talk
this night bleeds on like all others until bleary dawn
comes to rouse me again with the blessed beep of alarm.


...
...insomnia sucks
 
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