Thunderstruck

[HotKittySpank]

sunrise through the window

the sun proved he was a master,
when he painted the sky in every color
as our morning clouds caught his eye.
at first they wore the bruise of night,
..................................lacking in light,
blue and black and every shade of purple,
until the sky bled out red across them.
hot pinks began to stream
as each cloud was underlit then mellowed
into orange and mauved browns,
........................softening every second
.............................until they yellowed.
soon he added the barest wisps of white
feathered under them in backlight.
then,
as if on second thought,
purple returned as he deepened shadows,
all in the space of half an hour.


...

 

[HotKittySpank]

red caught my eye
as a truck slipped too close into my personal comfort zone
established by years of polite society,
nearly scraping my fender.
and i glanced up into the face of danger
knowing this look was different from all the other men
who gaze with hunger so plain in their eyes,
wishing for just a taste, just a smile.
it is a look that i have learned over time not to fear,
learned to look back into a man’s eyes as they held mine
if only for a momentary thrill.
but, this black brow flattened hard over black eyes
grazed my face painfully in pure all consuming desire
and i looked away tasting fear.


...

 

[HotKittySpank]

come on mom, come on, he pulls my attention from a book.
while he hides i feign unaware as he blends into the scenery.

when you are four it is all a game, so i pretend i can’t see him
all dressed in camo from head to toe, cloaked in browns and greens
and leafy golds, hidden behind the jungle of our old chenille sofa.

snickering, hand over mouth from his secret spot,
he stamps out thumps of a familiar dance; giving his position away.
smooth legs slip out as fake foliage falls but refuses to let go.

he gets angry with these stupid pants,
it seems he has nearly outgrown them once again,
then grunts with the added effort of holding it in and having to go.

it is a priceless moment and i cannot help myself, begin to laugh
as he turns on me with a fierce glance on his bobbing head.
it only gets me going harder as i bend to help.
finally he catches on, cracks a grin of his own and we giggle
over this predicament until he has finally kicked free,
and runs down the hall toward relief.


...

 

[HotKittySpank]

even as my desert dog flees into the warmth of home,
bustling with its heated life,
.........................leaving me alone,
.........................the wind rustles through the husks
.........................hung from the king palms
unable to bring enough chill yet sounding out
the possibilities of rain as it rushes on lifting my hair.
.........................so i turn my face into it.
even as the clouds ache to drop their load
that will not come, i love the caress
as they flee toward the mountains in search of snow
.........................leaving me alone
.........................to feel the flight within my bones.
.........................so i clutch my jacket tighter.
even as i sit here in the wind and enjoy this night,
i flee toward the quiet spaces somewhere in my mind
.........................and revel in this gift of winter,
of time to explore my possibilities.
.........................so i close my eyes,
.........................alone in my delight.


...happy ho ho ho : )

 

[My Erotic Trail]

come on mom, come on, he pulls my attention from a book.
while he hides i feign unaware as he blends into the scenery.

when you are four it is all a game, so i pretend i can’t see him
all dressed in camo from head to toe, cloaked in browns and greens
and leafy golds, hidden behind the jungle of our old chenille sofa.

snickering, hand over mouth from his secret spot,
he stamps out thumps of a familiar dance; giving his position away.
smooth legs slip out as fake foliage falls but refuses to let go.

he gets angry with these stupid pants,
it seems he has nearly outgrown them once again,
then grunts with the added effort of holding it in and having to go.

it is a priceless moment and i cannot help myself, begin to laugh
as he turns on me with a fierce glance on his bobbing head.
it only gets me going harder as i bend to help.
finally he catches on, cracks a grin of his own and we giggle
over this predicament until he has finally kicked free,
and runs down the hall toward relief.


...

cute....
there once was a thread called: Poetic Moments
that was filled with similar charming events, seems children live in poetic moments <grin thanks for the read! (~_~)

 

[HotKittySpank]

cute....
there once was a thread called: Poetic Moments
that was filled with similar charming events, seems children live in poetic moments <grin thanks for the read! (~_~)

howdy dearie! thank you for the comments. they do say the darndest things don't they? some of my best 'ideas' come straight from the ruby lips of my chill'ins.

hope you had a happy holiday - have a fab new year too! xoxo

...

 

[HotKittySpank]

this is another little conversation that i had with the same son:


when I grow up will I change?
in what way, my love…

will I be the same or a new color?
oh, no, you will still be the same.

I will be a brown man?
yes, my love,
the sun will kiss you in caramel
my darling cinnamon boy.


...still holding this thought in my 'in progress file' perhaps it will get expanded some day... like the idea of the sun. my sister in law mentioned this wonderful thing her tribal shaman said about her father who is ill and does not get out very often anymore:

when you don't go out, the sun misses you.

i just loved this idea. the sun searching for you, seeker sun... hmmm

 

[HotKittySpank]

Egyptian musk in memory, mind finds the way.
the rhythm beats me in bongo drums and waves,
on a hot day – in long finger waved hair, i
fingered the Rasta mon’s shells and wares
...........................while you worked the trade.
my eyes lingered deeply over iridescent layers
caught inside his dark skin, taking in the glint
of white teeth and lock swung nods, ya, ya mon.
and so i took it in, sampled the deep oil in a drip
down my lily neck, it slipped in shining sex
between my breasts................it will always be
the notion of waves .......and cliff dives into this
exotic street of Caribbean chemistry,.....melting
on a slow summer day, steeped in scents of lust.



...

 

[HotKittySpank]

my thing for daddy
dates back in history
.....to haves and have nots,
.........to love, love me not,
.............love, love me do,
.........you know i love you,
.......so please love me too.
.....to belts and lashes
.........and sashes sashayed
...............between houses
between ex-spouses.
between soprano hymnals
......and folk dance revivals
........and my meaning torn
............between two loves
....and lovers of worlds
....divided along lines
...........as different as hate
....and love and night
........and day. dreaming of
............my own way to be
..............and to have love.

* contains borrowed lyrics from The Beatles



yet not satisfied but like the direction this is taking... seeing things in a new way. now... just a tidbit of glimmer a faint new light.


...

 

[HotKittySpank]

gotta clear out the old stuff that's not going anywhere...
i really liked this kid and hope i did our conversation justice:
...

the guys called me Doc. the young man laughs, eyes round with things no one else hears, deaf in one ear, hand clamped around the long neck of a beer, glad he was here. as the party winds wild around him in hoots and drunken shouts, he tucks himself into the out of range corner near the bar, watching from afar, at the ready for a tumble or spill.

been back ten days. his other hand shakes dusting off invisible things before being shoved back into a denim pocket to stop it. I’m sorry ma’am. oh, i shake my head, still watching his body vibrate and place a light hand on his arm. don’t be it says, you can tell me and i leaned in to hear.

the thing is, you get in the zone, on your knees over one of your own, seeing his fear, eyes pleading please, the world narrowed down to just what I need to do to keep him here, to get him where he needs to go, just to keep him here in the now. nothing else exists, not the bullets whizzing inches from my face or the bomb blasts rocking the ground or the sand grit in my eyes or the little nicks of shrapnel burning with blood. my body becomes his shield, my hands his tourniquet, nothing else exists, it is all narrowed down to this moment of adrenaline and wounds open and blood on the sand. this is one of my guys, I hold his life.

it seemed unreal, and i saw him crouched low behind a stone wall over a Marine, doing his job, the world was quiet despite the chaos all around. I’m sorry ma’am. my face must have shown what i felt. no, don’t be, i’m just glad you’re here.

leaning stiff on the porch post, taking another swig, he half smiles and leans in with his good ear following bits of conversations that must surely seem surreal, people living their lives without fear, talking of mortgages and marriages and divorces and the hell of commutes mixed with a funny story about child play in a sandbox while he scans the night expectant of things i will never know anything about. things that don’t exist over here.

he pulls a pack of camels from his pocket and i offer him a light, cupping his shaking hand in my own. never smoked until I got there, we all smoke over there. gotta have something to take off the edge. his wide eyes briefly light on mine then flick away to the crowd. he wanted to keep up the conversation, dying to tell it like a kid with a secret. so i nod. he needed to tell someone, anyone who would hear.

we throw candy to the kids everywhere we go, just to keep them near us. they haven’t started using their kids yet. i could hear it coming in his voice, the cracks revealing themselves in each word that he chose. it was beginning to pour out of him now. god damned civil war, it’s a fucking nightmare, excuse my language, I’m so sorry ma’am. don’t be, you need to tell your tale, i’m just glad you’re here.


...
---well, anyway. it was an interesting conversation... hope he's well where ever he may be.

...

 

[HotKittySpank]

ginkgo suite


1.

i never put much stock in the notion
of streets paved in gold
until i witnessed so much yellow
laid out thick across the lawns and strung from trees
as our neighbors, rakes in hand, daily collect their bounty,
frowning from the mess.

this street is a river clogged and overflowing
with such sweet heavenly riot.
and so,
it is little doubt then that we are wealthy
when ginkgos drop their heavy load
as if Rumplestiltskin himself has been hard at work
these long weeks, forever spinning gold from green,
these leaf piles mount up in treasure upon the street.

as the garbage men collect these troves
and haul it all away, i can only hope
the little bugger does not claim too much payment
for these labors at a latter date.


2.

in a sudden blink it was gone.
just as sure as i was that it would hang on,
it must have understood it too would go.

one by one each fell,
heard the whisper of release on the breeze.
severing their connections with such ease,
they all took their turn, silently letting go

except for the last one at the end of the row.

it clung to the trunk,
curled around shelter as a child’s timid hand
wrapped around the comfort of mother
until no longer needed.

then, when i blinked, it let go.


3.

my fair feathered friend
i wonder when and if he’ll show,
perhaps not this year. every year,
three years in a row he tops the little ginkgo
once its leaves have flown.

i imagine he’s glad to have it,
his personal perch from which to search
for worms as they sprout from
the over watered ground.

so i never prune this bonsai
at least not the top branch,
at least not while he might come,
at least not for art or love of miniature trees
at least not when he might still show.


...
...gotta love this tree

 

[HotKittySpank]

it floated backward,
at first a spider on a string caught in the breeze,
then wings blurred.......soundless.
so helpless, this tiny body,
as it drifted past in its futile attempt to rise up.
..............................until finally it slowed,
..............................sank toward the street,
where it fell among the decay of leaves,
wings still beating their desire,
as if giving in to death
were not possible,
even for a bee.

...

 

[HotKittySpank]

i know her only by a picture
just glanced in passing
as i was skimming over a post.
the note scribbled in jots
meaning so much, much more
than a few lines on paper.
lovely girl with brown hair
drawn up in a chignon
at the nape of her neck
mouth curled up in a bow.
so simple, unassuming,
she seems to know so much,
much more than just words.
i don’t know her, just her
lilting eyelashes shadowed
under arching pencil brows.
her name escapes me now
just the trace of a few hairs
recollected from simple lines
drawn across by my eyes.


...

 

[HotKittySpank]

how the eyes change
even when their color stays the same
from beginning until their end.
it starts with understanding
lost somewhere along the way to wonder,
as if innate knowledge had escaped,
seeped away as new sights took its place.
and then there is a brilliant curiosity,
a desire to know new things, everything.
but at some point this too fades
as a hardness invades,
snapping shut the sparkle
once too much has been seen,
too much truth gleaned.

...

 

[HotKittySpank]

arm clutched tight around her stuffed dog,
nite, nite, to faded eyes confused in fright,
sleep tight with a tender mother’s might,
grandmother’s brother silent pats her arm,
hovers over her covers in this grey rite.
as she suffers through another confusion.
who, what, who, where am I? I am Shelly.
are you Daddy, daddy? and where am I?
night after night she slips into her gown
slips the past into the present, no time like,
fumbles the fabric, too feeble to do it right.
and where is Freddie? Mommy? Daddy?
will you take me home now? where am I?
all modesty aside now he sets things right.
not tonight Michelle, you are home now
confusion befuddles those soft grey eyes
clutched tight on memories seemed bright
as a pin light in voids points the way back.
Mommy, Daddy, where did you go now?
perhaps tomorrow will be better than now
like a thousand yesterdays relived again
searching for a single grain in quicksand.


...

 

[HotKittySpank]

Kenny Marine

how he was kite string and tarnish,
proving new use for comics
caught up in wind over greens.

and how i would follow blindly
as he stalked deer on misted hills
clipped close for afternoon golfers.

he walked the woods, stick in hand
in dawn romps after something,
love struck child skipping at his heels.

how he was a handsome man.

and with fistfuls of bashful daisies,
blinking black eyed susans, and
fair queen anne’s lace offered up,
i thought maybe, just maybe…

i had found my first crush.

oh love, love how he found me!
mother, mother, how old will he be
when i am old enough to marry?

how he was a god when he swam
across the green turtle pond
on a single lungful of wind.

he taught me to catch salamanders,
how to tumble,
how to knock the edge off rocks,
how to give the rough things polish.

how he was himself smoothed out,
that one lovely summer
between two school years
and the minefields of the wounded.

...

 

[HotKittySpank]

my Chumash children gather round,
round this old rock hollowed out
for acorns and their shells cracked,
ground down,
long gone to ground,
ground for unleavened bread.
oh hear the sound
of words,
of songs
telling tales
of boats across waters,
long boats and long stokes,
of swells and tidal pools
long gone under,
of abalone shells tacked in neat rows
under moons circled round with hoop
in this night of childhood dreams
of condors,
of acorns,
of warring bells,
of bills tucked under tender young belts
at their first gathering. dancing round
the sacred circle as the old men drum out
prayers and offerings, feel the swell,
of smoke shot through with shells
and the echoes of your ancestors,
their bones long gone to ground.

...

 

[My Erotic Trail]

my Chumash children gather round,
round this old rock hollowed out
for acorns and their shells cracked,
ground down,
long gone to ground,
ground for unleavened bread.
oh hear the sound
of words,
of songs
telling tales
of boats across waters,
long boats and long stokes,
of swells and tidal pools
long gone under,
of abalone shells tacked in neat rows
under moons circled round with hoop
in this night of childhood dreams
of condors,
of acorns,
of warring bells,
of bills tucked under tender young belts
at their first gathering. dancing round
the sacred circle as the old men drum out
prayers and offerings, feel the swell,
of smoke shot through with shells
and the echoes of your ancestors,
their bones long gone to ground.

...

(~_~) mystical...

 

[HotKittySpank]

(~_~) mystical...

: ) my kiddies are half indian/hawaiian/mexi melts...

the other half scottish/english.
funky mix but cuter than all get out.
of course i am partial...

gracias for reading! --j

 

[HotKittySpank]

The Post-och Inrikes Tidningar
which means mail and domestic tidings
in other words, now gone digital.
we think it's a cultural disaster
a fate feared by the ink-stained
now clicking blips on their fingertips
no longer licking flips of words
in our post paper epoch. fearful
posts abound as another goes down
the way of garage sales and blind dates,
the way of books,
print pressed papers
bound and unbound,
the way of the American Chestnut
the way of the dodo bird.
the way of so many things tanglible.


*"We think it's a cultural disaster," Hans Holm, chief editor, Post-och Inrikes Tidningar (http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070205/ap_on_hi_te/sweden_oldest_newspaper)

…

 

[HotKittySpank]

**disclaimer** this is in no way intended to be a slap at people from the Chesepeake Bay area or any other area for that matter. just felt it fit - that's who and what she was as an individual and i would never want anyone to think i am prejudice to a particular area or peoples. k? k.
i actually really liked this chick even if the poem doesn't make that clear - gracious, i'm hedgeing too much yeah?


stinko ginkgo

they used to swarm over the ground collecting fruit, shaking the branches to encourage
more of it to come down. and with gloved hands, filled baskets and buckets until they
overflowed with their harvest of golden ginkgo globes.

i used to watch through our front window eyeing the activity on the neighbor’s lawn as
she waved back from her kitchen window clearly nervous, clearly embarrassed,
clearly not understanding these strange customs or why these trees should cause such a fuss.

she arrived two years ago, a genteel, ivy league, junior league, blonde bob, slip of a girl,
transported into our melting pot world. there was a determination to her brow,
a set to the jaw that declared ‘I will have my Chesapeake here’, staking her claim in a strange land.

and every year they would arrive as a family, sweeping and shaking and hauling ahead of the rot
on yards and streets around our neighborhood. stooped over the load on silk slippered heels,
a happy family that chattered away nonsensically under straw hats clicking in sounds
foreign to her ears and doing things she had never seen, wondering why they would dare.

why would they wish to be arm deep and nostrils full of things she could never bare?

(there is no more fowl stench than ginkgo fruit decaying on the ground in slippery globs
reeking like shit from dogs. one quickly learns to avoid those houses around which they ring.
good god, it stinks - stinko ginkgo all the children love to sing.)

and so at first she welcomed those harvesters despite their yearly circus arriving in rusted out trucks,
kerchiefs and scarves over their noses and mouths, as if it could help. but the stigma of third world
harvest hanging over her yard must have been too much to that genteel, ivy league, junior league,
blonde bob, slip of a girl. after the second year she had the trees sprayed down with poison
in an attempt to keep them barren.

she smiled and waved from her empty yard and i waved back with a slight nod.

yet i dreaded the day they would come, the way they would stand around her lawn
looking up, looking down at the ground, silently wondering where all their treasure had gone, t
heir empty baskets and buckets at the ready with nothing there to fill, wondering
what in the world had gone wrong.


...

 

[HotKittySpank]

seagulls

it was a milky way of birds, a river running through the valley sky,
overhead, along the highway, through the pass, over field hands,
their backs bent in the last haul of a long day.
beating back toward the water in a stream of white memories as one,
they outran the sun as it set over the sea then settled flock on sand.



...this was an amazing site that went for miles through the pass toward the Pacific from our valley as we drove against sunset... too cool, mesmerizing to see that many birds en mass. we kept pace with the flocks and arrived on the coast just as they did. made the old xmas party we were attending pale in comparison. glittering masses of jewels and contraband Cuban cigars puffed over wickedly tasty port has nothing on the memory of these beauties...

say... this shoud be expanded... possibly?

hmmmm... eh, will ponder and leave it unfiled for future review.

 

[HotKittySpank]

(Feb.PoetryChallenge submission)

what is it then Mother, what are those specks that drift against black?
see there, see my darlings,
as i point back toward the night and revel in the gravity of situation
hung with memory singing through me in tales of comets and planets
and years ago of a mid-summer night romp across meadows to view
a lunar eclipse; startled when one such thought claims my attention.
secretly i horde it, greedy for the tune as i answer back.

it seems a yesterday ago, but it was farther than that in my lifetime,
in that night that slid across my world when we counted satellites,
three lone specks that sailed over the black between flickering points
calling out as the howl of a an exultant mad man slipped dad’s lips
then echoed back over the water, off the back of that lone dark cove,
shaking off Earth’s bonds to float, his boat rocking its lake lullaby
as my sleepy eyes slid shut.

and tonight, this exquisite night, with my own children holding hands,
i find our place remembered in the milky way as it’s arm stretches out
in the call that echoed back.
we point in awe as the mad men we are yell back into that dark chasm,
circling our sacred, we count twenty or more as they crossed so close
in their artful traffic balanced as they vie for sunlight with the moon,
like stars singing their paths, the summer crickets picking up the tune.

...

 

[HotKittySpank]

this one is for Jan.Poetry Challenge - just running a tad late on it (sorry!)
rhymes just for Art – i like rhymes too. ; )


on the face of it, they all look the same,
those stacks of dates and names.
my calendar catalogs,
cherished paper trails, life’s details
recorded without fail.

one a journey through the first year,
marriage marked with hearts pierced.
some of childhood milestones,
cherished things gone and grown.
still others are celebrations of fine arts,
loathe to brand with my corrupt marks.
those dear anniversaries and birthdays,
carried over each year,
every single date,
repeated and bumped one day forward;

until at last we come to end
and repeat the process over once again.

it is a stark reminder
of what i am moving toward,
some end point, a random place in time
when work and life and birth will find
that i still had a long way to go.

i was a history written
and rewritten again, on fast forward,
overdrive, driven to it, speeding
toward some crucial end
at a rate that catches breath.

fear of death and things left undone
know that the end will come. i know
that half to go, or less
i am still of the mind to grow,
still unfinished, each year in a row.

as those stacks mount in overflow
i pluck the reminders,
succumb to their fateful pull
and suck the marrow
of my years to make the most.


...??? sort of dorky, huh? i'm going to change my 'handle' to dorkykittyspank -more fitting.

 

[HotKittySpank]

thoughts on revealing sessions


1.
she says connect with the pain
don’t let your brain get in the way.
you talk to yourself and listen but,
your heart hides away, afraid.

and i listen, connect her two ideas,
fear laughing in my face,
heart lunging out of place,
mind racing to cover feelings,
not yet ready to express, then
talk myself out of believing
that for once, just once
someone just might listen.


2.
and what would he say about you
if he were sitting here this morning?

what does she mean?
my mind reels in the answer she is fishing for,
i know how to play this game.

he thinks i am great, i pause for breath
and wrack by brain for what she knows is there.

but he would say that i am too defensive,
always assuming everyone is out to hate me.

why would he think that?

well isn’t it true? i am the loner, the wallflower,
the girl who sat in the corner quietly watchful.
i am afraid and far too used to it.
i cause him to consider words carefully
because i lash out in a panic that he does not like me.

does he like you?

he loves me, bless his heart, my warts and all.
but that is neither here nor there,
when you are too far gone to care, assumptions
run amuck across a relationship built on trust.


3.
finally i startled her.
it has never happened before as she sat across from me,
her knowing smile firmly pressed between thin white lips
as if she already knew all there was to know about me.

no. no, that is not normal, she said as she shook her head.

hmm, this gives me pause.
my thoughts caught up in the shocked look on her face
as if she could not understand why anyone would assume
to be continuously belittled and disregarded was normal
let alone a moral choice for parents to daughters.

this confirms my theory in a simple head shake, that i am
alright. i am making my way back from the grave of pain.
and when my face hits air i will soak it in and live.

...
no doubt, more to come...