Recently in rotten poetry Category

Divergence
Swallowed by a whale and eaten up by fire
Your soul just can't meet mine on this playing field
your lack the flame and reverly that sings the sound my name
I am left befert with fists and gnashing teeth
and my fire feet burn burn burn to dance, kick, flail, wander, know

I met him once with yellow fingers sat
I knew he'd love me as surely as did you
and that I too could love and be
as it was the first day you met me

No care for logic, success, to prove
he was poetry and ease and he would have danced with me
to the song you will not sing with me
that gets caught up in your throat and scream, beats, flies for me
but fires burn to hot and drink up fuel to feed
I already had fond my place with you

but I think of it
ponder the lure
pound at my breast
Baby I'm yours

Untitled

roles fallen into
you and I
for the audience
only seeking to please
loose tongue unthought
barbed without intention

You
finding hurt fling it back
cutting to the core
which I can't forget
I doubt you have either

The audiance oblivious
mayhapes
I don't know
all the worse with them watching

it clove me from you once
the public injury
the cruelty you meant for me
while mine was given ignorant

I dismiss and ponder
turn it over in my hands
taste and prob
question boil
make this moment made clean

The guilt is worse than hurt, you know
Jelousy's unclean

Cruelty and love
go hand and hand in truth
I learn it at my father's knee
my mother's notes not writ for me
love can bruise with fist and word
I love behind the cruelty of word
of cold sholder brush offs and hot eyes
I love you regaurdless
I ponder it wise
What is love without pain?
What friendship has no hurt?
I've never known unsullied love.
my love is rich as dirt

Called Jason back to bed to see my stomach. Now even laying down I have a tiny mound where the baby is.

Also, Jason is convinced I have the beginnings of a linea negra starting under my belly button and plummeting down towards my crotch. I just thought it was the dark hairs I have grown there fooling his eyes. Maybe though. Sometimes I think I see it. Sometimes not. This is the time when those pigment markings occur so we will soon see if I am going to have a stripe! I am really surprised. It is only supposed to happen in darker skinned women. I don't consider myself to have dark skin. He notices everything before I do. Like a few weeks ago he pointed out that when I was bent forward my stomach bends further up now. I used to bend at the belly button but now I bend from under my ribs so my stomach has room to push out. I thought I felt kicks this morning, but then again what I felt was really strong and not "flutters" by any means. I had just stretched. It wasn't gas. Maybe my tummy muscles just spasmed, since I did worked my abs a lot during Yoga last night.

This is starting to get a bit more exciting. I feel like things are speeding up.

If I could bend over
smooth as a cat
kiss you blue
dive into you
part you like the seas
see all I can see
of what you mean to me
I love you fist and sneer
my darker half that brings sight clear
That hypnotizes my mind's eye
and rolls out words as the sun dies
splashing rose into the clouds
I love you more when nights around
wrapping me and bringing chill
I love to love you
I love you still
I birthed you to eat up the bad
You're what I dream inside my head
the phantasm I can not hold
in corners unseen
in words not said
you'll live in me until I'm dead

Happy Birthday Long Gone Girls

In the cool month of January we would gather to feast, exchanging glances around the table. She's lost weight. She's gained. She still seems just the same. She fell in love. They have a healthy sex life. They were delicious, indulgent moments. We remembered pubescent ranting between mouthfuls of our meals. We remembered the hot, slick passing of summers and the harsh grind of the school years. We remember the way each drifted away like petals pulled from a flower: she loves me, she loves me not. It was all drama and tears and fierce moments defined by the raging emotions that filtered our bloodstreams. How similar the faces in the circle. How clearly showing the years that have passed. Locked up in our own awkwardness and delusions, I doubt we saw each other clearly. But of what I am sure is that in our separate dream worlds we make guest appearances: acting the hero, the soothsayer, the friend in time of need. I imagine us like peas in a pod broken open in the harvest to be carried by the wind and hungry birds. Each having found some fertile soil to call our own and putting out roots. Our pod is bigger now, but we still suck from the same dark soil.

Blue Boy

I know a man like a monk
Packing up suitcases with desires
Stashing desires under the bed
Where he used to hide monsters before the age of 10.
Can't say I know him well,
But in the evening we walk the same paths,
We pluck the same flowers
And what we smell, we explain in the same way.
Maybe today, maybe tomorrow
Instead of walking the blue paths of dusk
The renegade monk went down under the bed,
Laid his hands on the dead,
And sucked up his guilt through a straw.
Filled up his gut with desire and dread,
Instead of taking up his pen
His desire swam in his head,
Loving him with nightmares
Loving him with pain
A monk who masturbates to keep it close
When by giving he would gain.

For Shellie

Children are idiots; looking back we know it true.

The round, soft cylinders of our thighs remember sunlight dipped in murky water.

Our hands roll with once felt motions of our swimming.

In fluid time we still push our bellies towards the surface,

kick our feet to hurry the current,

and lay weightless in the webbed halo of our hair.


What did we talk about within our single moment?

Something stupid, I'm sure.

We pretended our knees were fused,

our lower region scaled.

And in our mythical imaginations,

you and I belonged to the water.


We talked in silly put-on voices,

and slapped out fins,

against the muddy bottom,

of that same river that still flows,

as it did one day,

once upon a time.


Drama Queen

Little girl, brown sandals

Naked toes exposed to winter snows.

Disrupting silence sampling meals

Thawing out her red and chapped heels

Self Adoration


Hey beautiful girl

With your poor seeing eyes

Layered bottom teeth

Your bit of extra meat

That curves your hips

It makes you round

Breasts defying gravity

Feet flat on the ground

Your skin is yellow over blue

That wraps your bones and pink tissues

And when you grin

Your full lips smooth

Your pink gums flash

You lack grace when you move

Running into walls

Speaking before you think

If you eat too much cheese

You really stink

Beautiful girl

You sleep too much at night

Most alive when you write

Nearly always contrite

I think you're alright.




Hubris
Girl on the other side of the wall
Girl at the end of the room
Trying too hard at solitaire
And the politics of the body and mind
Did you clog up your ears with cotton,
Just to traffic up love in your chest?
Did you lash at your wet eyed reflection,
Just to prove you're not lonely yet?
Girl with her hands balled in fists
Girl with the barbed tongue
No one can love up a plant filled with thorns
Life isn't a game to be won

A Declaration: Why?
1.
She's been carved
Cut from wood
The knife, the knife has loved her skin
A slant of cheek
A slope of eye
The knife has loved her skin

Lovingly smoothed
Carefully tended
Sandpaper on her skin
Hardships a stain
Each grain made bold
Sandpaper, sandpaper smoothing her skin

Oh, carved woman
Woven of wood
Colored, deep colored by all you have known
Salt and time's pulse and rhythm
Wisdom sliced into you eye
Colored by all you have known



A Declaration: Who?
2.
Misconception rubbed away
Death has dyed your skin
Made more whole and finished
From weather and from wind

I love, I love this statue
I morn, I mourn her change
I celebrate her beauty
Beloved is her name.

He had electrical tape around the knees
Of his torn up faded blue jeans
He liked kids
That man, with his calloused hands
So tall his head nearly hit the sun
With crayons my brother and I
Colored designs on the sun-hot hood
Of his automobile.
He told me, "A, I want a little girl like you
Some day."

I don't think he ever stopped looking out
For me, when I was a teen,
His huge truck parked on the side of the street
He'd sit with me awhile,
Blue eyes smiling and sweet with
Compassion, for that awkward youth,
That I was, lost in her broken home,
He never stopped looking out for me,
Though he had a family of his own,
Two daughters and a wife-
He seemed happy with his life.

I tried to suck back my tears,
Each time he showed up in my yard,
He had electrical tape around the knees
Of his torn up faded blue jeans,
I remember that most of all.
I tried to suck up tears and conquer the pince
Of sadness in the back of my throat,
When my Mom told me his was dead.
That's why his taped up knees,
No more to be seen.

He was eighteen when I was born
I was eighteen when he died.


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