Monday, June 29, 2015

Of Empty Rooms and Words



Somewhere there is a room
Where I long to write,
A private alcove
Meant mostly for words,
With walls private enough
To seal the sound
Of my dictionary-speak.
And somewhere below
The windowpanes of this room
A city undulates, a reverberation
Of footsteps and poet-talk,
A certain kind of language.
Inside this room, it’s always evening,
there’s always coffee
On the stove, familiar as old lips.
When my skin itches
For fresh air, the voice and flesh
Of an outside kind of world,
There’s a side-door verandah
With smooth wood for bare feet,
Friendly porch-bar birds
And a warm-blowing breeze,
Leaves spinning in the shape of text.
I close my eyes and write them
Across the inside of my wrist
With my mind:  a safe-keeping of sorts.


Written for a prompt at Magpie Tales.

Advice (and art-inspired) by Dr. Seuss

"Fancy That Cat"



“you find magic wherever you look. sit back and relax. all you need is a book” 



Created for the Dr. Seuss inspired challenge at Sunday Postcard Art.

Hot Colors

"Fall Me Down"

"I am the child I was,
living the life that was mine.
I am young and half asleep.
It is a time of water, a time of trees."
--Anne Sexton


Created for a the 'hot colors' challenge at Take A Word.  



Sunday, June 28, 2015

Barefoot Art and Words by Anne

"The Evening Wait"

Her Kind
(Anne Sexton)



I have gone out, a possessed witch, 
haunting the black air, braver at night; 

dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light: 
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.



I have found the warm caves in the woods, 
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves, 
closets, silks, innumerable goods; 
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves: 
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.



I have ridden in your cart, driver, 
waved my nude arms at villages going by, 
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind. 




Created for the 'barefoot' theme challenge at Digital Whisper.

Monday, June 22, 2015

Rod McKuen Poetry: Sometimes





I first discovered Rod McKuen when I found three hardback books of his poetry at a thrift shop.



I fell in love with the humanity inside his words.  I read them during a harsh winter, coffee at my right-hand, his books across my lap.



Such a lovely thing to fall into.

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

Found Poetry: The Traditional Ugly



A found poem that I put together from one of those silly, out-dated 'how to be beautiful' guides. 

Saturday, June 13, 2015

The City Pavement is a Heavy Thing



She's not sure
who she is,
or where she's been.
Only that she longs
to go back again.
She imagines her life,
a steady series of shoulds,
a pig-tailed girl
with the world at her hands,
now she's just
a could have been.

The days are tired,
the nights as long
as a certain kind
of midnight and she's
longing for sunshine.
Too many empty steps
of a street-side apartment
bend her knees out of shape,
the same knees that used
to fancy herself lucky
to dance naked,

something special, exquisite
retail for the wealthy
men of 5th avenue,
while their stiff
stock-holding wives
lived the safe luxury
of penthouses and
the crisp, boring lives
of those fancy
high-rise condos.

Now she just wishes
she could have
been one of them.


written for a prompt at Pink.Girl.Ink. Press.  

Thursday, June 4, 2015

Magnetic Poetry: "The Twelve O'Clock Thrill"



created with the online poetry magnet kit.  i chose the mustache poet option (mostly out of curiosity, really)...which really limited my words in a sexual, risque kind of way.  i didn't initially mean to write a poem like...this.  but i used the words it gave and here we are!  

I actually own the 'real' one, but it's so time consuming and such a mess, this is much easier!

Tegan And Sara - Nineteen





"I felt you in my legs before I ever met you, and when I lay beside you for the first time, I told you:  I feel you in my heart, I don't even know you...  


I felt you in my life before I ever thought to, I feel the need to lay down beside you and tell you:  I feel you in my heart, I don't even know you..."


(Oh heart, be still!)

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

The Back-Porch Blues



The moon
Lights the sky
A half-frosted
Chocolate cake.
Wicker against
Bare shins,
Bone against brick.
I sat poised
with notebook,
work the slippery
print of gel pen
into a flurry
of fuzzy firefly,
blood-drop
of mosquito.
I want most
To commemorate
Something,
Become something
Outside myself
For a while
But tonight
The java has
Turned my brain
Into skittish text,
Uncomprehensible.
The cars spin
Across the highway,
bright-eyed and
soft moth-winged,
Voiceless and noisy.
I am hungry
For wine and pretzels,
For soft hands
And strawberry lotion,
for classic music,
someone else's
face to fall into.

Right now
There’s only me
And the quiet sounds
Unseen things
Alive in the grass,
Unsaid words
Thrown across
The porch like
Friendless widows
And my candles
Are burning into
A spiderweb mass
Of melted wax.
I need to sleep,
I need to keep
Reading about the
Magic lives of
Girls in the
Chick lit novels.
I need to spin
The wheels of thread
For my daughter's dress,
The oven clock
Is ticking like
A death perch
Across the upcoming
Day and all I really
Want right now
Is to turn
this piece of town
Into a train-station,
A parkway,
A piece of sky
With too many
Hanging moons
To ever count,
To be in the vast,
Sparkling, timeless
Innuendo of too
Many disappearing
Pieces of starlight
To ever again feel
Such a thing
As 2am loneliness,
The sun rising
Across sleepless eyes,
Biscuits burning,
The surprise of
Someone else leaving,
Taillights fading
Into the dark
On a night
Not unlike this one.


written for a prompt at dVerse.