Rural Pontifications

what happened aphrodite?

2010-08-15T06:20:00.002-04:00

today
i feel stone
nothing
not even restlessness
a cautious break
from usual angst
a bit like
the little boy
in the gilded red fez
near a crowded
moroccan market
monkey on his shoulder
catatonically turning
the small tin box
a dance
he is deaf to
wafting above
the persimmons and pomegranates
i tried
coffee
a book
hot shower
old photographs
the news
i’ve one last ploy
i’m leaving this warmth
straddling
the winter grass
palms up
bare body
beneath freezin’ rain
to see if
i am still
capable of cold
then
i’ll know
if
today
you won -
but
just today

the blue one

2010-08-15T06:04:00.003-04:00

i searched frantically
through
this scattered chaos
that is my domesticity
for the
blue one
cornflower
it matches my eyes
gathers gracefully around
the ankles
caps perfectly
these mountainous
breasts.
there i sat
quietly
serenely
waiting patiently
neck scented
hair tied
- but no you.
blessed perhaps
had you been here
with
the blue
you'd want
to name
your next ship
after me,
when you stare
at the midnight sky
from the bottom
of a wide canyon
you would swear
the stars spelled
my name
and
on cold winter twilights
you
would ask your memory
a thousand
different ways
were they
hyacinth
azure
robin’s egg
or
royal?
it was
a near miss
of cosmic cravings
capable of
catatonic collisions
count your lucky stars
the gods
of vulnerability
have spared
you
yet again

undressed

2010-08-11T01:00:00.002-04:00

she needed to be
treated tenderly,
reminded
that there were
emotions
other than indifference,
expectations
besides society’s
and
warmth worth
anticipating
instead of the
solitude
of flannel sheets
but
that would
involve
unbuttoning
carefully fastened places
and
allowing
her dressed up
emotions
to
fall softly
around
her
ankles of apathy

is there balsam in gilead?

2010-08-11T00:52:00.004-04:00

you called today
fervently
about nothing
radishes
i think
that’s what we discussed
insignificant adieus were bid
we reminded me
of a story
about a girl and her raven
“i let him run free
he explored the gutters
picked at some stray leaves…
always he returned.
i knew i was as
necessary to him
as he was to me.”
i suppose
when we have
outlived beauty
and are
richly upholstered by life
we can finally recline
upon the divan of each other
i familiar with the color
of all your stray leaves
and
you always on my pillows
at ease

just mamas

2010-08-11T00:50:00.002-04:00

i can see
by the
quiet hesitation
of your handshake
that you think
i don’t get it

i’m the white girl
in the black suit
behind the large desk
in a tall chair

you’re the single mom
with
five to feed
that he left
with no time
or money to spare

i promise though
we’re really not
that different
you and i

we hug our kids
each night
say a silent prayer
wait ‘til we reach
our pillow to cry
hope
the bills will get paid
things will be better for them
maybe one day
love’ll find us again
and
in the meantime
that they suffer no harm

i’m sure you’d
be surprised to know
it’s 3 a.m.
and i’m wonderin’
if your warm

i disagree kabir

2010-08-11T00:39:00.002-04:00

stirring dinner
with little arms
around my knees
i think of
kabir’s ancient poem
“the fish in the water
that is thirsty
needs
serious professional counseling”

i have known much
wealth, poverty
guilt, innocence
unconditional love, undeserved rage
sunset from mountaintops, sunrise by the sea
a baby inside of me, a lover beneath me
inconsolable hurt, unmeasurable ecstasy
even after all of this
my lips
are still parched
i’m sorry kabir
despite your mighty mystics
i have to disagree
i refuse to believe
this insatiable thirst means
i’m ill -
instead, human
a
fragile
spinning
delicious
ablaze
human

in bed

2010-08-11T00:35:00.003-04:00

there’s a loud concert
tonight
just outside the window
cicadas have gathered
in the camellia bush
singing loudly
to the moon
maybe
they’re telling her
how we sounded
the rainy nights
we left the window open
or
it could be
that they are complaining
i’ve been neglectin’ them
for
secret swappin’
with the fireflies
whatever it is
if the raucous doesn’t cease
i’ll have to take
my confessions elsewhere
- i am
considering
the silent
moth

determined

2010-08-11T00:32:00.002-04:00

she was unsure
if it was the
earthy undertones
of the patchouli & citrus
sprayed carelessly on winter breasts
the whiskey & laughter pheromones
still bubbling from
last night’s reunion
or the
warm vibrating hum
of her boot’s zipper
but
the screen door
slammed behind her
as if declaring to
the crepe myrtles and the bees
she is here
not dismayed
ready for it
turquoise on black
white hair on orange sun
red lips on white skin
quietly screaming
‘Universe
you will acknowledge me
and
applaud my existence’

sunday mornin'

2010-08-11T00:29:00.001-04:00

i am no Galileo
but I have
counted stars on my ceiling
while
i held the universe
in my arms
my folks were commoners
but i have danced
in the kitchen
with royalty
on the front porch
to the creakin’
of an old swing
in a simple language
with a soft twang
i have remedied
a few psychosis
without a pill, Freud, or alcohol
a babies hands on my knees
a shower in an old bath
a silent prayer by the clothesline
all reminders
i have known
more wealth than Solomon
in this
cathedral of holiness
that is
home

lunch

2010-08-11T00:20:00.003-04:00

i have been
in the stiletto version
of where you are
so,
i offer my eyes
hand under chin
rapt attention
reassurance that
yes,
it will rearrange you
and
my mutual laughter
at the fragments
you will reassemble
to become
a tall tower
of steely soulfulness
that finds it
difficult to believe
a word
anyone says
especially when
their sentences contain
a bitter word like “love”
but,
i hope you believe me
when i say to you
here
by this wide window
in the crowded noise
your eyes are
the exact shade of amber
that i remember
shining
in your mother’s kitchen window
when
we were four

sometime around december

2010-08-11T00:18:00.001-04:00

mama tried
to kill herself
24 years ago
this week
used to be
i thought about it
everyday
even after
i was grown
but here
this winter morning
buried below
creamy velux
curtain pulled tight
blocking morning sun
i realize
i hadn’t remembered
for a while
made me think
of some
other sadnesses i’d forgotten -
the way grandma cried
when they found
my cousin dead,
sylvia’s daughter
her name now escapes me
after sylvia’s man killed her
i thought of that little girl
every night at sunset,
sprawling cracks
in green concrete
spread beneath
as he came to say
goodbye,
the indignity of a slap,
the blur of trees rushing by
after days of
rape and silence,
the nauseating knot
of knowing
what others don’t -
in all this
ache of remembering
what time had been generous
enough to allow
me to forget
lies
a sweet satisfaction
an eager epiphany –
there
will come a day
when
a thought of you
will not cross
my
petal strewn
path

"'your clever mind will lead you"

2010-08-11T00:15:00.002-04:00

think i’m gonna
go to the chinese place
for lunch
the turquoise one
down the block
with the
bad curtains
and
the good beans
get a fortune cookie
break it open
i need a new tao
a fresh perspective
maybe
i’ll pass the
homeless guy
that always suns
on the corner of
jackson and broad
and all the cosmos
will align again
to remind me
how lucky i am
for
breath, sight, home
when we walk
through the back alley
my friend’ll slip
his arm in mine
and remind me
that i am still touchable
perhaps
the owner’s daughter
will pat me on the thigh
with sticky little hands
like she did
when i took her photograph
in the spring
and
i’ll know
there’s still magic
buried beneath me
he and i will
laugh
swap stories
kiss on the cheek
finally
i’ll break open the crispness
carefully read
my six word future
ignoring the numbers
and
laugh at
my sloth like crawl
away from you

k's

2010-08-11T00:01:00.003-04:00

wine
art
coffee
god
graciousness
death
diligence
basil
summer tomatoes
there is no menu
we can’t open our legs to
wrap our arms around
moan from the delight
of its flavors
and the company of one another
- finally
a sunday toast
in winter snow
to past life,
future lovers,
the despair they’ll take from our eyes
that is not yet there
and the indelible impressions
we left in their minds
a thank you
for the universe
that is our footstool
when together we sit
and
the wind that
sings to us of each other
when we are apart

epiphany

2010-08-10T23:43:00.002-04:00

i’m no good
at mediocrity
finally
i admit it
after years
of
carefully avoiding
collisions with complacency
and
the roaring hiss
of those
with less
rigid requirements
i sit
contentedly
with the allure
of singularity
in the
quiet blue
of stillness
steadily
anticipating, seeking
recognizing, welcoming
amazingness

black pearls

2010-08-10T23:36:00.002-04:00

i put them
on today
though mine
for years
i lacked the courage
to wear them
i always wondered
after
my enlightment
if you bought them
before
the whores
in shanghai
or after
if
they had been
a gift of
love
or
a token of
recompense
makes no matter now
on this winter morning
the ebony goes
perfectly
against my
ivory lobe
if she were here
i’d prepare her
a pot of jasmine tea
serve her
in my best jade cups
afford her some dignity
tell her
you named our
daughter
after her motherland
kiss each cheek
and
softly whisper
‘thank you

de pintar un cuadro

2010-08-10T23:33:00.003-04:00

there was
wine
opulence
books -
of course,
no you
i carried on
anyway
lotioned
my ample breasts,
polished
my toes.
i know you well,
had you been here
you would have
offered to help
with the lotion
we’d have laughed
about
your generous nature
thumbing
the pages
i thought
how much you’d have
hated her -
kahlo
the vulgarity
of her honesty,
refusal to conform
to your feminine
ideals
wouldn’t settle well
we’d argue
as i straddled you
beneath the canopy
your palms
sleeping flat
atop my thighs
i’d remind you
she wore roses
in her braids
always returned
to a cad
that couldn’t commit
for no reason
other than love
and
finally
her art
came from pain -
you would roll
your eyes
in
a diego like fashion
swear
she was genius
smother me
with silent lips
and
exhale
as
the angels
grew jealous
over
our frantic
exchanges

ridiculousness

2010-08-10T23:23:00.002-04:00

she said that
her dinner guests
had remember me as
‘the really beautiful one’
Mama mentioned that
he could never recall
any unkindness
being uttered from my lips
and you,
when you called today
remembered the places
we had been
the things spoken there
the tone of the clouds
so clearly-
someone less demanding
would be pleased with
with such pleasantries
but
who gives a damn
about being remembered?
i
long for
immediate consumption
an
inhaling of my here and now
each line read ravenously
breaths consumed rapidly
so
that you are too fatigued
for the mundaneness
of memories

grumpy

2010-08-10T23:17:00.002-04:00

i’m sick of
finding
positive reinforcement
in pains
learning the valuable
lessons of heartache
valuing all the virtues
of endurance
dancing along wildly
with determination
always setting
a stellar example
of what one can do
if they make up
their mind
to hell with it
i want to roll about
in discontentment
sulk a bit
while someone notices
whine
into an empathetic ear
this morning
i will frolick
in the bitterness
of being
where i am
by noon
i promise
a steadfast return
to the
heady ideals
of hardship

now would be fine

2010-08-10T23:10:00.002-04:00

the moon’s been
very patient
waiting
quietly, radiantly
every night
beneath my window
the cicadas sing
about you
the poppies are beginning
to grow weary
this is distracting
from their
red radiance
when the wind blows
the maple leafs
tell the moon our story
the rain has
cooperated
oh so generously
and
kept my lips moist
even
the quiet moth
is becoming impatient,
threatening
to leave this earthly realm
light a lunar fire
see if she can move
things along
so,
would you
for the sake of
them all
hurry up
and
kiss me
damnit

grateful

2010-08-10T23:03:00.003-04:00

breathtaking
how could
one
hope
for another thing
after
i’ve seen this
but
i’m hungry
never satisfied
always seeking
i want
mama to quit crying
the checkbook to balance
my brother
to see
it’s no one’s fault
but his own
the plumbing to be fixed
her cancer to go away
and
to be loved
like the girl
in the old
tattered collection of poems
quietly sitting
on the bottom back shelf
of mr. worthington’s bookshop
not
the cheaply drawn blonde
in the
brightly colored blocks
of those graphic comics
disdainful
a blind man
would be content
with just my
morning view
humans
always seeking
never
content
thank you god
for making
my children
1/2
fairy

friday in winter

2010-08-10T22:55:00.002-04:00

it snowed
for the first time
in her
adult life
she wanted to telephone
someone
but
her girlfriends
all had new lovers
her old lovers
all had new girlfriends
her potential lovers
all had wives
she opted
to buy groceries
instead
fulfill
her family’s needs
maybe
the produce guy
would once again
smile quietly
heavy with intent
while
she wandered
aimlessly
pondering
the futility
of self preservation
squeezin’ peaches
sniffin’ basil
samplin’ honey
dreamin’ of marigolds
and
hopin’ for spring’s
possibilities

anatomy

2010-08-10T06:30:00.006-04:00

cardamon
that is the flavor
that my lips
cannot forget
as i sit here
head in hand
palms over eyes
comma in my throat
recalling the meal
we prepared together
you stirred
i poured
we laughed
at the wine's illustration
still
on a tuesday
all this time later
i'm tryin to figure out
from which part
of our body
betrayal comes
not our hands
i'm certain
they are for writing odes
to love
holding desire near
nor our hearts
that sacred dwelling
for all that
is divine
not our shoulders
they are for leaning
upon
the closes i can surmise
is our knees
for
they are the halfway point
between our thighs
that cavernous
palace for all that is tender
and
our feet
coarse
from walking away

travelin'

2009-12-30T10:06:00.005-05:00

tightening her robe

against december’s chill

she counts out all her morning pills

at 35

two strokes

a career

two failed marriages

critically ill babies

a dead lover

an old house

on the edge of

a dying town

she’d done alotta living

by local standards

but

she’d yet

to see the sun in patagonia

have a stew in ireland

dance beneath the moon

on a paris side street

that ultimate destination

love

she’d yet to be really loved

a silent vow

then and there

given the chance

to make that journey

she’d pack lightly

all excess baggage left behind

bringing

only roses

for her hair

all that glitters ain't gold

2009-12-30T09:34:00.005-05:00

this wasn’t what

i had dreamed of

there is no glamour here

other than

a few gilded pieces strewn about

i was

going to marry

the man in the moon

grow up to be

that glittering mermaid

on the summer billboard

outside Homosassa Springs

I realize now

that my celestial casanova

would’ve found the color of my hair common

my shoulders too broad –

been bored with

the roundness of my cheeks

it was

probably that mermaids

second job

the one she needed

as she raised her kids alone

in the trailer park

just beyond the orange grove

off Highway 19

but herein this

chaotic simpledom

you think my shoulders

the perfect width for nappin’

my hair ideal for plaiting

and

honeysuckle vines

make savory wreaths

for springtime mermaids

down at the river

I wrote this about a month ago. Most of the things I write, I never share with anyone that exists in my "real world". Rarely, if ever. A couple of weeks ago, after much pleading from my family, I decided to branch outside of my usual hermithood and go to a dear friends party. My girls were thrilled.

We were going to be princesses for the evening. Cloak ourselves in finery, perfume and our finest manners. As I dressed for the party, lamplight low, old perfume bottles on the vanity, I slowed down to inhale and enjoy the process. My girls sat in the middle of my large bed and watched me starry eyed. When I finally slipped on my shoes and clipped on the last rhinestone, my daughter clasped her hands together, inhaled and said "Mooommmyyy!!!! You look like a sparkly mermaid!!!".

What sweetness. I laughed quietly to myself and thought of this poem I had written just a few weeks prior. I was reminded by the universe once again to 'slow down, pay attention, inhale, look about' - fulfilled dreams are all around us. We just have to be awake to notice them.

"What we see depends mainly on what we look for...."

2009-09-08T18:23:00.005-04:00

is another version of my favorite quote "we don't see things as they are, we see them as we are...". The older I get, the more I live, the more people I encounter, the more I recognize the profoundness of this quote, and the chord it strikes within me.

Another favorite quote of mine is “Something is always born of excess: great art was born of great terror, great loneliness, great inhibitions, instabilities, and it always balances them.” As one who has only come to painting in the last year and a half, I still feel there is a universe of knowledge and insight for me to acquire with galaxies and galaxies of enchantment floating within that universe. But, one thing that I have learned for sure is that art is born of terror, loneliness, inhibitions, and yes, it does balance them in a beautiful, beautiful way.

I didn't begin painting to accomplish anything other than peace of mind. But, a few brushstrokes into my first painting, I knew that I was hooked. It became a way for me to take very painful experiences, and release them in a way that was not angry, bitter, or brutal - but instead, beautiful to some degree, however, elementary that degree may be.

My art has been criticized. Accused of bordering pornography. I've been called an unfit mother because of it, and my character desecrated. I think the most prolific criticisms stem from my painting above - one titled "Can You Read Between the Lines" ...... Often, when we meet someone, there is so much more to them than meets the eye. I believe that each of us holds a profound story within. We are each a legend, and each a legend worth hearing. No matter your race, your social class, where you live in this world, or what tragedies have befallen you, you are worthy of being heard.

Sadly, in many parts of the world, despite the advancements of the 21st Century, women are still viewed as second rate, worthy of less than humane treatment, deserving of abuse, and often that treatment is common in countries where gold, henna, and the adornment of women are so prominent. Despite the golds that are more brilliant than most we have seen here in the Western world, and the beautiful silks, the dangling bangles, and the beautiful lines of henna - there are often many, many untold and unacknowledged stories between all of those lines.

That is all this image says.

No innuendos in the placement of her hand, no pornographic intent. But a saying of "here I am, bare before you, I have these lines, this gilded adornment - but can you read between these lines?"

I am a mother of future women. I am a woman. I am the daughter of a woman. I am the granddaughter of a woman. I am the employee of a woman. I am the close friend of women. What is there that is unfit about a woman?

home

2009-08-29T08:38:00.005-04:00

bound words

with bent pages

cover every surface

water colored memories

splashed

across heavy linen paper

fill all the corners

(i've determined those memories are kept best there)

i've got

poems on the walls,

colored glass praying

in the western windows,

stars on the ceilings

and wishes screamed

into heavy silk pillows

you see,

i've been searching

for a place

large enough to contain

all of my teeming,

mismatched parts

but

small enough

to hear

my silent

'thank yous'

in all this seeking

I wondered

how you felt

about wide open spaces

in an overcrowded heart?

a toast

2009-08-21T09:38:00.006-04:00

I used to quench my parched places

with

the bitter juices

of your soured fruits

ever thirsty, I was

then

I came to my own ade

and

sipped the sweet succulence

that dripped

from my rims

here

I stir

with soothing gulps

of bold flavor

that can't be

bottled

bittered

you asked for it

2009-07-01T15:20:00.002-04:00

there it was

in black and white

with the curves and valleys

of another's pen

the desolate wasteland

of us

I could no longer

say to myself

it wasn't as bad

as it was

and

it was just my memory

playing those silly

little games

with me

Their tears

for my pain

-a reaffirmation

of my own strength

Wouldn't you be

surprised to know

that even after

all of this

all I have to say is"thank you"

undercurrents

2009-06-25T22:41:00.019-04:00

Finally,

I have slipped off this

itchy, wool sweater

buttoned by years of self doubt

and

dropped the long, pleated skirt

of unworthiness

slowly around my ankles

there, on the bed beside you

lies a brightly striped towel

perfect for containing

the voluptuousness of possibilities

that exists in this turquoise sea

of warm openness

if only

we can dive from

this quiet shore

acceptableness

'nothing is so powerful as beauty in a wicked world'

2009-05-24T16:04:00.018-04:00

.....So go the words from one of Amos Lee's many breathtaking songs. I'm not one to buy into celebritydom, fame, or be wowed by anything from that Universe. But, a few weeks ago, that all changed.

A friend of mine sent me a link and in his usual understated way said "haven't heard anything by this fella I don't like".... I was hooked instantly. I quickly found out he would be in Atlanta, called my best girlfriend, fretted over what to wear, begged babysitters, pleaded with the boss, and headed North......Is this how all those cryin' girls felt when the Beatles landed Stateside??? An idea I never grapsed.... If I was a teenager I'd have Amos Lee posters on my walls, and if I'd been 16, I'm sure I would've been screaming in the front row.....from soulful folk, to blue, to just good ole belly rubbin' music - he covers it all and covers it splendidly.

A school teacher and bartender from Philadelphia that says he found his musical voice when he came to the South to go to college (I'm clearing my throat softly) and decided to give it a go. And good looking, did I mention that?? And ever so humble?? Always a bonus in good looking gifted guys.

Check out his Myspace page: http://www.myspace.com/amoslee and listen to all of his albums for free. Hear his interviews on NPR, and watch every range of video quality on Youtube. You won't be disappointed..........and Amos, though my reserved and quiet father would be mortified at my shameless admiration, may I say - I am a Southern Girl, I do have a front porch swing, I've been in love with John Prine since I was 10, and I make a helluva peanutbutter pie.... SO, if you ever find yourself stranded in the wilds of the rural South, I've got a great patio, the beer is always cold, and some stories you wouldn't believe......I'm just sayin'.......

Ti

2009-05-24T10:53:00.007-04:00

Her words weave

a prayer rug

of brilliant jeweled tones

for us infidels

to kneel upon and offer

our awe

at their majesty

her thoughts

a honeyed sweet additive

for the tea of

our bitter

everydayness

that I were the fly

on her apple

waiting patiently

for her carving

while her fingers

hastily

jot down

the juiciness

of morning glories

and

commonalities

Once in a great while someone's words just strike us, reach all those unreachable places, and leave you full after reading. In my lifetime those writers have been Anna Akhmatova, Zora Neal Hurston, Alice Walker, Anais Nin, Marina Tsvetaeva, Ranier Rilke and Ti Klinger. I call her this century's Dorothy Parker.
Wit, depth, tears, giggles - she encompasses all of it, perfectly. Ti, quit being so stingy - share your words with the world. They need to hear them!

Katherine

2009-05-03T17:54:00.008-04:00

I am certain, were it not for Divineness, our paths would have never crossed. She hails from a blue blooded Yankee family, and I the Southern carpenter's daughter from a Tobacco Road Mama. She grew up the diplomat's daughter in Turkey. I grew up in a government house in the rural South... But what fulfillment our crossing paths have brought us.

I introduced her to cheap coffee, Bailey White, and remind her that one can hold nothing in their hands and still find exquisiteness in the hay bales against the blue sky, walks to the dollar store, and Merle Haggard on the patio. She taught me the proper pronunciation of "brie'", brought me scarves from Italy, believed my red cardinal story, let me weep in her vineyard, and yelled at me about the sparkling beauty within me.

Anais Nin said "Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.". How true this is, and how surreal this world that we have created between us. And most amazingly, she always wears the perfect shade of a satin.

indisposed

2009-05-03T16:46:00.006-04:00

he had assured her

that the cure

was between the braids

of her long golden hair

now,

if only he could

convince her

that he

was

ailing

personification

2009-05-03T16:38:00.002-04:00

great tidal waves of words

well up within

and crash

at the shore

that is there

between my breasts and my throat

where my babies

have laid

their hands and

my lovers have laid

their heads

these words,

the sunrises of new beginnings,

sunsets of old aches,

stinging bites of misunderstandings,

watery mists of spent dreams

and

the hope

that you

will be content

to lie here

upon my shore.

meditations on mediations

2009-04-01T20:07:00.002-04:00

I know, kind sir,

that you think

the crows of emotion

have plucked the eyeballs

of my reasoning

But, your eyes have not

stared down the madness

that these have

and

your arms have not held

my sweet sleeping babies

So, I appreciate your regard

but these crows are only

sheltering the sun

from my brightness

new baby magna

2009-03-25T22:52:00.002-04:00

each of us

spark

colonies of magic

a bold and precious

phenomena

moves nimbly

between

you and i

sensualitea

2009-02-07T19:46:00.006-05:00

in the kettle

of my soul

i brewed your words

quietly
and

sweetened our exchanges

with my honeyed thoughts
then

i sipped this soothing concoction

and
felt the warmth of you

trickle

s l o w l y

down

throat

magna poetry with my baby

2009-02-07T19:33:00.004-05:00

love,

when you offer

your young eyes

to me
the ground seems

to move

everything is magic

there is

the promise of bliss

dreamy

2008-11-09T15:13:00.003-05:00

the sun
napped
on my cheeks -

i
lulled her to sleep
with
a lullaby of us

substantial

2008-08-04T01:38:00.004-04:00

say,

that I am enough

that my laughs quench your longing

that my hands leave you warm

that our silent conversations

leave you

with no ache for sound

that

after you have tasted me

you have no need for

water or breath

I will gladly empty my vessels

fill your soul

bare

2008-06-27T17:59:00.015-04:00

recline, exhale.

prepare yourself for this burlesque

of my thoughts

you,

have stripped me

of my inhibitions,

and

in front of you

I long to parade

my inclinations

please,

say you love the sensual swaying

of my sincerity

and know

you are the only audience

that I

seek to satisfy

2008-04-28T20:04:00.002-04:00

I have tasted

another's touch

but

none have felt

so enormously delicious

as you

here

on my

petal soft skin

mama

2008-04-05T22:32:00.005-04:00

sweet mother

the morning sun shines

as your elaborate day dress

and

delicate light gleams in

your honey hair

the blue sky

drenches thy body

in dreamy sun

from above

I drink the milk

of your voice

and listen

with a full heart.

2008-04-02T22:25:00.010-04:00

Would you please
come worship
the evening shadows
with me? -

they frolic here
on all the places
you
love
whispering to

2008-04-02T22:13:00.003-04:00

famine

I'm starving

I hear the groans within

Can't we feast

on the banquet of each other?

Here at this table

that Divineness

has set for us

The moon is full

like a plate

and the rain

is here for the sipping

but

more than that

I know

that I

can satisfy

your sweet tooth

2008-02-13T11:58:00.004-05:00

Once I was content

with your placid thoughts

and the

quiet flame

of existence

between us

Now

I want you to think

that -everything

I say

is funny or beautiful,

that my hair

is your sun,

my eyes

your moon,

my breasts

your pillows,

my stomach

your divan

that I taste

like honey,

smell like orange blossoms,

and I am

the ambrosia

to your apathy

I am ready

to warm our hands

by the fire of possibility.

blood oranges

2008-01-19T17:13:00.001-05:00

Warmth and blood

swirled together

in one bright ball

of bitter sweetness

the outside,

a warm, rich orange

copulating with

crimson -

each a passionate painting

from the Creator himself.

please, peel away

my richly colored outside

the dramatic flowing red

and the orange-

bright, like sunset

Inside, there is

a succulent acidity

dripping with sweetness

Take a bite,

may my flavor

bathe your tongue

and, you crave no other fruit

I remember shopping one day, I was reeling and so filled with the intensity and magic of my life. I could not find the words to even say them, I was searching for a way to convey my wild contentment, even if just to record it in my journal..... nothing - I came up speechless. Then I saw blood oranges! That was it, that was exactly how I felt! I felt the way blood oranges looked!!!! Swirled and rich, blended with deep, vibrant colors, thick outer layers of beauty, inside pieces of sweetness, each one to be peeled and savoured. I picked them up, squeezed, closed my eyes and put them to my nose and lips - inhaled, ahhhhh, so elated that I had found my words.

I have read before, if you want to remember a place or a feeling, while you are there, to eat something that you love, then for the rest of your life, when you eat that food, you will remember that place or that feeling. I believe that is the truth. It is why I love honey so, Merlot, and watermelon - and why I become restless and wild within, when I see blood oranges.

Later that night, after our adventures I told him our life was like blood oranges, of course he did not understand. Next time, I must find a love with an appreciation for citrus.

for an unknown recipient

2008-01-18T00:04:00.003-05:00

Here is my body, I give it to you,

I had hoped,
that you
would take the time
to unwrap it carefully

These are my shoulders,
that have kisses from the sun
they are broad and round
and have been loaned to some

Here is my
hair golden and tangled,
please,
lose your fingers
in its web.

My arms and hands,
have been closed
for awhile.
They have held many,
written love letters,
earned a living,
soothed my babies
and satiated my lovers.
I was hoping
that you
would hold them softly
in yours.

Here are my breasts,
vast and voluptuous,
waiting for your weary head.
They
have fed my children,
served as their pillows,
and nursed love affairs.
Please, say
that you think
they are beautiful.

My hips and legs,
have journeyed a thousand miles,
taken steps away from a dream,
and waltzed me to
a utopia of calm.
I think they will fit nicely
around you.

Look at my eyes,
they have seen
a thousand sunsets,
gazed at the moon,
reassured those
that met their gaze
from across a crowded room.
I hope you like your reflection in them.

Just below
are my lips,
full and red,
waiting to drink in
the nectar of our union.
They
have sang love songs
to silence,
lullabies to my children.
They have tasted the wine
of life's vineyard
and been drunk on it's fullness.

Lastly, my heart,
I give it to you.
From stone,
I have chiseled and sculpted
an endless fountain of warm,
flowing water.
Please,
bathe in its' fountain
and let my gift refresh you.

Could you unwrap me carefully please?

Tonight, before my shower, I looked at myself in the mirror. The miracle of our bodies is unsurpassed. How one can marvel at a body, or have shared the body of a love, and not believe in some sort of intelligent design, is beyond my mind's grasp. We are the only animal that has the need and desire to share ourselves with another for languid and extended times, we are the only animals that have a desire to laugh or weep when we hold another. What sometimes our pride or or words can not say - our hands, eyes, and bodies can. They are a gift, a gift of divineness. I must cherish mine more, savor all that it has seen, done, and felt, and prepare it for new adventures.

pilgrimage

2008-01-17T12:23:00.002-05:00

thank you,

for all those deserts

I crossed

chasing

that ever elusive moon

I made friends

with the burning of the sun

time's sands

buffed and polished

my soul’s feet

and this

endless spring

life’s water

has quenched

my heart’s thirst

I have trekked

many miles

and

ended at an oasis

delectableness.

“If you want to know your past – look into your present conditions. If you want to know your future – look into your present actions.” – Chinese Proverb. I am so grateful for all those "mistakes" I have made, and those times I wept to the moon. Life teaches us strange and wonderful things, and hardships and pain makes those happy times so much more succulent. It is like sunshine after rain, spring after winter, love after apathy, touch after solitude, laughter after silence..... or better yet, ice cream after Mama made me eat those damn green peas when I was 4.

two tales of a city

2008-01-08T22:03:00.001-05:00

Who could stand

in your fire

and not be consumed?

Your embers remained.

ButI bathed my heart in them

-it is pristine

like

the whites that the women

in Oaxaca washed

in ashes.

Do you remember?

They blinded us

in the sunlight

Now
your eyes

are black and mordicous

blinded by the smoke of

my delicious

and I have learned

to dance through flames.

my most faithful lover

2008-01-08T11:16:00.001-05:00

I love the moon, it's been my most faithful lover. The moon is always there, like clockwork. An ardent listener to my songs, secrets, woes, and poems. it's waxing and waning make my womanly moods sing or sit quietly by under all its majesty.

I often remind my children, to thank the moon for lighting the night sky for our walk home from Grandma's, and the beautiful light through our window - perfect for an evening prayer, or a stolen kiss.

It's the same moon that Napoleon gazed at while dreaming of his Josephine, Rumi danced under, the Celtics prayed to, and Romeo met his Juliet. I wish the moon could tell me of all that he has seen. I would remind him how beautifully he lit the night while we swam in the Mediterranean, and how much I appreciated his solace in the vineyard so long ago...

I want to be extra soft so one day when my great great grandchildren beg "please majestic moon, tell us all she thought" - he will only glow in radiant silence.

2008-01-07T20:59:00.001-05:00

your elaborate fullness

devoured me

I hungered for pleasure

after you

and

I've let

only joy's seas

here on my beach

a woman now

2008-01-07T18:48:00.002-05:00

remember, long ago

it was so simple

just the two of us?

we watched the sunset each day

and sang songs

to each other

our big bed

was a magic carpet

every night we journeyed

to a different land

and counted

all the stars there

you slept so closewith

your head on my heart

and my breasts

in your hands

you’re a woman child now

someday soon

your bed

will be adifferent kind of wonderland

promise me

that when he sleeps

with his head on your breasts

and your hand in his

you will remember our sunsets

and the constellations

under our canopy

How do I raise a woman, when I still feel like such a girl myself???? I want her to be confident, sure, balanced, but a little off center with a taste for adventure. Passionate but reasonable. Warm but careful. All lessons, her Mama still needs to learn.

2008-01-07T12:27:00.001-05:00

I realize,
all those things
my body wanted
to scream
and
my hands
wanted to write
on the pages
of a torso....
My eyes,
say them now
without-
a sound.....

My children love looking through all of our old photo boxes of what life was like before they came to be. It is fun for me too, to answer their questions, see their giggles and confusion. I noticed my eyes are different now. They are full, and brimming, and happy, and have a light.

All those other things that I sought to fill me and empty myself into no longer exist in my life. There is no stunning home, no exotic vacations, the copious amounts of sex are gone, no dashing husband. Now my days are hugs around my knees, kingdoms in the clouds, songs to the moon, quiet, sunsets onthe patio, a bed full of clinging babies at night, vacations are a trip to the book store and a picnic at the park. People in my circle, think that it's sad, oh, "how well you've overcome"... I giggle inside, and smile kindly.... do my eyes betray my thoughts????

I wanted to be a gypsy, or something grand, see the world, cure death, and bathe everyone in an enchanting tale.... sometimes life knows best what we need. Or perhaps my eyes' glimmer is just a glazed over, 50 hour work week, mommy of three burnout???

simple

2008-01-06T17:39:00.001-05:00

I began painting. In my mind I wanted my first painting to look like Alphonse Mucha or Maxfield Parrish - surely my fingers could do the dance my mind was doing. Dance, they did, but hardly was it a tango, more of a hokey pokey.

Then they danced again. I loved it. I loved her. I loved her breasts, the baby's head, and the whimsy of her softness. She looks nothing like she did in my head, but I think she is exquisite in her simplicity. Does this mean I'm lazy? Aren't virgin artists supposed to anguish over their work and despair that it doesn't convey what they are "feeling"?

I'm sure there is some lesson in this - like "try anyway", "find beauty in your imperfections", "share yourself"... or maybe it's just "get yourself some art lessons damnit!"

a golden hour

2008-01-04T18:23:00.001-05:00

his fingers trudged

over my hair

and

his eyes

drenched us

in a

warm flame

together

we worshipped

life's rhythm

and

our glistening skin

I have

never felt

more beautiful

A Merlot for the Moon

2008-01-04T18:00:00.001-05:00

this time,

please,

let your hand

sleep there

my hot skin

am weak with want

shall make the moon drunk

the wine

our need

Priorities

2007-10-09T18:29:00.001-04:00

I try to remember what mattered in my life before I had children, or what I thought love was – I come up empty everytime.

They are an incessant thought, I want to weep with overwhelming gratitiude everytime I look at them, or they wrap their arms around my neck, squeeze, bury me in kisses and say “I wuv you Mommy”.I wonder if the whole “I will never be a good enough mother” guilt ever goes away, ever.

I’m their sole provider, I work non stop, we live simply, I come home brain dead many days.

My resolve is to never be too tired for a couple of rounds of patty – cake, some snuggles, a story or two, some secrets to share, star gazing, and a few songs for the moon.

I’ve gotta double up on the B-12.

Smoke and Saffron

2007-10-09T18:17:00.001-04:00

There were 12 panes

in the window facing West -

I counted them

as you slept

with my breasts in

your hands

I caught your smoke rings

with my painted red toes

and you laughed

at all the things

I didn’t yet

understand

You said my eyes were blue,

like agate lanterns,

I remember

-you cried

at my unfathomable softness

I knew that it was transient,

even then

But,

I willingly swam in your saffron sea

and

My hair is yellow – still

Lunatic

2007-10-09T18:06:00.001-04:00

You may believe

that no one has seen
But the moon has

and
the moon and I are

best friends

I tell her all my secrets

she luminates the night sky for our children,

listens to their songs

and
promises to bear witness

to your words.

Just Friends

2007-09-10T20:40:00.002-04:00

I love it when you

say "You're the most beautiful

woman in the room"

Your eyes reveal a

bacchnalia of warm care

I wish I loved you.

Amorous Apiaries

2007-09-03T00:22:00.002-04:00

I want,

my bee stung lips

to sing you

a honey dripped melody

of love's humble journey

I want you ,

to stir the sticky nectar

my golden honeypot -

Please,

Tell me worker bee

that I am,

your sweet thighed maiden

and

your golden honey goddess

Sunday with Shoaleh

2007-09-03T00:02:00.002-04:00

Dainty little hands,

Sleeping so softly in mine

Nothing else matters -

Your sighs are sweet to

me, like virgin honeycomb

Or, a sunset prayer

Soaring from Broken Wings

2007-09-02T23:38:00.000-04:00

Tonight I sat and re-read some old books of mine. Khalil Gibran "The Broken Wing" was in my stack. I scanned back overthe words I highlighted so long ago, when I was younger and newly wed "... make my soul an envelope for your soul, and my heart a residence for your beauty and my breast a grave for your sorrows..."... ah the words someone young would become entraptured with......

Time, as always, changes things. Love has come and gone, and I have been alone for a while - I reread the same book, and same words that I had read so many years ago... but a different verse spoke to me this time "Solitude has soft, silky hands, but with strong fingers it grasps the heart and makes it ache with sorrow. Solitude is the ally of sorrow as well as a companion of spiritual exaltation"... he said it so perfectly.

I never would have dreamed for me the life I have now - nor could I ever be more grateful for my years of aloneness. I know who I am, what I am capable of, that my children can thrive on the life I have provided them, and the love I have given them, that I am loved for no one's merits but my own, that I can survive, and not just survive - but soar. It is not just spiritual, but personal exaltation.

....... however, "soft, silky hands with strong fingers" do sound yummy sometimes....... but then I might have to share my closet......

Casanova

2007-08-30T22:35:00.001-04:00

Beautiful starry night

All my words came out just right

He kissed me on the cheek

and

stuffed his number in my bag

But

All I could think about

was

My lifeline, that

I want to trace in the palm

of your hand

And

Your warm words

awaiting me

under

the covers

Henna Haiku

2007-08-30T21:59:00.001-04:00

I was thinking of

adding some lines, in case your

hands needed a path

Novella

2007-08-30T21:35:00.001-04:00

I ,

need you

to read me

an intricate

story of us -

But....

I want

your hands

to be the words

and

your eyes

the punctuation.

Landscapes Painted With Tea

2007-08-30T10:15:00.001-04:00

My bedroom is my personal haven from the Universe. No matter how poor I have been, since I left home 16 years ago - I have always had an exquisite bedroom. I change things around in there frequently to fit my mood at the time.

Last night I moved things around. I put my reds, oranges, Juliet, Lady Godiva, and mandarin candles in the front room. I replaced them with my soft Asian girls, greens, golds and plums.

The morning sun came through the window, I was looking at the new arrangments discontentedly. My Mom was over, I told her of my restlessness, and wish to move things around again. Mom said "Sweetie, I love it. It's beautiful, serene, calm, a very 'Landscapes Painted With Tea' feel about it."

Aha! "Landscapes Painted With Tea".......... suddenly, I loved it. I expected a small Chinese girl in beautiful silk to emerge from my closet, I could taste the green jasmine tea, served in a dainty cup. I wanted to receive a letter on rice paper written in calligraphy, and listen to a soft mandolin.....

My epiphany in all of this was, sometimes, we just need a change of perception. If our perception changes, everything that seemed so ordinary before, can become extraordinary... if not extraordinary or exceptional..... at the least manageable.

I'm filled with anticipation at the thought of going home and basking in my Asian paradise.

Great Expectations

2007-08-29T10:17:00.001-04:00

This morning on the way in to work I was listening to NPR. They were discussing Katrina - and the recovery effort. Interviewing volunteers, those that were in her path, on their loss, their life, and how life had been post Katrina.

One couple was stating that they had lived in a tent for a year and a half while "waiting on the goverment to do something", they were so frustrated with the government that "they just finally started working on their house their self!!"..... Isn't that what you're supposed to do? Isn't this your home? Why is it the government's responsibility to "do something"? The government didn't control the weather - or cause Katrina.

She said "We live in the United States, it shouldn't be this way" - Why is she entitled to the government sending someone to repair her home because she is an American?

I have had hard times. Very hard times. I have even been the beneficiary of some government programs. My intent is not to say that there should never be government funding for those at a disadvantage. But, I never expected the government to do anything. I didn't feel that they owed it to me. Instead I was just extremely grateful that at that time in my life, I qualified, and it was available to me.

I guess I am wondering, am I under compassionate, or over grateful?