Pensa/Mattina

(Something new, because i've not actually posted any writing in awhile. Give me feedback, it's the time of the season for Exile submissions and i'm trying to put some things together.)

Pensa/Mattina

eyes open;
glancing from behind my hair
(we play peek-a-boo)
I see you smile as
Fingertips trace the
curving path to hips
and back again.

Your
grazing lips tickle
(it makes my heart giggle and)
I lie resting in the
friendly, familiar comfort
of your arms.

patches of soft pink skin peak
through half-hazard blankets
daylight breaks in between
broken window blinds, brushes over our groggy
limb entangled awakening.

It really is horrific.

Kari took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test! "Intense, vital, and animated, taking a delight in ..." Click here to read the rest of the results.

Senior Year.

I am aware that this isn't a poem, but I wanted some place to post these goals so that I could remind myself of them when I begin to lose track of myself.

Cut my hair short. Write 150 poems. Get a tattoo--one that doesn't matter to anyone but me. Take a road trip. Buy a car. Lose 40 pounds. Kiss in the rain. Start to be the change I wish to see in the world. Stretch my limits. Invest myself in the people I love. Buy myself a suit. Drive somewhere late at night with someone cool for no reason. Walk around Granville. Go to Swasey Observatory. See Canada. Take more photographs. Do yoga. Learn to love my body again. Make myself cool clothing. Bring my little cousins to my apartment to visit. Read for pleasure--at least one book a month. Draw everyday. See the sunrise more often. Watch the sunset with the people that I love. Go on a picnic. Find a teaching job. Sing Karaoke. Go hiking at Hocking Hills. Go camping. Find a teaching job. Remember that sleep is wasteful when there are good people to be with. Call my brother once a week. Learn to love the theatre again, rather than feeling obligated to it. Dance on my kitchen counter. Remember to thank the people that keep me sane. Buy myself flowers.

This is where it stands now. I think it's doable.

Here I go.

Less than.

The stars are bright
but tonight I find myself
feeling
less than stellar.

Maybe it's that I just cannot
peg the moment when I let things fall
so far
into disrepair.

I want the rain to hit hard
again, to wash over the mess that I am
and restore
the confidence I seem so lacking.

I can tell it's time for me to begin
rebuilding; maybe this time i'll make
something strong
enough to stand on it's own.

Magnetic Poetry

*I found this today while scrounging around on my computer for some unfinished pieces. I'd forgotten about it...but I think it's growing on me.

Magnetic Poetry

Sleeping with you in the safe warm night,
cool day rises every time.
It is never easy, you say
too alike, same mind
you will always have her, you will never be mine.

Ventana: An Exercise

The Window is white
It is taller than I am
When I hang curtains.
It sits across from my desk
Which sits under my bed
And when the sunrises it turns
Them both orange.
I can see anything through
The clear glass.

White fabric falls from
The top of my window it’s
Cotton and clean.
There is snow and rain
Sunshine, too, outside.
Broken into pictures by the glass panes.
Open and close the
Gateway into a new world
Everything is there.

No matter how cold the glass feels
From inside, outside of the window it is
Always spring.
In the late summer
The wind blows through mesh screen and
Smells of fresh cut grass.
It is safe behind the window when the wind howls
Or when the rain pounds—
Nothing can get through the glass.

I look and see my
reflection in it’s panes like
crystal clear water.

It’s always as open or as closed
As I want it to be.
The locks at the top
Can keep other people out
and keep me in.

(Drips)

Raindrops
.
.
.
.
on my forehead
down my nose
over my lips
soaking through brown hair,
pink t-shirt, blue jeans.
soaking through my winter hardened skin.

Mud mucks
Grass tickling my ankles
wet between my toes
Silky, soft and tender.

Sonnellino

gentle breeze whispers
sacred soft grasshopper lullabies
they drift in my window
making the curtains dance and the
shiny plastic blades of the window fan
spin lazily
green grass fresh and soft with dew
heated by the sun send soft sweet aromas
mixing with summer barbeque and
slightly coated with the memory of rain
water tastes electric on
warm summer days slight perspiration
rolling along the hairline
as naptime arrives and the world is refreshingly
at peace.

Sunday Afternoon

I.
Bed covered in blankets, sun pours in.
In the refrigerator for breakfast there are plums and milk.

II.
Couch covered in a blanket
baseball at 3, movie at 9.
for dinner, Hound Dog's pizza and wine.

III.
Lawns in the neighborhood watered by a sprinkler,
a lazy walk together, wearing caps in the sun.

Grasping Moonlight

(This one is exceptionally rough. Any suggestions/kind rejections are welcome.)

Grasping Moonlight

I would not trade one kiss from you
(not for a billion from anyone else)
no one could ever make me see stars
or feel the hundred different things I feel when your lips touch
mine again.

I wish I had something to hold you
(something more than time)
you are moonlight and
no matter how hard I try I feel you slipping away.

I can never put my finger on the specific
emotion
(that one I feel when I look into your eyes)
but I always seem to feel
like I am safe and home again.

You are a feeling
of contentment in my heart
(you are peace of mind)
and you are fantastic
just the way you are.
I will hold
your hand while I can.

When the sunsets in your eyes
(there are a thousand sunrises in your smile)
and the world fades away for just a few moments
I can be safe in your arms and
be me.

You are a wish
(a Pablo Neruda
poem) come true in my life
and you helped me feel and love
when I was afraid of both
and I will never forget
all you've done and
all you've meant.

Summertime Blues

I miss the barefoot
Bare-shoulder days,
The sun brushed mornings
Lazy hot afternoons,
Firefly nights;
Late night bar-b-que and
Al Green on the radio says
“Let’s Stay Together”.

Pink cheeks, nose,
Red lips dyed;
A Shirley Temple
Made by my Pop,
Extra cherries in
The bottom, a prize for finishing.

Watermelon seeds scattered
Rinds discarded on paper plates
Littlest children hiding in the bushes
From their parents;
Time for bed.

Drifiting up through the window
open mesh screen breezes
carry the laughter of the family
adults, caressing my sunspent body
to sleep.

Springtime Rain

Warm rainy weather seduces
My feet from their sneakers,
My arms from their sweaters
(my body from it’s shelter).

Sweet moist air curls the hairs
On my temples, soften my lips,
My winter skin. My flipflopped toes
squishy and muddy
(it delights me.)

I dream of always spring,
Rainy april forever green grass,
two feet full of freedom(found winter’s release).

When...

When did the days become so long, when did we get lost in this song?
The repetitive song of day rolling into night rolling into day constantly
rolling away from me. The hyperactive struggle of the world against my intentions against my lethargy against a lazy generation stuck in front of the television paralyzed and unable to move. When did the words of a writer stop mattering, When did the words of a writer stop writing? They jumble and float but never become just lay and mold and rot away, never accomplishing.

When?

Lunchbox

(A tribute to Wm. Carlos Williams "This is Just to Say")

I knew I would
wake up and
the bed would still
be warm

So,
While you eat
your peanut butter
And strawberry jelly
sandwich; slices of
multigrain bread
layered with chunky,
salty peanut spread,

The place
where your head
Laid on my pillow


is waiting
To be filled again.
(enjoy your sandwich.)

Syllables of Reconnection

Pursed lips hold back the sounds
Syllables, consonants, vowels
Trying to vocalize what feeling
Is:

Heartbeats faster and faster
Skin silky
hands touching
arms, back, face.
Eyes closed
Lips form the first idea
“wel”
too much to see you
for the first time in
too long
remembering the this and that of you
back of tongue strikes roof
mouth
“welc”
tears gather, fall
Eyes and lips close
together
“Mmmmm”

Feet barely touching the ground any longer.
“Welcome”
here again…back.
I won’t let go, you are safe with me.
“Home.”

Morning, Revisited.

Big, bright
eyes
peer over whitewashed
windowsills;
Tiny hands reaching out for
The first
(orange, peach, pink) rays of dawn.
The earliest recognition that each day starts
A beginning.

(You are
Refreshing;
Our heart to hearts lying
Head to head
Drinking rootbeer;
To see you truly
smile;)
Explosions of color
fill the once darkened sky
And for the first time
I can see it clearly.

Falling in love (with you) is seeing sunrise.

Items Previously Posted...

Just for the heck of it, i'm transferring the 4 pieces I put on Livejournal into this post.

Seamstress

Pinpricked fingers stain cotton fabric, she sits hunched over
the humming, glowing white singer
in the dim light of a bedroom at 2am.
Low jazz rhythms play form the radio and she
taps one foot
while the other patiently pedals on.
Piece by piece she stitches
through another quilt
or costume for another grandchild.

Eyes not so sharp as she tries to thread
the needle, she continues forward, molasses candy hidden in her cheek
and the wind sifting through the window
cools the small clusters of sweat curled
on her temples.

At The Hop

Echoing off of the buildings, lights turn green.
Doors open to sidewalks permeating the atmosphere
With the beat poets the rock bands the wannabe superstars
The smell of beer, of sweat, of strong roasted espresso
From corner to corner there are people
Selling their image hocking their flyers
Saxophones steel drums laughter cursing
Neon lights infiltrate the eyes of the young
Hopeful with his art hanging on the side of his car
The cart of multicolored blown glass and Free Tibet
T-shirts are strong competition, maybe he’ll move next week
To where the coffee cart is, better business there.

The pushing of body against body through a crowd
In the middle of the city sidewalk to sidewalk wall
To wall of filled with people all wanting attention
All looking for the next best thing
as late into the night the music fades, the motion halts
to streetlights, trash covered streets and revving engines.

Ballpark

200 miles to Detroit
for ballpark hot dogs
salty pretzels and overpriced
pale yellow beer that tastes
like spring water
in the afternoon heat.

Get there hours before the
first pitch to watch batting practice and
you caught a ball;
We spend the spare time riding the
baseball shaped merry-go-round.

Pushing our way through the people
there are parents and children running around;
it’s little league discount night. The four year old boy
in back of us keeps explaining to me what
RBI and WHIP mean…I can’t stop blushing
and you can’t stop laughing.

Our seats give us the perfect view of the line from
third base to home. Runs from
Polanco, Rodriguez, White, your face cringes
each time they beat past Alfonzo and make
the stride. Pushing your bottom lip to your chin,
in deep concentration, willing just one more hit for
our boys in uniform.

It’s the top of the 7th and it’s been
4 runless innings for the Giants.
As always, I’m much harder on
Linden when he gets caught trying
to steal bases, again. The crowd cheers
for the home team at the end of our lost game.

200 miles home
to Columbus
singing to mixed tapes,
laughing at street names,
Black night like
a blanket,
Your smile in the driver’s seat.

Voyeur

I.
Shiny scarlet skin slippery
with condensation
invites the first bite
pearl white teeth
slice sharply through
the supple skin
crunch into the solid crisp
sweetness.

II.
Beautiful bittersweet browness
melts until it’s malleable
builds up on the
pale pink tongue
breaking bluntly
but bravely bleeding
down the palate until
it disappears.

III.
Chunky chippy wonder
crumbles when the delicate
cascades of milky white
corrode its concrete form
mushing in the mouth
caught carefully in the cheek
one last contemplative chew
before it’s finished.