Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Imperial Stone

I spent early evenings in the fields
with mothers, my own, and those
who were painted in frosted glass

Daughters, hunched between the rows
a litter of pauper sheep
worn, wooded toes

trailing tales of vine and grape
a hue of women, hollow eyes, baked and stained
his story told

Ninette was her own
she fed on his ruin:
'We march on Moscow', flurry firn, his error

'We send more', she flung handfuls of sweetened pebbles into the air
The taste in my mouth
thick and sour

Our brothers and fathers
yet to come home
And those who were buried, turned to fish under the snow

Our trust, he ate, and swallowed whole
His vindication:
The creeping plant in Burgundy, turning to black, peppered and old

Before him, there was a King who borrowed our souls
What was left, we sold to him, he used us to color the North in blood
A jingle still rings of children who are made of stone and snow

Monday, May 28, 2012

Our soul society

I sat inside
a narrow line, filling with thin air
A flooding pool
inside my sour lung
Unfolding a page to write

the last letter home
What I might say:
To my mother, who sleeps
inside of piano plates
'Forgive my silver tongue'

My brother, whose northern light shines clear
'I ask that you follow
the road who has not sought one
Shallow the hole
where society has won'

My walls confined
Aurelian, lost of gild and gold
Ghost in a world
who litters in pine and cream, hanker and lust
Through knots in rope, I swallow my soul

Words selected by Shawna at rosemary mint for Monday Melting
Also linked to the Poetry Pantry @ Poets United

Sunday, May 27, 2012

Sleep in amore

Inside her tomb, softly fixed
When days of strange laid to rest
her pillowy mouth, splitting
to taste its drifting wind

Her being, forlorn
spent inside of shadows
drawing up in this hole, licking
a taste of shutter beyond sleep

At her shoulder, a biting breath
one who perished within the hour
Feeding her songs
of clustered blood and binding wind

Their union, softly fixed
In this hole, where beetles feed, on bodied tissue and drying meat
enamored, in love
a fancied taste in blinking sleep

Saturday, May 26, 2012

A Blog Award

I recently received a lovely little acknowledgement from two wonderful blogger friends who feel that my space here is creative. The Kreativ Blogger Award was passed along to me by Jen at Crafting Magic, a YA fantasy author who fills her space with book reviews, her experience teaching, beautiful travel photos, and her lovely words and by Danielle at Sweet Tea Reads who shares with us her fiction, her sweet recipes, and her furry friends. Thanks so much!

The rules of accepting this award are as follows:

1. Thank the blogger who nominated you!

2. Share ten little known things about yourself.

3. Nominate six other bloggers for the award and inform them of their win... Fun!

So, here are my ten:
1. I was born on an island and I don't know how to swim.

2. My mother accompanied me when I asked to get my first tattoo, a spiritual symbol of sound.

3. I chose to eat vegetarian at age seventeen and then vegan, which I couldn't stick with, I need real cheese.

4. Wind chimes are both comforting and creepy.

5. Nothing more terrifying to me than a snake.

6. After high school, I made coffee for doctors.

7. I met my husband and married before finishing college.

8. I treasure my collection of comic books.

9. My favorite movies are the ones that steal your calm and stick to your nerves.

10. I write best when Earth is slightly damp.

And, here is the best part, choosing six blogger I love to visit with:
Tricia at the thing with feathers - There isn't a single thing that she couldn't turn into beauty.

Jae at Jae Rose - Where a collection of words force you into places that are often hard to touch.

Debra at DREAM WEAVER - She asks that we consider the important things.

Diana at BABYBEARSHOP confectionery - Her ambition, beautiful and her world, green and organic.

Sreeja at writing on just to write... - Her words are colorful and full of question.

Shawna at rosemary mint -  A gorgeous place for words. She suggests word prompts, for example, giving a list and asking you to do things such as: "Rub the words between your fingers, and see which ones leave a mark on your skin. Then use them to write a poem." Adore.

To Jen and Danielle, merci merci!      

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Sullen Smoke

Lain in sinking rest
beneath rain on a wrinkled roof
I was told,
the teeth in Hell are clean.

A novice wife, whose home was lost
to blinking moth
and other winged things,
of failing vein.

In her scarf I wrapped relish and flesh
wiping her seared spot, of passion and mirth
His tongue incapable of licking clean,
left inside her spleen.

Written for Three Word Wednesday

Saturday, May 12, 2012

Sunday Scribblings: In the Beginning

Fiji, an ocean ago
The river and laundry outside
and enormous rocks
Chasing my mother
baskets tucked under her arms
My bangles, dancing along my arms
Little red scooter
wooden and worn
Coconut milk early in the morning
Warm rain
lizards slithering in rich hue
teensy-weensy frogs
Earth is a spell in green
Chutney and pickle
onion and pepper
My kaleidoscopic world
Nani and the ghee, my grandmother and the sacred butter
My mother, taller than trees
willowy and wise
A fusion of clove
Her hair, onyx. Endless
Her eyes, tired and stone...

Sweet sixteen, an ocean away from home
sloshed and stoned
Goodbye daddy
California, alone
Summer in the valley
relentless heat
Stale and sugar plump
My mother, strange and far
Friendship and solace
Midnight movies on the Old Sac lawn
Mushrooms and ice-cream and voices
A sodden song
A river so long
Trips and talks and a decade to treasure
Water, a wave, and the wash...

A new shore, North Beach
more enormous rocks

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Speckle of Air

Standing in the shadow
of a soaring Paper Birch,
its deciduous wings
freckled with snow,
a little girl cries
I find her straying
her lips are smothered in glue,
the life in her eyes tremble
Behind the closed door
the color is blue
I want to keep her voice
and speak to her of beautiful things
Light has left the sky
my throat swallows my words
I rest my hand on her velvet hair
With scattered wings
I draw a castle in the air
I dampen her mouth with
spit and snow
Her life is cold
and her body is bruised
I tell her a story
where the moon is white
and little people are safe to dance
in the middle of night
Her breath has softened
her heart is slow
The snow fades
from freckle to foe
On her plastic skin
I lay a kiss
The petals in my journal
begin to crack and dry

Written for Three Word Wednesday

A to Z Challenge: Reflections

This was my first year aboard the A to Z Challenge and it was electric. With more than 17,000 participates, I never imagined this experience to be intimate. I was wrong. I wasn't able to visit as many blogs as I hoped, but the circle that I was able to create holds warm hearts and essential thoughts.
When I started blogging, it was a journal that no one needed to see. Something I would organize and print one day and share with the family. I added love on my children's birthdays, photos of gardens and crocheted things, and words that sounded like poetry when I wrote them down.
When people started to view, I wanted to share more. I continued to write in the sky. There was a loose connection for quite some time. Then I added my blog to the A to Z sign up list and watched it float away into a mess of names, feeling blind on stage. Soon enough, a lovely string of conversations developed and I quickly found my place.
Thank you to Arlee Bird for creating such a fun challenge, and all of the hosts, who accept the challenge as well, and the participants who keep the inspiration alive. I've met a wonderful group of people here who I hope to keep in touch with throughout the year. Next year, a definite engagement with A to Z again!

Not so lost in the stars anymore, this place is more intrinsic. 
Thanks A to Z!

Saturday, May 5, 2012

Sunday Scribblings: Wild

I remember a night,
waking up in the middle
A deer stood at the foot of my bed
Her eyes were white
and her mouth, spoiled with red
She asked me to come with her
I stepped out of my gown,
my skin was cellophane, lucid like glass
I slipped into the night with her

Beneath a sky where stars are strung in lace,
we ran through the night
Hours held together by invisible string,
bare underneath a Blue moon
She fed me a feast,
wet roses,
basil with licorice tips

The meadow was ours
We covered ourselves in mint
The water was full of jewels
We swam in its belly
and drank from its mouth
She touched my skin

I woke in the morning
when Snow in the Summers
sparkles with dew
In my room
the air was still melting
My hair was covered in mint
I chewed the petals in my mouth

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Sweet Tooth

This morning, he hiked across the wooded bridge,
along the blackberry path,
just the same.
The night had been enough.
It gave a generous moon,
moments of lust and love.
His heart was not the same.
This morning, the world washed away,
penalized by urge.
His age empty,
his moral lost.
He wandered to the edge,
the cliff hung over,
pointing out in blame
to the world who bellows below.
A row of silence slurred,
his memory went first.
His heart was split and speared,
he wanted to give it away.
He slipped out of wardrobe,
his bare toes slide into earth.
The sun walked over the moon,
his hunger, the craving, his excessive desire
rolled neatly into dust.
The part of him
that swims inside of himself
fell asleep in Hell.
This morning, above a world
where cheap perfume is sold,
he gave his insatiable eye away
and laid himself to rest.

For a place that is new to meThree Word Wednesday.