Posts for June 8, 2016 (page 2)

Is it Love, or is it gas?

Butterflies
Nausea
Entangled guts
Vestibular ataxia
Intense, heightened
Emotion
Questions and
Uncertainty
A sneer, yes
A curl of the lip
And then,
At last,
Epiphany
A smile!
A glow!
Release!
Release!
Never before
A fatigue
So sacchrine sweet!
The stench lingers
With a
Finale of
Lacunar amnesia

I guess somewhere deep inside,
I know one day will have to be
the last,
but it isn’t real yet-
you know?
You’ll be there at graduation-
no doubt-
to send me off to college,
to twirl me at
my wedding
and surely you’ll see
your first grandchild.
But as you’re sitting there
at the kitchen table
staring at the seeds in
your fried eggplants
I can already see you 
growing dimmer

Mommy,
please stay a little longer

Inked ideas–a forsaken sea
slipping     sliding     sloshing
on the page beckon
distillation     condensation     refinement
to a concentrated enchantment

More ink pours into the swell
waves of brainstorms
crash
on the edges
Rays of
practice     play     perseverance
from the hot mass
of creativity
Potent winds of
desire     study     mentoring
shrink the ink
from a wild expanse
to purer design
lakes
ponds
puddles
pints
and then
a spoonful of poise and power

Possibilities
exist 
A hopeful briny deep
can transform
into a deeply flavorful treat

In terms of going insane:
                           Daily, I dial every voice that has ever said my name with love.
Tell myself my welcome is not worn.
A blocked phone goes straight to voicemail.
You never pick up and I’ve convinced myself you still love me.
I can still hear the ring.

Like some song that hurts to hear,
I punish myself with the routine dialing.
No words have power now.
But you know I’m too sick to stop calling
                          Safely, you hold me at arm’s length with hands full of pity.
And I lap it all up, thankful just to hear the memory
of your mouth when it was easy to say my name.

In terms of going insane:
                           Daily, I dial every voice that has ever said my name with love.
Tell myself my welcome is not worn.
A blocked phone goes straight to voicemail.
You never pick up and I’ve convinced myself you still love me.
I can still hear the ring.

Like some song that hurts to hear,
I punish myself with the routine dialing.
No words have power now.
But you know I’m too sick to stop calling
                          Safely, you hold me at arm’s length with hands full of pity.
And I lap it all up, thankful just to hear the memory
of your mouth when it was easy to say my name.

I might fall over hopeless lies
Something I’ve done over 100 times
I can’t always tell the difference between
Your insults and your advice
My eyes fail to stay strong
Until the early morning
Hopeless ignoring
The hold that morality has taken on me.
I might run
But I can’t hide
From your hopeless lies
A track I’ve ran 100 times
Exhausted eyes
On a translucent prize.

Poem 8, June 8

I am asleep on the sofa  

when you walk,
all of a sudden
through
the rickety gate
which opens one way
only
like eyelids  

walk into my dream
like sunlight
across an acre of Lake Cumberland
near Wolf Creek dam  

you walk out
of a picture on the wall
with your smile, the one
I find fascinating  

your silence
is an ear to the ground
listening for another woman
I never make love to  

your eyes
are those of a hawk
taking in the whole
field of my soul
where feelings
& thoughts
move introspecting    

I remember
well
when you used
to be a dragonfly
with wings
full of light
come from Old Seventy
creek
at twilight  

these days
I read you
as though you are
a poem e e cummings
should have written  

a poem full
of hidden
meanings
& rhymes
& secrets
that
to understand
the words
the reader
must love riddles 

to understand
you
the ultimate riddle
of love
of sex
of two as one
I read less
into the lines
& more into that warmth
resident in the words
 

An ending to neutrality
observing is to be observed 
Knowing that, is not akin, to knowing how

Differing interpretations
of the measurements
conflicts of a no longer 
objectifiable fact

The properties of nature

Stop asking
Am I worthy
 
Stop asking
Am I enough

Start asking
Do I believe

I want this
or not.