tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51453089740694765002023-11-16T05:44:46.516-08:00For Love of Womenpoetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-91184000786468100552013-08-12T10:02:00.000-07:002013-08-19T11:46:02.799-07:00From "A Prayer for Owen Meany":<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>...she would at times gaze into the fire, although nothing she saw there ever prompted her to tend to the logs or the coals; <b>possibly she preferred smoke to flames.</b></i></blockquote>
There are probably more lesbians who would call themselves pyromaniacs, but don't we all know women like this? It's not about laziness. Maybe it's about fear.poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-62387961118731563252013-06-11T09:19:00.001-07:002013-08-07T21:31:57.315-07:00Crimson Haze<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Try to dismount.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lose your feet</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pedals fly</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No guide</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">red ribbons tied to handlebars</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">flapping in the breeze.</span>poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-78910793616841202342012-11-26T09:47:00.003-08:002013-08-07T21:59:22.706-07:00Lungs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1CrVC8dgDcVqqwmUUYqc48Gn6b2Hg9MehHj4KZe7n_CfC1g7pjgx8810NdDSwEk_r7Qc2xZ3dUBRilM81yvXMG169SKb7wWOX3wBSmV-wIjowFo6gnktQlJAjE0OG87QG50lBIgd2b9k/s1600/supernova.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1CrVC8dgDcVqqwmUUYqc48Gn6b2Hg9MehHj4KZe7n_CfC1g7pjgx8810NdDSwEk_r7Qc2xZ3dUBRilM81yvXMG169SKb7wWOX3wBSmV-wIjowFo6gnktQlJAjE0OG87QG50lBIgd2b9k/s320/supernova.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #3c3d47; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Sharing champagne smiles half-hashed beer bottle metaphors giggling guessing messages from asteroids I admired you from a distance(loved you because you loved him loved your mouth before I'd kissed it)you were the only woman I ever trusted to love him enough</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #3c3d47;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3c3d47;">Clenched teeth closed eyes held breath for years he's known that nothing stops a supernova not even love</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: #edeaf1; color: #3c3d47; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">She sat and
smoked a cigarettecells dividing and dividingshe thought about this life she’s
madecells dividing and dividingthis chess piece with which she’s chosen to
playcells dividing and dividingis but a pawn in which she is just no longer
confiding</span></blockquote>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #3c3d47;">We're all here now shifting in crowds to swim in the nebula breathe in the clouds </span><span style="color: #3c3d47;">though I’m guilty (it’s gluttony I hardly knew you)I’ll fill my lungs hoping to shine brighter through you</span></span></div>
poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-80584645848877279492012-07-01T17:34:00.003-07:002013-08-19T13:25:22.765-07:00The Key Still Fits<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Tonight, we are cats who</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> sprint toward closing doors</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">We are lovers-past wrapping, clawing, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">grasping</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: x-small; line-height: 16px;">seeking </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 16px;">heat and making warmth</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 16px;">Without <a href="http://forloveofwomen.blogspot.com/2010/04/too-happy-to-think-of-good-title.html">water stains</a> or <a href="http://forloveofwomen.blogspot.com/2011/12/felinede.html">who-spoons-who</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">We find </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">our mismatched edges </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">worn.</span></div>
</div>
poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-23208567285739166392012-06-12T11:58:00.001-07:002013-08-07T22:23:48.368-07:00Patience<a href="http://fc03.deviantart.net/images3/i/2004/11/0/8/The_Window.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="251" src="http://fc03.deviantart.net/images3/i/2004/11/0/8/The_Window.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A wish waits at the window</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">pandering impossible desire </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">branches shift in moon-made shadows</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">dancing like a funeral pyre</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Back hot against an evening fire </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">smiles trick on her love's face </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">but she's not yet ready to retire </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">fancies truth could fast deflate </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">to end! as quick as summer rain </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">from trembling walls and tin roof beats </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">to silence: a weaker fate</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">than adumbrated fantasy</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If not dissolved by wine and lips<br />she might resist. She might resist.</span></div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-59388818515622638842012-05-08T20:11:00.002-07:002012-06-11T11:13:40.688-07:00Sitting By a Column<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Sitting here, that’s all</span><br />
cheek pressed
against the marble<br /><i>self-improvement sucks.</i><br />Ol’ Rail Splitter looking <br />past the dome/where you<br />used to be my home.<br /><span style="line-height: 115%;">Wherever you are </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">come rest your head on my lap.</span><br /><span style="line-height: 115%;">Let me kiss your hair.</span><br /><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br />But no more of this;</span><br /><span style="line-height: 115%;">sadness is what got us here.</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 15px;"><br /></span></span></span>poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-70809595771465030662011-12-14T07:18:00.000-08:002013-08-08T08:19:50.331-07:00Felinede<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The days lapse</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">with your head in my lap</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm too blessed to be</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">so plagued by</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">wish you would</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My book's weak on poems to show you</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm... smitten.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And though I'd prefer you wrapped around</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">to curled against me, like a kitten</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I do like the way my fingers make you arch your spine and purr.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sometimes I think I'd better fare</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">back-pressed</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">hips-tipped, ass to bare</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and yet, I sought bear hugs before</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They left my fingers cold.</span></div>
poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-31524346096575935712011-11-30T15:47:00.000-08:002012-01-18T08:10:20.728-08:00Whiff<div><div><div>You can finger the olfactory visitor--uninvited to the evening</div><div>with one whiff nostalgia bent</div><div>lending syrup to the memory</div><div>Nirvanic she! I'm drifting</div><div>if a shroud this cloud could be</div><div>I'd Juliet--yet, if I did,</div><div>I'd miss the fruit I suck in dreams.</div><div>Eyebrow and lip aligned:<br />they heed my General beak,<br />right flanks assemble<br />ascending to smirk<br />atop high tide on threaded string.</div><div><div>I'm winking, but not hoodwinked.</div><div>Briefly, blithely I pretend.</div></div></div></div><div><br /></div><a href="http://fc02.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2009/356/f/6/Woman_a_smell_by_ORLOF.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 220px;" src="http://fc02.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2009/356/f/6/Woman_a_smell_by_ORLOF.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-14536907850397223892011-05-11T22:12:00.000-07:002013-08-08T08:20:48.783-07:00On Waking.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b6320;">Shifted<br />roused </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b6320;">one eyebrow lifted<br />squint-fighting sun sticky<br />hot her chest<br />blazing, Morning! sweat<br />Shut resist<br />this chaste<br />happy abeyance laid</span></span><br />
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b6320;">on us<br />smirks retain<br />teasing donnas.<br />Can spot nutty eyes ‘neath her lids.<br /><br />Sure she’s gone round the bend<br />But why not And also<br />Who says dawn is brilliant?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4b6320;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs39/i/2008/348/c/1/Riku___Dream_Diver_by_NanjoKoji.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs39/i/2008/348/c/1/Riku___Dream_Diver_by_NanjoKoji.jpg" style="display: block; height: 270px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 360px;" /></a></div>
poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-4894528490259048052011-01-13T22:17:00.000-08:002013-08-07T22:05:41.453-07:00Lora<div>
She jumped through rainbows</div>
<div>
unafraid of how the colors might swim</div>
<div>
wading with friends, but on a journey</div>
<div>
very much her own</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She loved so hard I couldn't help but squeeze her tight</div>
<div>
Strong-spirited little butterfly<br />
twirling curly antennae</div>
<div>
curious eyes</div>
<div>
mind speeding through</div>
<div>
adventures too daring to share</div>
<div>
<div>
Smiles, gifts for the friends left in this town</div>
<div>
A gift to bring herself around<br />
Reality too heavy to allow herself to frown</div>
</div>
<div>
Thoughts too complicated to talk sometimes</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My words don't matter much</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But I hope she has</div>
<div>
her synchronicities explained</div>
<div>
her God revealed</div>
<div>
her heart settled</div>
<div>
her song complete</div>
<div>
her puzzle-piece placed</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I hope her chest lifts high</div>
<div>
her heart glowing bright</div>
<div>
her head resting</div>
<div>
to relieve</div>
<div>
and relax</div>
<div>
her mind</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She is loved she is loved she is forever loved</div>
<div>
Om shanti shanti shanti</div>
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Peace peace peace</div>
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<br /></div>
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poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-10205765410817633722010-11-08T15:46:00.001-08:002011-05-18T09:17:37.506-07:00Defrost<a href="http://fc06.deviantart.net/fs5/f/2006/349/9/c/Writer__s_break_by_vintersorg84.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 359px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="http://fc06.deviantart.net/fs5/f/2006/349/9/c/Writer__s_break_by_vintersorg84.jpg" border="0" /></a> I haven't forgotten the smell of inky ballpoint drops but I've forgotten the criticism I had when we were bound and Falling into your arms last night felt like the end of a long journey<br />-which is fantasy of course.<br /><br />Without medium, I'm holding onto moments in the form of booty calls<br />lingering in your sheets trying to make memories warm enough to get me through the winter.<br /><br />You were right to say our words would leave these pages<br />But my past words- my last words- They weren't as kind as yours.<br />And so while your words careen and scatter<br />leaving empty sheets for you to pen-again<br />While you begin again<br />I can't seem to un-fall.<br /><br />My words don't leave or fade:<br />they just defrost.<br /><br />And I'm not left where I began at all.poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-27099037361474470972010-08-16T09:52:00.000-07:002013-05-01T12:58:39.260-07:00Liver Box<a href="http://fc08.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2010/228/3/2/FFX__Where_the_Dream_Ends_by_Astellecia.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://fc08.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2010/228/3/2/FFX__Where_the_Dream_Ends_by_Astellecia.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 224px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 298px;" /></a><br />
<div>
My cursor is winking at me ///<br />
suggestively ///<br />
expectant of me ///<br />
It expects me to be sexy in verse.<br />
<br />
I count on my pen to know everything first<br />
And words last!<br />
Dated words serve the permanence<br />
my scattered mind can't find.<br />
<br />
But I can't seem to write<br />
about you.<br />
<br />
I've tried.<br />
<br />
<div>
I sit and anti- cipate the usual flurry</div>
<div>
the fury</div>
<div>
of heart pour- ing metaphor</div>
<div>
and then stripping it down to the plainest version of itself.</div>
<div>
<br />
Grabbing bottles from a shelf</div>
<div>
I mix up a Metaphor Therapy:</div>
<div>
An ounce each of love and grief</div>
<div>
pour it over melodrama and an icey simile</div>
<div>
It's a lot but once it melts into verse, I find </div>
<div>
I can finally take it in.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
(To be truly effective at squelching my fear,</div>
<div>
we go more rounds than I care to share</div>
<div>
or you’d care to hear</div>
<div>
but I do recommend it.</div>
<div>
Mornings are kinder than Xanax and vodka.)<br />
<br /></div>
And so the point I can’t write-<br />
The point you haven’t heard-<br />
The point of all these words is that<br />
I've been trying to write about you since I met you.<br />
<br />
And also for the last three hours.<br />
<br />
<div>
When this poem began I wrote that I was sitting on the Amtrak</div>
<div>
staring at a half-pink sunset</div>
<div>
slivered moon like a skipping rock </div>
<div>
moving across a skyline of tree-tops<br />
a few thin clouds in an azuline sky.<br />
<br />
But now? The sky is black</div>
<div>
and I'm asking for another drink.</div>
<div>
If you sit too long<br />
and think too much</div>
<div>
the spice fades out to water.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Words I won't show you sit<br />
like drips on my pen<br />
at the edge of my lips<br />
timid toes testing the temperature of my tongue<br />
denying poetry or quips<br />
Words are permanent <br />but my thoughts are inconstant as the moon!</div>
<div>
and better trusted moving slow.<br />
<br />
I know this makes me less a Romeo</div>
<div>
but I've been practicing my steps for a long, long time<br />
and I'm not going to take you dancing</div>
<div>
on some sad, pathetic, stuttering-forever.<br />
<br />
Please stay.<br />
I'll get you another drink.<br />
No ice okay?<br />
(You might have to hold it awhile.)</div>
</div>
poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-23576390122935907242010-08-04T08:02:00.000-07:002013-08-07T22:09:29.752-07:00Attached<div>
As soon as I call you mine, I start picking you apart<br />
Like every pore I clean and each cheek I pinch for blush</div>
<div>
</div>
<br />
<div>
I love you like I love my own arm:<br />
a necessity, a piece of me,<a href="http://fc08.deviantart.net/fs43/i/2009/094/4/7/Oh_lady_by_crisscrossapplesauce.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://fc08.deviantart.net/fs43/i/2009/094/4/7/Oh_lady_by_crisscrossapplesauce.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 178px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 152px;" /></a><br />
a thankless job to be<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 16px;">—</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div>
Were you a limb separate from me (free standing<br />
shoulder and soft fingers)</div>
<div>
you could stroke my arm</div>
<div>
or hold my hand</div>
<div>
and walk away on fingertips</div>
<div>
and I would chase you</div>
<div>
I'd reach out and pull you back</div>
<div>
and ask if you would stay</div>
<br />
<div>
</div>
<div>
But as long as you are mine, you're me</div>
<div>
which means: I beat us both the same</div>
poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-38420057592889836622010-04-29T05:53:00.000-07:002013-08-08T08:21:34.529-07:00Vision<div>
The closer I get, the more involved I become</div>
<div>
in admiration of an intricate design</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
every tiny detail</div>
<div>
every fleck of color</div>
<div>
every marking left by</div>
<div>
time.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If: standing back</div>
<div>
you still see the broken pieces</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Let me lend you my eyes.</div>
poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-28136159669252362792010-04-20T14:23:00.000-07:002013-05-01T13:02:56.758-07:00Felicity<a href="http://th07.deviantart.net/fs11/300W/i/2006/191/3/7/Spoon_Fed_by_o_precocious_one.jpg" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://th07.deviantart.net/fs11/300W/i/2006/191/3/7/Spoon_Fed_by_o_precocious_one.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 173px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 127px;" /></a><br />
<div>
<br />
<div>
<div>
Face striped by slats in sun</div>
<div>
I was the one he preferred to eat with</div>
<div>
tried to clean with his t-shirt before guests arrived</div>
<div>
I apologized when the water stains wouldn’t budge.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My <i>Goodbye </i>brought no empowerment</div>
<div>
It felt more like abandonment and it</div>
<div>
wasn't enough It was a start</div>
<div>
I'm smart enough to grip resolve</div>
<div>
yet I've an elephant's romantic retention</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It wouldn't be fair to call the present less for past Not when</div>
<div>
the present is more than hot mashed skin and music and magic</div>
<div>
though plenty of</div>
<div>
That my past becomes</div>
<div>
Hard to recall the days as his napkin-shrouded silver when I'm Hers</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
tonight</div>
<div>
and maybe Tomorrow</div>
<div>
we've talked about too much</div>
<div>
but I did meet your heart, religion, politics before your</div>
<div>
choice in wine.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Today</div>
<div>
I am filled with gourmet.</div>
<div>
I am proudly displayed</div>
<div>
with chipped edges and all.</div>
</div>
<br /></div>
poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-89563211482640936002010-02-12T15:07:00.000-08:002013-05-01T13:49:11.992-07:00Her Memory of Me.From my bird’s eye view,<br />
<div>
the clouds look like frothy waves<br />
on a sea of sky<br />
and somewhere down there<br />
deep in the ocean<br />
she's sipping on a glass of bourbon<br />
leaning with her back to the kitchen counter<br />
where she reframes memories<br />
of making love to me<br />
as something cheap, and thus,<br />
forgettable.<br /><br />It's hard to see me from where she stands<br />but I'm no stranger to distance<br />and so I'm still here.</div>
poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-26095056042211135232010-01-30T20:32:00.001-08:002010-01-30T20:32:43.879-08:00From Ballad of the Sad Cafe by Carson McCullers<span style="font-style:italic;">First of all, love is a joint experience between two persons--but the fact that it is a joint experience does not mean that it is a similar experience to the two people involved. There are the lover and the beloved, but these two come from different countries. Often the beloved is only a stimulus for all the stored-up love which has lain quiet within the lover for a long time hitherto. And somehow every lover knows this. He feels in his soul that his love is a solitary thing. He comes to know a new, strange loneliness and it is this knowledge which makes him suffer. So there is only one thing for the lover to do. He must house his love within himself as best he can; he must create for himself a whole new inward world--a world intense and strange, complete in himself. Let it be added here that this lover about whom we speak need not necessarily be a young man saving for a wedding ring--this lover can be man, woman, child, or indeed any human creature on this earth.<br /><br />Now, the beloved can also be of any description. The most outlandish people can be the stimulus for love. A man may be a doddering great-grandfather and still love only a strange girl he saw in the streets of Cheehaw one afternoon two decades past. The preacher may love a fallen woman. The beloved may be treacherous, greasy-headed, and given to evil habits. Yes, and the lover may see this as clearly as anyone else--but that does not affect the evolution of his love one whit. A most mediocre person can be the object of a love which is wild, extravagant, and beautiful as the poison lilies of the swamp. A good man may be the stimulus for a love both violent and debased, or a jabbering madman may bring about in the soul of someone a tender and simple idyll. Therefore, the value and quality of any love is determined solely by the lover himself.<br /><br />It is for this reason that most of us would rather love than be loved. Almost everyone wants to be the lover. And the curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being beloved is intolerable to many. The beloved fears and hates the lover, and with the best of reasons. For the lover is forever trying to strip bare his beloved. The lover craves any possible relation with the beloved, even if this experience can cause him only pain.<br /><br />-Ballad of the Sad Cafe, Carson McCullers</span>poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-57511719394538234132010-01-03T20:46:00.000-08:002013-10-07T11:25:50.760-07:00What I'd Rather Say Than Fight, But I Won'tShe moves me sometimes<br />
like a small girl with her first drum<br />
straddled and slammed with mallets on both sides<br />
arms flailing<br />
hair swinging<br />
mouth open<br />
spit flying.<br />
<br />
Right now she's frustrated with me<br />
so I don't tell her<br />
that all I want to do is to kiss her mouth-<br />
to melt into the kind of kiss where mouths open wide<br />
tongues stretch<br />
and faces can't possibly mash close enough together<br />
to feel as close as you want to feel<br />
without jaws breaking.poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-28249178170931951752009-11-18T09:50:00.000-08:002013-08-07T22:35:48.759-07:00Breeze<a href="http://fc07.deviantart.net/fs29/f/2008/168/2/b/apology_by_meizer.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://fc07.deviantart.net/fs29/f/2008/168/2/b/apology_by_meizer.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 600px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 450px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Lips like a Cheshire cat’s <br />
I gawked<br />
while you ugly-fucked your guitar<br />
which was always my favorite.<br />
<br />
Through a nearsighted lens<br />
we were envied.<br />
We were sharing a beer.<br />
We were laughing together.<br />
And then the show would end.<br />
<br />
With your guitar packed up,<br />
our fingers locked in<br />
you pulled me close, like a faulty zipper<br />
just to carefully slide us apart.poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-86805908036524375472009-10-04T01:55:00.000-07:002013-08-07T22:31:36.082-07:00Moonshine<a href="http://fc00.deviantart.com/fs7/i/2005/234/f/d/Love____by_Shiver_Rayfresh.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://fc00.deviantart.com/fs7/i/2005/234/f/d/Love____by_Shiver_Rayfresh.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 271px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center; width: 477px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span class="apple-style-span">I stopped loving you 30 seconds ago, but now </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I found a small cinnamon candle</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span class="apple-style-span">bought from Misty Mountain Shop. <br />Remember making love</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">to the scent of cinnamon and bonfires?<br />I remember your skin by firelight.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I'm sorry I told you that you weren't perfect.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I wish loving you was enough.</span><br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-86150381954059481152009-09-10T11:09:00.001-07:002013-08-07T22:30:31.492-07:00Written in RichmondHere's one I wrote back in April of 2006 during my freshman year of college. I know the wine references are a bit excessive. Write drunk, edit sober (except I always get too lazy for that second part).<br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">It's 85 Degrees Outside. That's Too Hot.</span><br />
<br />
I'll wear my pajamas all day if I want<br />
and I'll walk barefoot to class<br />
and then Put on my shoes when I get there.<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">A poor choice with glass in the streets, but<br />sometimes a plan is better in my head.</span><br />
I'll have a glass of Zin if I want to,<br />
or two, And then I'll slur like Fyodor<br />
if I please. Because sometimes it's nice<br />
to give my mind a break<br />
and To sing loudly with foreign accents.<br />
<br />
So long as it's only sometimes.<br />
<br />
A friend asked if I plot out scenerios With friends and strangers<br />
Stories that haven't happened yet.<br />
She has a bookworm's mind, and anyhow she's<br />
determined She'd fund my abortion<br />
with her parents money.<br />
<br />
I think she's a good friend.<br />
She thinks I hate her.<br />
My little boy's teasing attempts at flirting<br />
hit her sensitive spot And not the one<br />
I mean to hit.<br />
<br />
I should squeeze out of that small<br />
slit of a space My window won't open all the way,<br />
but If I folded a few ribs I could fit through the slit<br />
I could climb on the rooftop and Hang out<br />
with the construction workers Crumpling their cans<br />
stepping on cigarettes that litter my dormroom penthouse view<br />
of the smutty streets below.<br />
<br />
What could it hurt? They <span style="font-style: italic;">have</span> already seen me naked.<br />
<br />
<br />poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-36956224162845250512009-09-06T20:35:00.000-07:002013-10-07T11:28:05.960-07:00To Chambourcin<a href="http://fc08.deviantart.com/fs6/i/2005/024/4/8/Wine_by_seamgrvs.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://fc08.deviantart.com/fs6/i/2005/024/4/8/Wine_by_seamgrvs.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 432px; margin: 0 0 10px 10px; width: 288px;" /></a><br />
.<br />
I hope one day I'll swallow this<br />
She'll taste like someone else's kiss<br />
or it could be I'll find another wine to haunt.<br />
But until then? <br />
Every sip just makes me think of her<br />
and when I drink, I can't stop thinking that<br />
she's everything<br />
I want.poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-40829159182189031452009-08-07T00:51:00.000-07:002009-09-02T20:07:25.247-07:00Today I Am an Emotional WreckI went for a run to calm my mind, but I was running to beat the sunset, to avoid getting blinded by high beams as drivers flipped their lights up to be sure they didn't hit me- not realizing they were making everything invisible and thus increasing the chance of me tripping on something/myself and falling into their path.<br /><br />I was running faster than usual. It hurt. It felt good. I felt strong, my thighs taking in the hills at a steady pace, my legs stretching to stride out when the road turned flat, my mind going over the day's events and approaching life with a powerful yet somber state of realism.<br /><br />With the air so thick and the sky so grey, the grass looked like gravel and the trees looked dead. My feet hit on the pavement like a drum. I was drenched from sweat and fog, listening to a scratchy NPR in my headphones. The news had been traded for some exhaustingly sappy string quartet. Pretty, really, but my mood and the matching atmosphere seemed to leak their dismal into song.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Breathe easy</span>, I remembered, closing my eyes for a short moment on a carless stretch and opening my chest.<br /><br />There are no streetlights for the next half mile or so, and it was getting darker. I ran harder, feeling tears behind my eyes and the scream that had been mounting in my stomach nearing my throat. I hit the final hill and let my thighs burn, running to beat my own breakdown, to avoid getting blinded as vivid memories of making love to you hit me like high beams in the dark.<br /><br />I was home. I paced in my driveway, my hands on my head, breathing, sweating. I stretched my shoulders. My eyes were calm. My throat relaxed. A tiny bit of sun still prevented the black from taking over. I smiled, walking inside with a resolute composure and pride in my speed.<br /><br />I won.<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://fc01.deviantart.com/fs41/f/2009/050/b/1/Runner_on_Desert_Road__NZ_by_RichardWood.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 621px; height: 410px;" src="http://fc01.deviantart.com/fs41/f/2009/050/b/1/Runner_on_Desert_Road__NZ_by_RichardWood.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br>poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-78998862032902981282009-08-04T21:04:00.000-07:002013-05-01T13:33:03.361-07:00Still Naked<br />
Sleepy eyed and still naked,<br />
I stand on my tiptoes on my desk<br />
pulling the blinds to blink sunlight into the room.<br />
As I step an awkwardly long step down to the floor<br />
you turn over in my bed, and I feel your eyes on my skin.<br />
The warmth of your gaze releases my usual morning energy in the form of a soft sigh.<br />
You smile.<br />
You smile with those pretty lips of yours, and I'm dancing around the room<br />
trying to be interested in something else<br />
trying to get ready, to go to class, to do something responsible, but instead I find myself getting back into bed, wrapping my arms around your waist from behind, kissing your neck and shoulders, and enjoying what will surely be the best part of my day.<br />
<br />
And why not? You don't seem to mind.<br />
My professor doesn't mind, as I stroll in late to class. My tell-tale glow makes me invincible.<br />
<br />
Or at least I think I am.<br />
Maybe I'm despised, but the energy still coarsing through me makes it hard to care.poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5145308974069476500.post-51353381276291118002009-08-04T21:01:00.000-07:002009-08-28T19:55:41.642-07:00Eggs and Milk<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://16.media.tumblr.com/ky9cwXAKOqerydh8JncMteXKo1_500.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 247px; height: 377px;" src="http://16.media.tumblr.com/ky9cwXAKOqerydh8JncMteXKo1_500.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>She was a ginger thing. Weak wrists, I noted. And flighty eyes. The sort that could turn a fork about in a bowl of eggs while bringing herself to a fit of laughter over a tale in her head and somehow fail to break a single yolk.<br /><br />You know the type.<br /><br />She told me she was healing. She had healed, in fact, she said. And she would heal me.<br /><br />Flip, flip.<br />Yolk twist.<br />Gentle wrist.<br />The yellow still in balls.<br /><br />I'm a cynic, but I'll soak up her smile and drink her tea anyway. Especially if she'll pass the bowl and let me give those eggs a stab.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">...Some day I'll write poetry without the weight of love or innuendo. But not today.</span><br>poetryforwomenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15777234944462051997noreply@blogger.com1