Wounded

Adrift in the city, I picked up a fallen twig
and lifted its whisper to my pale lips
maybe it was the crying of the geese,
a cracked pine cone, or a bruised heart

Something from afar flutter its wings 
echoes of tropical sea, beside the volcanic bed, 
the pitter patter of rain on palm leaf, 
soft as frangipani petals on bamboo mats 

Awakening from deep winter night, the maple leaf
sang under my tongue, its sweet fragrance 
wafting cheeks, now blushed with hot summer nights

Suddenly my breast clenched in memory of 
my roots, shorelines stringed of coconut husks,
halved, its fleshy juice quenching my thirst,     

and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent. *

Line and Inspiration:   Pablo Neruda:   Lost in the forest 

Posted for:   Real Toads and D'verse Poets Pub:   OpenLinkNight

Thanks for the visit and smiles.    

Poetics - Vampires

in silk and lace, she tempts
without the knowing look of a courtesan


as the one who lives in an empty wasteland,
her skin gleams of dusky plum, beckoning my touch


does she not know how self centered I am?  
how evil I can be, how even powerful I can become?


there are no roses on my coffin,
but wood gored from silkworms munching dark cavern


there are no candles on the walls,
but horns hacked from animals wandering in the night


my tongue twitches for the taste of her blood,
the smell of her thighs scented of her surrender


like amber, sandalwood and jasmine on my
hands, now gripping her arms with brute force  


“Drink from me and live forever."


her lips quiver with anticipation, of answers to questions
i do not tell her that all I have inside me is a can of worms  


her hands are greedy to slice open
my head in the heat of passion  


she is trading her idealism for eternity,
her wrinkled old face for this moment's dip into


the well of eternal awareness, my knowledge of the world
intoxicates her, power on her hands, she closes her eyes      


my sharp teeth breaks her skin, the crimson wetness  
trickles down her nape, summoning wild beast in my foreskin  


i don't tell her my secret, she will surely die
when she finally realizes the truth of life:




"There is none."




Posted for D'verse Poets Pub:   Poetics: Vampires  - Thank you for the creative prompt, Blue Flute.  Inspiration from Anne Rice's quotes.  
Shared with Poets United.   

Inside me

Inside me lives a working class woman *
Tinder soot on cheeks, hands of a layman 
Daily I wash plates and throw away bones    
Daisy feet I'm not,  but wide as a cone


Inside me lives a reckless brown filly 
Gin and wine I take when I feel silly  
Dreams for my children, bright as the sun 
Dread thoughts I keep, serene like a nun


Inside me lives my sisters, harlots all
Sins, curled in cigarette smoke, they call         
Pleading for money, clothes and gossip 
Pleasantries I care not, but a firm grip 


Inside me lives my mother, my grandma, 
Indefatigable, bold charisma 
Wrongs, missteps, I shrink to a fraction, 
Wrought iron I’m not, jar full of passion



Inspiration:   Brazilian poet , Ana Lins dos Guimarães Peixoto, Cora Coralina:   All lives
Ana published her first book when she was 75 years old.

* Inside me lives 

The working-class woman. 

Pretty proletarian. 

Pretty gossipy, 

Imprudent, unprejudiced, 

Rude, 

With little slippers, 

And many children. 


Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads:   OpenLinkNight - Monday 
and D'verse Poets Pub :   OpenLinkNight - Tuesday   


Poetry form:   Framed couplet - Thanks to Gay of D'verse Poets Pub
Based on Kenia's Challenge:   Celebrate Feminine   


Picture credit:  here

Love at the Movies

You  say    I  am  your   lucky  charm

Searching to find me through great lengths 

But  I  found  tenderness  and  strength

I'm  the   lucky  one  in  your  arms  

~0~0

Inside  me  lives an  old  woman 

Pared, sliced and left in bitter wine 

But you catch me, unwrapping twine

Piercing  icy core, my  bowman    

~0~0

There are second chances we take

With our  vows,  a  kiss  renews

Our journey, fresh morning dew

when we say YES, our love remakes 

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads:   Envelopes and Mary's Mixed Bag - Let's Go to the Movies.   I relax watching romance and comedy films, specially on weekends.   If  the movie makes me cry, its a good movie  :-)   Have a good weekend ~     

Poetry form:   Envelope Stanza - iambic tetrameter (8 syllables per line)

Rhyme Scheme:   A,B,B,A

Native heart

                                                                                                

       There are words that

    Bloom from your lips

      Follows not the arc of the sun

          But the curve of your hips

             There are verses needing no sub-titles

                Strung with passion stained fingers        

                  They roll from the tongue 

               

                   In heavy guttural sounds,

                    Primal echoes to your ears

                You close your eyes

             Imagining the stormy sea

          The raindrops drenching your skin

       You are swept in the tide  

   In fragments, in pieces

   You don’t put together

      In one coherent stanza     

         But leave it to seed

           Nourishing native heart

Posted for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads- OpenLinkNight - Monday 
and D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - every Tuesday at 3 pm


I am participating in the National Poetry Writing Month in my other blog.   Thanks for the visit.


picture credit:  http://gildam.tumblr.com/

Secrets

there are secrets we hide
when we go down the grey subway steps 

                                                                        the water was warm as the afternoon sun

                                                                        touching our boat, into the underground river

  

squeezed into the train corner,
not a muscle twitching as we read
our morning papers, a coffee in hand

                                                                        with our rain jackets, we rode into the mouth of the

                                                                        river shrouded with bats and flashlight,

we took in all the sights and sound of the cave, all senses alive 

                                                                                                                                                                  

as the train rolls and heaves
underneath the suits and heels
we hold our nostrils and our opinions
politely, our eyes peering the dusty floor

                                                                       as the paddle boat inched along dark wall,  

                                                                       your hand found me, followed by your lips 

                                                                       warm as the volcanic and granite stones,

                                                                       maps forgotten as we relished our exploration

the train halts on our station, we excuse
ourselves, and step into the steel pathway,
along with the rest of the crowd, we follow
shuffling our feet, bells ringing as doors close 

                                                                                     

                                                                       

it was an adventure of  the sun and islands,

the passageways in the dark tunnels smelled 

                                                                       our primal emotions, unleashed like piercing 

                                                                       cries of the bats clinging on the ceiling cave

  
we work and smile, great weekend, thank you
all polite, nice and routine as the subway schedule

                                                                       as the sun went down, we held on to each other

                                                                        fiercely as lovers departing on opposite platforms  

                                                                     

trying not to exhale the spice in our tongue 
trying not to burst into tears at the sight of the sun    

there are secrets we hide

when we go down the grey subway steps 

                                                                                

Posted for :   D'verse Poets Pub - Subway



picture credit:  here

The arc

I pluck a thousand feathers 

So the quill can spill my rue 

Into a page, pressed smooth by the sun 

I torch the black and heavy coins 

Melting in a crucible of oil, water and flux,

Into a gold key, unlocking door

Subtracting missteps,  

Dividing pride into raindrops

Multiplying seeds into fields,  

I place my hand on your cheek

Curved, soft, oval to my square lines 

A step, even a tiny arc 

Exponentially 

changes me, 

changes us, 

Equal to a thousand moments

Into a jar, we clamp with our hands, 

Now entwined 

Posted for Poets United:   Keys 

and D'verse Poets Pub:  Tripping the cosmos - Nothing grand as tripping the galaxy but a comment on my everyday life.  In my office we use a system called ARC that calculates quote full of numbers and percentages of risk.   A slight change in the inputs, changes the outcomes.          

Thank you to everyone who greeted me on my first blogoversary.   I appreciate your lovely words and encouragement.   


Picture credit:  here

My journey: 1st Blogoversary

I never knew what I was capable of,

until I began writing.

there are journeys we make  

alone, into white space, we take

     no destination, just the sun for muse

     for with each step, our eyes awake

there are open skies we seek

wide and deep waters beyond the creek

     searching for our voice and words

     learns the tongue, coarse with leeks

there are roads we rip and weep

alas, its not ours to keep

     no matter how tight we cling, we slip

     through rocky mountains, so steep


there are doors we keep closed
like books on shelf with a pressed rose
     wild ideas, lover's touch, car trips, 
     we forget while eating our toast 

there are roads we empty of words

stretching far, they strike our chords

     cleaving breasts, awakening muse

     learns to wield pen like a sword

 

there are journeys we make  
with each step, our eyes awake

 

Author's Note:   After one year of blogging, I still don't know where I am heading to except trying out new forms and blogging stuff that interest and challenge me.  It has been a wonderful year and I am grateful to all of you who have supported and visited me with kindness and smiles.     

Shared with Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - OpenLinkNight - Monday
and D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Tuesday


Poetry form:   Rubiayat Quatrain- Persian verse composed of four lines in a stanza, with the rhyme scheme AABA.   I added the last two lines :-)   This is my second rubiayat quatrain - my first one is here - thanks to Samuel Peralta.   


picture credit:  here

Greatest fear

                                                                                       

crimson 

blood stains

running down thighs

nausea  rising dry  throat

shaking hands holding belly

lost  in  prayer  as  sky  opens 

to spew and belch her sacrifice

heaving shoulders, she holds

broken shell in silent agony

in cold washroom, alone, 

she   confronts   her

greatest fear:  

barren 

                                                                                          image: djajakarta

Posted for The Mag 112 :    From the writer's point of view, my greatest fear is to lose my muse.  Sharing a personal experience as this month, we celebrate the birthdays and milestones of my two children.   Happy Easter ~   

Shared with Poets United

Black bird

Photograpy - Tracey Grumbach

To love the black bird
is to come at best, third
after the clouds scattered by gun.
His eyes hungry for the sun.


To hear his song on your breast
is to embrace solitude beyond crest
the mountains, claws leaving me undone. 
His eyes hungry for the sun.


To gaze into his eyes is to see  
death's dancing in land of the free
answering winds, he is no one's clan. 
His eyes hungry for the sun.

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - New view for you  - hosted by Brian Miller.    I have altered the picture a bit to fit my poem. It is Black Saturday where I am, so here is wishing you all Happy Easter.

and Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Poetry form - Kyrielle with rhyming pattern : aabB, ccbB, ddbB, with B being the repeated line.

Original photography by Tracy Grumbach

I am participating in the National Poetry Writing Month here.  

To the sea

take me

to the shore,

lay me down the sands

warmed by afternoon sun,

scented by coral reef spray

listen to the roar of waves,

lilt and bass of whales and dolphins

carry me to the deep end,

    where fear pulses and fervor pierces,

stirring limbs into fins, arms into weeds,

awakening feral heart,

quivering for salt,

pour me,

unto the

naked

sea

 

Author's Note:   This is a revision of this post in my other blog but the source of my words came from this picture.   I live and work in the concrete city jungle so this post is just a creative expression for me.   I am also participating in the National Poetry Writing Month but my poems will be posted in my other blog.

Posted for OpenLinkNight:   Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - every Monday
and D'verse Poets Pub - every Tuesday at 3 pm EST

picture credit:   here