Letters

handwritten letters  

pressed closely against pale cheeks
warming lonely nights

 

~0~0~

 

she inhales his words
written amidst dry soil,
each word a heated kiss

 
~0~0~

letter in mailbox
creased with blood-stained fingerprints
cold as a coffin

Author's Note:   I wrote a series of haiku poems for D'Verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight.   Share your poems (any form) starting 3pm EST (every Tuesday).   

Also for Haiku Heights,  the prompt is Write.   For those who are interested in haiku poems, there is a 30-day challenge in Haiku Heights beginning Sept. 1, 2011.   

Picture credit:  http://whenpicturesspeak.tumblr.com/post/4490380170

Lights in the sky

cool balmy night 
lanterns glow in
hushed waters


pale moon hovers 
quiet retrospect of
our daily cares 


stars light the
dark canvas of
unknown, black void


mocking our 
shallow aspirations 
greed, pettiness, hate


surrounding, we are
blind that we are all
entwined, pulsating 


life-veined in trees, lakes, 
green fields, red deserts, 
snow-capped mountains 

blue skies beyond, universe 

is serene in its chaos,

beautiful, majestic

each creation, big and small

joined in flowing   

energy, goodness 

seeping, my shadow 

a dot amidst 

falling stars 

   

Author's Note:   Posted for D'verse Poets - Poetics - Third Eye Open.  

Hosted by Brian Miller: Today for Poetics, I am granting you the ability to do just that. I am giving you a third eye. This eye has the power to see all the things at work in our world that you can not see with your ordinary eyes.

My third eye sees energy flowing everywhere.. its in our thoughts and our emotions.   I also believe that we are all connected to Mother Earth, and from her, flows our food, and energy.   As to the stars at night, I like to look at them when I feel that my cares are "heavy" for me.  And because I am aware I can "see" more if I want to, I keep my third eye closed most of the time.  My real life is challenging enough as it is.      

picture credit:   http://purplefairies.tumblr.com/post/8703181359

Lemon Kiss

fresh lemon slice

swirls in mouth

juice breaking pore

boldly, soft lips

touch softer lips

eyes closed,

unmindful 

intersection of noses

smooth cheek on

pine-needled cheek,

pink tongue curls,

duels in

heady exploration

  tequila scents,  

hands lost in

smooth long tresses

drowning

in

salty brine

of ocean’s bed

until breathless

eyes glazing

intoxicated

first kiss

Author's Note:   Tell a story in 55 words.  
To read more,  please see G-man.  

I find this exercise very helpful G-man.

Also for The Gooseberry Garden, the prompt is The Kiss.   (I should clarify, I wrote about first passionate kiss)

Tanka: Enthralled

husky voice, you sing

soft silky touches, i singe

unforgettable
rose jasmine scent lingering
curled warm in my fingertips 

red plumed hips, you slay
heated kisses rain, i sway


unto you, enthralled  
   by spell lasting summer's tryst 
spilling fire-lit autumn nights 

Author's Note:  The poetry form is tanka (or waka).   This is an unrhymed Japanese poem consisting of five lines of 5/7/5/7/7 totaling 31 kana (Japanese units or syllables). From tanka's long history - over 1300 years recorded in Japan- the most famous use of the poetry form of tanka was as secret messages between lovers. Read here for more information about this beautiful form.  To test my tanka, you can read lines 1,2,3 and 3,4,5 as two subjects  sharing the same line 3.

For D'Verse Poets Pub, OpenLinkNight, Tuesday (every Tuesday) starting 3pm EST.   Bring your poem (any form) and share warm company.

Shared with Purple Tree House- Poetic Form:  Waka.   Thank you, Shashi for the information.  Shared with The Poetry Palace - Week 50.  

Picture credit:   http://temptingsweets99.tumblr.com/post/7124096052

Lost child

every night, i dab
red oily paint on
pale sunken cheeks


teeth clenched, I draw
bright lines
around
dull bruised lips


glittering blue
eye make-up
completes my 
photograph


hiding joy-famished
thin frame
behind tight 
black dress, and 
scruffy shoes


my hands rough from
tilling the hard farm soil,
now grips the dirty
blanket in nightly terror
as men
obsessed with 
themselves,
plunders my
soft body  


i lost my voice
a long ago
behind these dark
rooms reeking of sex,
money, sweat and piss. 


i don't believe in
God nor 
fairy tales 


they are for kids.






Author's Note:  This post is for Poetry Jam, hosted by Brian Miller.  
"Our words have power. This week for the Jam, I want you to write a compassion poem, a call to action poem, an awareness poem...a poem that touches on an issue that pulls your heart strings. "  

While I enjoy writing about love and intimacy, I abhor children and women trafficking.   I was watching a documentary about this last night, and it is a cruel reality.   If you are interested, you may want to read more about this cause here.     

Shared with One Single Impression.   The prompt #162 is obsession.
Poets United:  Poet Pantry # 63.

picture credit:  http://silent-musings.tumblr.com/

Face of my love

baby pink cheeks
hint her restless energy
running, screaming, 
zipping in and out 
dark small corners
or wide green meadows


the sun follows her
light belly laughter,
throwing brownish threads 
on long dark hair


smiling even in sleep,
i hold her silky hands
marvelling at how  
nimble it runs on smooth piano keys,
folding art coarse papers into flowers,
and making cards dotted with 
shiny red hearts and stickers   


i breathe 
in her angelic innocence,
rose petals dallying 
her pink cotton shirt


more beautiful than 
any masterpiece,
the face
of my
love 




Author's Note:   This is post is for D'Verse Poets Pub - Poetics.   Hosted by Victoria Ceretto-Slotto, we are to create textural poetry.   I have chosen to explore texture as the subject of my poem in describing my young daughter.   


Shared with Poets United:   Poets Pantry # 63. 

“A” Fruit(y) Introduction

I come

from the
land of velvet apples 

crunching words
sweeter than 
Apple cinnamon
With a bit
Of lust-laced
Arabian coffee

Some days,
I feel like a
prickly pear


Sweet tooth,
creamy avocado
delights me
more than
Dark chocolates

I dream of being
Star fruit

But I am happy
Being an apple
Of someone’s eye




Author's Note:   For Poets United:  The Thursday Think Tank #62 - The 3rd Letter of Your First Name. I am writing about the letter "A" which is the third letter of my real name, and my alias, Heaven.


Reposted for:   The Gooseberry Garden:   My Life in a Free Verse 

Dry mango

I gaze at native basket

laden with

plump apples, lush grapes.

Cold hands wiggle under

finding a yellow mango.

Pale, firm skin

I peal away warm flesh

As sweet, tangy arms

embrace me.  

Remembering my motherland 

I grieve her fate. 

    

Belly sliced, 

diced   

in tropical heat,

its sticky juice suckled dry

by greedy flies.

Author's Note:  This post is for D'Verse Poets Pub:  Meeting the Bar:   Critique and Craft hosted by Luke Prater.   Julie shared some interesting insights in tackling big topics or issues. Since I don't have a personal experience on death or loss, I wrote about an issue, economic greed.  I don't normally post about these topics, but thought it is a good exercise to apply the concept shared by Julie. 


Also posted for Flash Fiction Friday - G-Man, I am joining you.

Picture credit:   http://www.simplybasketsvernonbc.com/baskets.htm

Not my name

I went to the bar for a game

to see dis-grace in my name 

Gulped a margarita, and danced

feeling bolder as no one knew my name

On stage, belted a rock song 

crowd cheered, like they knew my name 

Taunting the devil, I kissed a man

Sparks flew before he asked my name

Lustful eyes, I pulled down his pants 

Riding him, he wanted to know my name 

No labels, no expectations, no name, I said 

Still he asked, "Can Angel be your name?" 

How I wish we are in Eden sin, so I said yes 

Then, I laughed as Heaven is not my real name.

Author's note:   This post is for D'Verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight.  Link your poem (any form) starting Tuesday (every Tuesday) at 3pm EST.   

In writing this post, I took some features of the Ghazal form I learned last week (at least 5 couplets, ending refrain on each couplet, "I" perspective and signature couplet on the last verse).   However, per John Alwyine-Mosley's guidelines, since this is a narrative, it falls outside the ghazal form.  


For fun, I inserted my real names in this post. :-)  Thanks for the visit ~     

picture credit:   cristania.tumblr.com

Whisper my name

i hold you closer

no hushed sounds, not a whisper  

but love's voice clearly      

dawn comes quickly as 

velvet lips whisper my name 
breaking night's silence  

Author's Note:   This post is for Haiku Heights and the theme is Whisper.   Haiku and Senryu are both Japanese poetry forms that have three lines. The three lines (5,7,5 syllables), if reflecting nature, form a haiku; and if reflecting emotions and life in general, forms a Senryu.


Also shared with One Single Impression, the prompt is Silence.   And Poets United # 62.

Sugar City

i remembered his dark   

laughing eyes as we raced under 

white shelled crusted Spanish windows    

nestled close in tropical

summer, we played hide and seek 

Plaza's ground all lazy afternoon 
whilst old folks snored, siesta (nap) time


colourful days, drums dancing   
we screamed chaos for every fiesta 
banners waving, MassKara Festival

dirty ice cream, sweet rice cakes, caramel custard

candied yams, fried bananas, sugar cane sticks
Dulce Gatas, mango tarts; all delighted our palate  

Cathedral's bells pealing at 6:00 pm
reminded us to tarry home
prayers, processions long   

one night, underneath the guava tree,

he held me in his skinny arms and 

kissed me tenderly.  i kissed him back,

not knowing what it really meant.  

i left the tiny city for bigger places

brighter dreams, but I couldn't forget 

his sugary taste in my mouth  

someday, i will go back 

kiss him with all the fervor,
sweet longing
in me.

Author's note:   Reposted for The Gooseberry Garden - Longing, Loss, and Failure.

This post is for D'Verse Poets Pub hosted by Claudia.    The prompt is going urban:    Today we want you to take us on a trip around the world, to the city where you lost your heart, were born, fell in love, spent the most beautiful or most ugly time in your life…no matter if it’s a small or a mega city.     

I wrote about the small city known for its sugar cane products, Bacolod City, Philippines. It is also known as the City of Smiles, and host of MassKara Festival (every October).  It has been years since we visited the city, but my tongue still remembers its sweet treats.  

  

Evening Bite

evening stroll
apples dangle
curving branches
no leaves nor twigs
conceal its
gleaming color

though shadowy dark,  
fresh faced, they 
sway, mocking
restraints
in tidy small boxes.
no sun

they burst ripe full
brushing tongue 
along my neck
whispering throaty 
promises

enticing me to
come closer

pluck me


do I take just
one small
bite? 

 

Author's Note:   This post is for  Poetry Jam, the theme is Evening and Flash Fiction Friday.   Tell a story in 55 words.  G-man, here is my post, exactly 55 words.

picture credit:  http://purplefairies.tumblr.com/post/4530392430/darkface-dark-apple-background-by-lilifilane

More than yesterday

I press rose petals on your lips today
How they bloom more than yesterday


I trace my tongue amidst deep trails  
You are sweeter than yesterday


My arms hold your peace as you sleep
More beautiful than yesterday


Rains and clouds may dot our sky  
Still I love you more than yesterday


Say you will stay until I am gray 
Heaven is here, brighter than yesterday 

Author's Note :  This post is for D'Verse - Form for All - Ghazal, hosted by Gay and John Alwyine-Mosley (AKA @bookdreamer)  We are to write at least 5 couplets; I have used yesterday as my ending rhyme word.     

Traditional Ghazal rules of form are very clear. The opening couplet is called amatla, which sets up the rhyme scheme (qaifa) and refrain (radif) by having it occur in both lines. Then this scheme occurs only in the second line of each succeeding couplet for at least five additional couplets and in practice as many as needed. To end the ghazal, the poet has a signature couplet, the (makhta)in which they mention their name or refer to themselves.  

Your feedback is appreciated.  Thanks ~

This moment

tight

hold me

like there is

no     tomorrow

breathe the moment sigh

  kiss  each   freckle   blushing   
slow dance under moonlit night

sing,  laugh even  for  no  reason

stir this  moment not,  it's all we have

     hold  each  drop of  us,  here  lingering       

capture whispered  breath i sigh as

you kiss  each blushing  freckle

   bliss comes like butterfly    

fleeing languid wings 

hold  me  tight  as

we slow dance  

moonlit   

night  

“Smile, breath and go slowly.” - Thich Naht Hanh, Vietnamese Zen Buddhist monk

Author's note:  This post follows the nonet form (9 lines; 9 syllables on the first line, 8 syllables on the second line.. until the last line is 1 syllable).    The first part is the reverse nonet form.  

This post is for the D'Verse Poets Pub, OpenLinkNight, hosted by Joe Hesch.   Doors open 3pm (every Tuesday) EST.   Bring your poem (any form) and share warm company.  

Her hands

i stare at her gnarled
hands, life etched on
each wrinkle, vein 


wipe tears
from child's eyes


soothe fears
& doubts of troubled lad


caress shyly
lover's fair face 


tie family strings
through sorrows, heartbreaks


crochet linens, sweaters 
spreading warmth and joy   


wield axe
demanding firmness


hold cup to toast
success, big & small steps 


bury an erring husband
loving him till the end 


offer peace, gladness
blessings overflowed simple nest


play with angels on her lap,
longing for eternal peace


now, clasped in prayer's cross
waits for death's dance 
finally

Author's Note:  This post is for Poetry Jam:  Songs for the Dead, hosted by Chris of Enchanted Oak.  The prompt is to write about death of a beloved, in my case, my grandmother who died years ago at a very ripe age of 93.   In her 60+ , she wanted to die already; not wanting to follow the footsteps of her mother, who also died in her 90+.   


During her lifetime, my grandmother made lovely things with her skilled hands.  As my wedding gift, she gave me a hand-made quilt for my bed.   Her crochet and embroidery pieces continue to remind us of her love.    

picture credit:   http://imathome.tumblr.com/post/8575258300