Muse

Your words washed over me

Like ice wine, sweeter than

Plum nectar with a tinge of

Tropical mango and lycee 

I became drunk with every

Grape drop, cold crystal on my lips

I didn’t noticed the dark shadow 

Knocking at my door at 12:01 am.

He smelled your rage in my hair,
The earth on my olive skin,  


Autumn labour of purple feet.

He left in despair, hands empty. 

I took my pen, and started writing.  

Process Notes:   Inspiration from Rumi's poetry:

Any soul that drank the nectar of your passion was lifted.

From that water of life he is in a state of elation.

Death came, smelled me, and sensed your fragrance instead.

From then on, death lost all hope of me.

Today is the last day for Few Miles Haiku Challenge I have participated for February. I want to thank my friends who have visited and commented in my other blog.   I have completed 29 haiku in 29 days. Thanks for your support and comments.        


Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - OpenLinkNight - Monday and
D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - every Tuesday at 3pm EST.
Shared with One Single Impression:   Muse


picture credit:  here  

Walking around

It so happens I’m tired of my feet and toenails,
my hair and my shadow.*

It so happens I’m tired of being a woman.

I pass by dressing shops in my faded jacket of goose feathers.

I don’t want to see shoe stores of animal hide nor make-up counters

of hundred choices to look like someone else.   

I want to chip away my breasts and curve of my hips,

I want to pluck away my eyelashes, shave my hair with a razor blade.

It so happens I’m tired of being a woman.

I don’t want to be just a limb or apple of Adam

Nor the sunflower seeds borrowed under the snow.

I want to carve the rough wood in my hand.      

I want to level the stone steps in my rock garden.

I want to hammer the roof of the cathedral in the city.

That is why on Monday, I will walk to the river edge

Cover my body with breadcrumbs

And allow the seagulls and pelicans to peck my neck,

my lips, my eyes, until I am bare dust.   

Maybe then I can hear the sea shells, broken white, on my feet.

  

* Lines and Inspiration from Pablo Neruda’s  Walking Around

Posted for:   Imaginary Garden with Real Toads:  Mary Mixed Bag  - Borrowing lines to write this poem.  
and D'verse Poets Pub:   Poetics - Sculpting a Poem  - hosted by Victoria Slotto  


I had originally used this picture in my Lightning post.  I think its a cool picture to use for this post.

Grandma's words

you say you know what life and love is all about ?
let me tell you young lady, that you know nothing 


not until you walk the jungle, following your gypsy lover,
in your army boots and knife in your trembling hand, 


fearing the gun fire or sword from the soldiers of rising sun 
will spill the guts of your fair eyes mate on war torn soil 


not until you build a house with your splintered hands,
paint the rooms, scour the floor clean of dust and cobwebs


giving up your carefree days of milk and sugar
to care for sons and hungry children in the streets   


not until you keep your demons at bay, not with pills,
but with day to day toiling, coating your nails black oil  


spitting out truth as you see it in your whiskey laced voice
accepting hard knocks of your choices with a straight back,   

not until you turn your face at night with the full moon 

suckling your brown breast, cheeks flushed in tropical heat    


you curse, damning your man for his lust for other women,    
yet turning the other cheek for his embrace, forgiving

until you close the door, in your widow's
dress, and cry until your eyes held no more tears


holding the baby in your arms, your grandchild, 
your great grandchild, so fair with his brown eyes, can you hear


the song of wild beauty,  mighty 
strong to pierce and heal your feeble heart ~

Reposted for:   D'verse Poets Pub:  The Best ~  Happy Anniversary ~

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


My blog is word verification-free for your convenience. Just don't spam me and we are good ~ To read my poems on other stuff, please check out my other blog.    Thanks for the visit.  


Picture credit:    here

The question

This was the tie-breaking question to determine the winner of the trip prize for this

Valentine special. 

Show host asks the wife:    Who among your friends do you think

your husband thinks is hot? 

“None” she said, smiling with confidence of 23 years of marriage.

Later, when they asked him, he ponders and says,

“Kat.”

I listen to the radio on my way to and from the office.   And they had this promotion going  on during Feb. 14, 2012.   Anyway, per the hosts,  the couple didn’t look happy when they left the studio. So, how well do you know your partner?         

Posted for Flash Fiction Friday - Tell a story in 55 words.  For the G-man.   
Just a fun post after a tiring day.   Thanks for the visit.


picture credit:   here

You

you are the morning
cup in my hands, warm bread toast
i inhale, eyes closed


~0~0


you are the music
sheet i write my song, frame white
in my darkest night 


~0~0


you are the summer
rain on my skin, blueberries
soft staining pale dew


~0~0


you are the evening 
rest on my bosom, folding
my wings to stillness

Poetry form:    Senryu (3 lines, 17 syllables)
I also wrote a similar senryu poem for The Haiku Challenge - it is here.   


Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads:   OpenLinkNight - Monday -
Sharing a love poem as requested ~
and D'verse Poets Pub- OpenLinkNight- every Tuesday at 3pm EST


Happy hearts day !

On choices

the day is still 
embrace by evening frost  


at a distance,  slender trees lean
and stretch into the blue grey sky

stirring my spoon into white cereal bowl,  
i sit in the silence, watching the sunlight


slowly melt the snow drops on red rooftops,
burnishing the ground into puddles of silver


the seasons of winter and spring 
entangle and dance on my window frame


undecided which way to blow, 
a leaf leaps and falls into the water basin,


blades stretching to savor the cold air, 
veins throbbing with color and light  


like the scrapbook of pictures gleaming
bamboo framed in coral shells, I see 


as I sip my morning rose tea,
nothing else pulsates than this, 


i am here, 
it is my choice    
  


“You have no choice but to choose."

-Jean-Paul Sartre  

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads:   Weekend Challenge - picture credit:   Talon   and D'verse Poets Pub:   Poetics Poetry and Philosophy  

Thanks for the visit ~

Messy

sweet cream drips

all over our shirts

hands sticky

cheeks stickier

this isn't easy

as we synchronize 

our tongues lapping

me here, you there

until we get to the last piece,

which you gallantly offer me

we have learned two things:  

messy ain't bad,

and giving in,

is the best way to keep us going

Posted for Flash Fiction Friday - Tell a story in 55 words - For the G-Man.
One of my top searched words - Old Couple In love - so here it is, readers.   Thanks for the visit.


picture credit:   here 

The pen

I am red violet grapes staked on a vine,      
Deathly still as a frozen lake in winter,
Wrapped in my tight bindings, when all at once

A hand snatches my torso and shoulders
In one fluid movement, I bend to scrape and tear
The parched skin spread out on the table top

But I can't sink my teeth and lave the tender flesh
Hollowed words, stale emotions, clips my tongue  
Impotent like a eunuch, a useless sword 

Hands strangle my neck in desperation
Pressing veins and muscles, I coil and uncoil
Until musky wood crackles my tongue,

Slowly a drop of ice wine, a phrase leaps into air
Roaring to the thundering sound, I split open and fly

Into the freeway, faster and faster the speedometer
Sprints across the boulders, over the mountain lines
Under the river stones, racing the wind, racing

Until all the detours and side roads are dotted
Until all the intersections and bridges are crossed

Slowly, slowly, lips warm and thoughtful
Tap my back, kneading it gently after the furious pace
I close my eyes in exhaustion, sweaty with inkblots

A hand sets me down on my side, smoothing away
Ruffled lines and blunt edges, words on the page ignite 
Fire in my belly, uncapped, I listen to tip-tapping-clicks          

Posted for:   Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - OpenLinkNight - Monday

and D'verse Poets Pub- Open Link Night, every Tuesday at 3 pm.  

This writing exercise was inspired by The object is Poetics - hosted by Mark Kerstetter.

"I would like to say: our aim is to make the object speak, but we know that is impossible. In the end it is we who speak. Language is always ours, and is of primary importance in our relationships to the world and to each other. And while poetic language is surely one of the most beautiful justifications of human utterance, our version of birdsong, our object is not to be enamored of our own beauty, but to find the truest, most respectful words for that thing. That is the object of our poetics today."  Still a challenge I am working on.

picture credit:   here

Temptation

temptation came by the window
bold and inviting were his words:
what if, why not, and right now


inhaling his challenge, she slithered 
closer and danced up a storm, found 
she likes spicy food, and can lie smoothly   


locked in his firm arms, she learns her flaws




Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads:   Prompt is Temptation by Fireblossom Fridays.

Wine tour

The white wine swirls

hula dancing in our glass.

Inhale the ripe grapes, musky

scents from French oak barrel.

Take a sip, roll it around your palate. 

Can you taste the rich, full flavor

harvest from the earth ?

We nod, murmuring with 

urbane appreciation. 

 

Until a voice squeaked,

“Can we roast our marshmallows again?”   

Posted for Flash Fiction Friday:   A fun post in exactly 55 words.   For the G-Man.  

And Poets United:   Thursday Think Tank:   YES - I want to say YES to new experiences.

   

We had a wine tour last weekend along Niagara on the Lake, Canada.  It was a cold windy day but we had fun tasting the wine and of course, roasting our mallows in the open pit fire.    Thanks for the visit ~

Woman On Top

 

slicing onions and red bell peppers,

she prepares the dish with zest

caressing the plump strawberry,

she dips it in dark chocolate coat 

she pours her favorite white wine

into the sizzling pan of lean meat

dancing to lively street music,

lifting her skirt along to the beat

cooking with passion hued apron,

she has her man licking her salted fingers

she loves being a chef ~

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Prompt is Movies.   I wrote about one of  my fav actress, Penelope Cruz.    The movie is from Woman on Top, a light hearted movie on love and food.   Linked with Poetry Jam:   prompt is hot and cold.

Also, I would like to thank Sherry for featuring my blogs at Poets United.   Please check out my interview.

Thanks for the visit.