The moon

i draw my words
in your arms each night
sometimes the verse knots  

silver    strands  in  your  hair
sometimes the  phrases disappear
under  the  grooves  of  your cheeks
sometimes the  lines fold under the back
 of your knees or the arch of your foot
oftentimes  the   letters freely  fall
black  sea  pearls  on  your   hands


raw,     unpolished,     unmetered


your fingers touch coarse  edges 
inhaling red sea  and  oak forest 

  moon comes alive on your skin   


i write again
  

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub:   Open Link Night

Doors open every Tuesday starting at 3pm EST.   Thanks for the visits and smiles.     

picture credit: here 

His music

icy wind blows
urban noise, termed as pop music,
from the car radio into the grey freeway
when
out of nowhere
his voice,    
husky pelt from lost valleys, 
croons 
slicing cement pavements into
pools of rain and deep ravines
i fall, into his arms, 
sucking   
slice of lime, salt and tequila 
my belly caving as his words hit the 
gravel peaks of love and tragedy,
my thigh pivoting to his beat, 
i exhale slowly 
the car, greased with his music,
races through the streets   




Posted for:   D'verse Poets Pub:   Our music 
picture credit:   here

Though he is already dead, Elvis Presley is the first male artist I became very familiar with, through my mother who played all of his songs after his death.   Thanks to old movie clips and links, I remember him as a young and soulful crooner.                

The road

why is it sometimes we don't see the road

paved with bad intentions, empty of nodes

  we stumble like drunk bitches in white heels

eager to  show off  how  fast  we can  steal

why is  it  sometimes we  lose our course

even with a map, we seek mad discourse

taunting the sky and  burning  our bridges, 

until we see death's eyes through the ridges

why is it  we  need to  leave and  go  far

to know  who we are,  so far from a star 

falling to depths, like used cigarette stick  

we robbed ourselves, hollowed soul, so tragic

to seek again the road we thought so small  

  but  holds  our peace,  we find, it  was all     

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub:    FormForAll:   Clarian Sonnets:   composed of seven sequentially rhymed couplets – aa bb cc dd ee ff gg – in pentameter, or ten syllables per line.

and Imaginary Garden with Real Toads:    Challenge on the Roads 


Picture credit:   here

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

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

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

The nightmare

you are running after me
in a never ending circle


a snake, or bear, sometimes shapeless,
faceless but always looming black  


timpani drums shake
as you reach for my ankles


then my legs, my arms
enfolding in quicksand tide 


helpless, you drool mud over me,
placing seeds of mustard on my tongue


holding me close against coarse cheek,
sinking deep in the muck, i hear your fears  


ricocheting, 
                     prickling against my breasts,
bleeding,   
                     running down my thighs 

the madness of which you can't speak
the dark thoughts of which you can't escape 


becoming  m i n e  


knotting my fingers in a prayer, gibberish words flowing
i wallow in my sweat, impaled by my sins, 


while tangled in white sheets,   
you sleep, 
                 breathing easily for the first time 
                


Posted for D'verse Poets Pub:   Nightmare Verse hosted by Stu McPherson 
Shared with Poets United.


picture credit:  here  

The house

                                                                                     Kat Mortensen©2012 



he says he will build a house facing the morning sun, 
wide clear windows framing the fields of yellow 

he will shade the high ceiling in blue cloudless sky,      
color the rooms with summer and frangipani petals   

plant mango trees and vegetables at the back yard,
so I can hear the squirrels racing around the bend   

as we talk, he caresses his prized rooster’s plumage,
crooning words of devotion I half listen to as I rush

dressing up to go to work, not wanting to miss my
subway and bus tram, squeezed like sardines in a can

which I eat when I ran out of dollars to send to him, 
and rest of my family, all perched upon my back as I

scrape my knees, cleaning floors and washrooms 
in the city of lights and marble, sweeping dust

covering the letters I read each week, all asking me for
dollars dotted with promises not to wager anymore, still   

I call every Sunday to tell them of the butterflies and  
grasshoppers I catch, and tulips I see on my way to work    

everyday for the last 10 years, and my now grown up daughter
gets excited of my "adventures" in another country, half a world away     

I fold my cheque in the mail envelope and walk back to small rented room,  
Like a bloodied cock fighter that I am,

dreaming to go home
to the house he said he will build for me 

Process notes:   I originally had this idea when I wrote it for Flash Fiction 55 for the G-man - How far to walk.   I thought of expanding the story based on a migrant worker's life.

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

Field of green

by Shanyn Silinski 

you are my field of green
as i sit on my old rusty truck
cradling my coffee cup as
yellow sun rises slowly over the hill 


i hear your song as the wind
lifts my hair, brushing it with wheat and corn 
leaves in the burrow, frazzled brown,  
peer at my weathered cowboy boots     


silk and tassel wave in the breeze,
harvest crop, like warm fresh bread, 
fills my nostrils and tingles pale cheeks    


as i drive back to the city lanes,  
your pungent soil clings to my knees, 
your lush blades feather my face,
your dew moistening my dry lips


in my belly,  your seeds splay and swell,
bursting of spring, i feel abundance,
a field of green, framing the prairie sky*     




Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads :   Photography by Shanyn Silinski * who blogs at Sunflower Shan and Mystic Mom.
and D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - every Tuesday, starting at 3 pm EST. 

My one year blog anniversary is coming up in less than a month. If you have any writing requests (inspired by a song or picture) for me, please feel free to comment in my posts, and I will try my best to write it.   Thank you for your support and encouragement.  

Once upon a time

once upon a time
a prince wanted to marry
the poorest girl, yet at the same time, the richest
he found her living at edge of the forest
with her spindle, shuttle and needle


he saw that she can spin straw into gold,
and find the needle pea under mattresses.


so he asked if he can kiss her,
lead her to ride his horse and gallop away towards his castle. 
  
nope.   
she told him to 
get off his horse,
cut down some wood for the fire


and live with her amidst the sky and trees.


they live happily ever after.


~0~0~0~



you gave me a kiss 
when i was sleeping.
did you really kiss me because
i was the fairest one?
or because i was 
                          vulnerable?


Posted for D'verse Poets Pub:   Poetics:  Once Upon a Time hosted by Claudia S.   
Happy St. Patrick's Day to those who celebrate it.  Thanks for the visit.  

Fairy tale story here

picture credit:   here