Ghostwriter

Waiting for her wolf

Photography:   Joel Robison

pen me a memory
of a gypsy wolf

dark golden fur
streaking across forest

thick of bird cries
piercing marsh-waisted oak trees

set her pulse
beating madly as red moon climbs

& rides the sky
hard, there's no holding back

hunger in eyes nor claws
aching for hard flesh & raw blood

spill on white pages
her ravishment of night, musky & salty

split her thighs
into hundred aching valleys, thrilling

to chase & mayhem,   
storm of release & splendor of

rending boundaries apart
they are hers alone to mark & own

or lose
to the one true love who always set her free

frame by frame
capture this moment, poignant as last kiss

she is my kindred spirit
caught in glass cage, wintered by 

fa d i n g
m e m o r   i   e    s



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Hosted by Bjorn Rudberg ~  I fear losing this voice, my other persona ~  Thanks for indulging me & wishing you happy weekend ~  

Sorrowful Songs

Remove the cloak from your eyes

What you see as shadows are bubbles   

What you deem as cracks are stitches 

To you, born into war

A lover's face is a poised gun, ecstatic for more




Blood, but I'm not made of red dust & chipped wood

For you, I would be

seeds, dried & salted for next season's harvest

leaves, bottled in oil & strained for autumn's feast

fruits, sugar-stirred & melted warm, sweet wine

If only you can rein in the beast inside 



You, the one turning your honey tongue to stone

And strikes a fist from dead bone heart

Even in your murderous gaze,

I will not drift away, helpless as small bird  

Here is my offering - a healing, a moving of wings-

a flare reflecting my mother's face.  

  

She is a survivor too.

Sorrowful Songs:  Duet

Artist:    Susie McMahon

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - I am hosting featured artist, Susie McMahon's  arts & dolls ~ Please check out the link for more poems ~

Shared with Poets United

Happy weekend & Happy Mother's Day ~

Resuscitating Ophelia

                                                       Ophelia, by Odilon Redon


I gather her - limped hair & pale bones
Out of the water,  bedraggled as washed-

out page, skirted & flamed
by love's complicated twists & turns -

I brush the wild flowers from her cheeks-
Scrap away dead leaves & tangled roots-

Gently, I press on her lips- sip this brew
Stirred with orange & yellow seeds

Mixed with tea leaves & sea-
weeds,  stained with effervescent salt-  

Hovering pollen dust swells
Into pools of blue sky-  

Open your eyes & hear the murmurings
Of cinnamon trees, of red-song birds

There's a place for your dreams, sacred
& untouched by anyone but

you
Beautifully shaped by love & will

There is the garden
Where you can run freely & be

My hands will guide you, a step at
a time, until your voice grows stronger

Again,  Love is madness
But you are braver than you can imagine-

War & peace, ink & sword 
Your hands can birth & hold them, fiercely as sun-

There's a murmur, I hear -
There's another beat, I see you

Rising once more,
My beautiful daughter


Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Play it again
& The Art by Odilon Redon
and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~

When dawn spills & trees murmur

The morning sky cracks an eggshell, 

    & dawn spills, fusion of indigo & fuchsia 

Frost recedes in slow rain   

    & ice melts into an orchestra of puddles  

The sun comes out for the briefest of time

    Warming skin with scent of summers past 

Your eyes holding the river & hawk

    Spiking the taste for feverish run & motion   

Crunching & murmuring of trees under siege 

    That smell of the feral & unfamiliar

The kiss, that stirs your blood red & gaping

    Gorgeous moonlight tracing your lover's torso

Ribs & eyes ache like a lost drum  

    Take back every cell & petal bloom

Burn the wick, break the brittle bones

    The mourning is over like the night 

Day beckons, a yellow oil seed 

     Stir from winter's pyre & fog, thaw

Thaw by Elisabetta Trevisan

Posted for OpenLinkNight of D'verse Poets Pub & - Shared with Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Sunday Feature on work of Elisabetta Trevisan ~ Thanks for the visit ~ 

The Night

The Night by Elisabetta Trivesan

Night resides in your body

translucent as blue star

descending in winter night

The seed 

pearls your skin

mysterious as midnight bloom

Shadows bleak
two contrasting realities:   
what our dreams speak
& what our self accepts 

But in your embrace
Night diffuses the mystery
Radiant as moon
when I become
more fearful of seeing dawn

    fisted hard of yellow yolk 

    wrapped tight as bloodless sky

As night grows into you,
I crawl into your
comforting body      

fearless in its 
endlessness 

Night knows you so well

It turns 
   your tongue

   from stone

   to water

   your hands 
   from wounds

   to words 

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Sunday's Challenge where I am hosting - Featuring the work of Elisabetta Trivesan 
Shared with Poets United

In Venus

Roots of Fire by Adam Martinakis

We have the best views:
red sky slurping deeply rim of fire 

As far as our eyes can see
everything is burnt glass & metal

Mountains crusted in mud & basalt 
Heat is a lonely vigil

Wind-scarred, we gather what we
came here for:  rocks & crowns for any evidence of life

Underneath the microscope, we conclude
birthing is possible even in driest & acidic of conditions

We open our mouths
And sailboats winged gold & mauve, scatter

like meteorites that sank our prior
loves to soot & clay 
   
By afternoon, lightning silvery & violet threads
make us fearless & glorious as pulsing orange sun 

I bring out my secrets at night:  bare
shoulders radiant in candles because there's no moon

in ceiling of storms, only dust
effervescent as wine foaming the plains turbulent blue

We lie down
in the shape of volcanoes, lava & clouds spewing

Soon I am feverish with words
ardently catching everything 

from starlight to tiny dying planets -   
The cosmic wind slows slow
  
As time floats with us
after discovering we can't handle

black, sumptuous in emptiness
& bottomless space 

Spinning sluggishly,
we lean in like trees

aged amber embracing smoldering planet 
we now call our own.


Posted for:   D'verse Poets Pub- Sci-fi poetry hosted by Bjorn ~  Thanks for the visit ~

Please note that I will be taking a short break from writing to focus on my studies ~
  

Time is water

The Trouble with Time by Mike Worrall

November makes you thirsty.
      
      You wake up and the room is flooded

      Water is a good thing, you say
      It is part of the architecture & enhances
      the value of the house
 

Water is more precious than gold.

      You peer out the window, oxygen-starved -
      Is it strange that you don't freeze when
      furnitures are rain soaked, elated as clouds-

      You have just french kissed your lover 
      but already he is floating  away-

      seaweed hunting, he says -  

You turn away, a wildflower in second place.   

      Where is this storm that you're dreaming:
      unstoppable tides, sky colored flames-

      Perhaps it only exists in your screen saver     
      Or canvas abundant of salt & departing things   
      

This bottled water is drug.

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Sunday Feature by surreal work of Mike Worrall where I am hosting ~  Thanks for the visit ~  
Shared with Poets United

Our bodies

    If I am to assemble our bodies

in a canvas

    it will be the distance between pale 

sky and sea

    pounding the wall thick of old trees  



If I am to journal our words 

    in a book

it will be thin & scrawny with hardly

   any quotes

pressed amidst dried roses & frayed ink

  

So instead,  I will make plump of

    our hollowed bellies &  

smear turmeric & saffron on our faces 

    earth rich, sun-burst colors    

pining eagerly as autumn leaves before falling  

                                                                    away-

Last Kiss by Adam Martinakis

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Inspired by poems of Denise Levertov 

Shared with Poets United Thanks for the visit ~

because (( i )) can

fur against skin, 
we discover kinship and language:
vertical emptiness under 

sky, but where
i stall at black void-
you form possibilities

as you hang  
upon bare autumn trees hot 
dripping glue strands

your artist's hands
molding my world to snow -
glazed pristine silver 

suddenly my arms
branch to write blooming roses  
my feet garden 

lush green, i 
weave magical tales:  bear-clad prince, 
stolen treasures underneath

forest trees, i 
tower, my eyes can ((finally)) believe  
what (( i )) can be:

clouds-lifted, fearless, i 
rest words on page ((& nestle close to)) you,  
warm as sun   

SCHNEEWEISSCHEN (Snow-White) by Catrin Welz-Stein

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - We are writing poems based on lovely artwork of Catrin Welz-Stein via Redbubble ~
Poetry form:   Collum lunes (3-5-3 words, mostly ha~) 

The summer forecast

The rain came, not as soft feathers 
   but hard glass, shattering silver stones 

Against the window pane, rattling noises
   echoing the sudden shift of wind & sky   

I peer at thick curtain of water
   wishing my hands to part & braid    

fibrous & willful knots into a carpet of grass,  
  docile as dandelions waving away their fluffy veils - 

The forecast is a heated discussion:
  where to find & what colors of umbrellas to use, 

how far to drive away from city's thrumming,
  how deep to venture into the forest's bellybutton-

We become volatile as the weather, forget-
  ful of recipes (lemons have dried in silver bowl) -

The trees are brimming with our words:
  today is soft as milk, tomorrow is tart as green apples  

The days bend to whims of the clouds
  And heeds not the gravity & chances of graphs, we   

Make one - swimming with the sun today:
  bare skin, orange wet & drizzled with sands -




Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Sunday's Challenge:  Sara Teasdale

Shared with Poetry Pantry ~

Have a lovely weekend ~



picture credit:  here

Night roses

at night, red roses
       shrivel like fearful poems,
       afraid of slightest light & breeze -
   
blossoming petals
       hide under bed skirts,
       ashamed of bold & silky thoughts -    
               
round leaves falter
       under weight of thorny encounters,
       hesitant in its footing-

lost is the fragrant
      water, that oils the tongue,
      sweeter than red wine & cream-

one by one, petals fall
      like dead language-
      & i, alone & sleep-starved, 

don't remember why it is even there -  

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics:   Dominant Impression in Artistic Description - Hosted by Kelvin S.M. ~  Thanks for the visit ~   

Of black and white

Painting by M.C. Escher (1920)

the room plunges into shadows
as your silver tongue licks my face,
slowly stripping my colors & exotic scent
in your haste to drink deeply from me- 

you have turned limbs into fishes
that swayed & followed your swagger & steps 
i grew blind eyes & numbed hunger to what
existed outside these walls, painted in milky gray- 


rainbow colors in a palette,   
shades in varying degrees, now 
roots me like winter trees, searching 
for my clothes,  my fruits, my words- 

our daughter, now grown up     

asked only one thing from you --

look at us- 
violet leaves, scarlet blooms, dark olive eyes-   

not a canvas of black and white -

Posted for OpenLinkNight of Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (Monday) - Free-verse and Ekphrasis poem

Better than I am

Red lights at the bar flickers smoky flame  
I order wine & cheese, savoring flame   

Slow music brings strangers to dance sweet &
tangled kisses -- but I drift, waning flame      

Moonlight gleams on my ordinary face 
Anxieties mothballing, snaring flame 

Heat soaks my hair into knotted brown ropes,
I pen words -coarsely pale as dying flames 

I might look better if you dim down lights
To candle tap, softer flowering flame 

My dreams bring me wading out to the sea   
Weaving a storm with fingers - snapping flames  

You gaze at me with awe, breathless, inflamed  - 
Here I am, better than I am - beautiful flame   

Artist:   Rosie Hardy

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub:   Poetry form - Ghazal Sonnet - Written in 7 couplets, with flame as a refrain in each verse (pentameter, mostly).  I didn't follow strictly the last couplet. Smiles.  Please check the link for other poetry guidelines and to read awesome poems.  

Title & Inspirational post:   Corey's Better than I am - His last verse:

My dreams have me pushing a boulder up a mountain
And jumping from the top to the bottom in a single leap
She’s waiting at the bottom, looking at me with admiration
Here, I am better than I am, here I am more, manly.

Alibi: I can't say No

Artist:  Dessa- Matches to Paper

I changed the locks
But your key, your key's still working *

Unhinging the door 
Here we go again
Another battle, 
I am too tired to fight , too tired
So I give in to the fever, the fire cutting
My flesh, deeper than  paper cuts 

You cry at night, and ask me for an alibi 
I don't mind helping you, my sister
What I don’t understand is why
When you know damn well what he is doing 
Lying, drinking and raging  - he is Master and you,   

You belong to him, your shirt proudly says,
And so I don’t understand why you are here --
What is the point of leaving him,
When he calls you, you get amnesia & bolt out the door
And you just Can’t Say No…

You cannot see yourself -  your own person: 
Earning your keep & peace 
Taking care of yourself first.  
Not playing with fire.   Not making up excuses.    

If you're asking, I can't say no
Just one more chapter,
Our book won't close
And I know it's madness
To play these odds
It's like giving matches to paper,
To paper dolls*

*Lines and music inspiration from Dessa - Thanks to Marian for introducing her music, Alibi.

  

Posted for OpenLinkNight for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads (every Monday)

and D'verse Poets Pub (every Tuesday) - I started listening to the Alibi video (about abusive relationships) but my words gravitated to the Matches to Paper video.   Dessa's vocals are amazing.  Thanks for the visit ~ 

Close your eyes and fall

Artist:   Rosie Hardy

the wind rushes to embrace me
like a lover with wings
a kiss-death, softer darkness
to recede, shape and birth  

words that move, dive & splinter,
brushes light and bronze,
now shading crimson & midnight blue--

i fall headlong, unabashed with passion  
towards your voice, whispering my native name
from my gut, deep within, i hear you--

let go of your fears
and inhibitions--
trust that my arms will catch you-- 


Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads  - Sunday's Challenge - We are to take the last line from our previous work and use it as a first line for a new poem.  
and Poets United

The title post is taken from my previous poem On Wings:  Theme is Creativity. 

Before you, a forest speaks your language.

The moon tide is calling.  A flare leaps like a

Signal from a distant mountain top.

Close your eyes and fall. 

Aftermath

Artist:   Rosie Hardy

the night drowned    
blue, silver and black ash
under quartered moon

honey-sipped, the waves 
quickly swelled into a tsunami
drained of salt

bittersweet like grapefruit
sucking tears, words and flesh --
i drifted, swallowed       

dry by sea -- 
shattered shell, deranged of memories 
from your leaving  

Update:  I am pleased to share that this poem will be published by Emerge Literary Journal by Fall (Sept.) 2013. 

Posted for OpenLinkNight of Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (every Monday)

and D'verse Poets Pub  (every Tuesday)

Poetry form:   3-5-3 word Collom lune 

Not I

Snowdrops (Model: Jane Morris)
Dante Gabriel Rossetti: Creative Commons

White snowdrop is gentle
Not I – a shrub with heartless blooms   
Dark secrets brew from my kettle
Spells of love doom                            
Adorn these walls of scentless leaves and nettles


Morning sky is faithful
Not I  - reckless as the sea tide
Searching for fruits – sourly brittle
Uneven sides
My words knife your chest – hush – death is gentle  


Poetry form:  5 Lines of 6-8-8-4-10 syllables and rhyming scheme of a b a b a~  

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Open Link Night and Sunday's Mini-challenge ~  Thanks for the visit ~

Autumn lilies

Picture credit:   Terry

i gaze across autumn lilies    
speckled orange and delicate 
                                              wings 

it is mid-November
and sunrise is muted blue 
                                              lilac 

my fingertips trace the edges
serrated pink and curled 
                                              palms 

i hold as we make love - lingering 
slow - amidst drone of subway 
                                              train

running fast and furious as days
turn colder and fades 
                                              quickly

in the brushstrokes of twilight -
mulched of seeds and fallen 
                                              leaves 

strong is the scent of darkness    
like grounded coffee beans   
                                              brewing  

i hear your words underfoot 
shaped green, restless moon 
                                              tide

sweeping changes, never far   
touching our feet, which keeps 
                                              returning

for another fragrant sip -
my stem clings to damp dew 
                                              skin

anchoring our love, muddy warm - 
in the coming winter 
                                              nights 

Posted for:   D'verse Poets Pub: Poetics - Photography by Terry S. Amstutz - It's Saturday - Time to break away from my work and studies to write and visit blogs ~   

Thanks for the visit ~   

On forgetting the details

Photo credit:   SueAnn 

when you kissed me
under the darkening shade  

i forgot
how soft and tender the night can be

blurred of lines,
empty of violent shapes and crisp-

orange burns of sun and searing sky--
i imagine us

melting away in pit of darkness
but its only late afternoon

i have to catch my station train and bus,
cook dinner and - all the details -

the possibility of escape tempts me 
underground, away from the city crowd 

i look for the missing key
and find it dangling by the doorway 

but i am a creature of habit and old ways,    
so when i stammer to say goodbye --

i suddenly remember  
how hard and brittle cold the floor tiles are 

on my face -- 


Posted for:   D'verse Poets Pub:  Poetics - Through the Artist Lens - I don't know why this picture prompted me of domestic violence ~  Oh well, thanks for the visit ~

Lunch

It Must Be Time For Lunch Now, 1979, by Francesca Woodman

the taste of it  
sticks under the roof in my mouth 

rough as unleavened bread
salty as the sea salmon

your big soulful eyes pepper the heat, 
falling into exhilaration of the hunting season    

and no amount of spooning nor post-loving kisses
can sweeten the fear and madness beating in your heart

loving me is a beast sweetheart 

give me the fork,
it's time for my lunch 



Written for The Mag - 137  ~ Happy Sunday ~ goodness, I don't where my muse took me ~
This work is from the same US photographer who committed suicide at the age of 22.

Shared with Poets United ~