Blue VeinsTempered heat:
Ice on blue veins.
Snow greets the valley.
BibliophileBibliophile by Violet Sturgeon
Meet me in the book stacks
Choose a subject of your choice
Such an aphrodisiac
Let me hear the writer's voice
Pull off the dust covers
Let me bend your spine
Let your fingers hover
Over the perfect find
Breathe in Keats, Wordsworth, Pope
You bring out the Romantic in me
Exhale Atwood, Moore, Burroughs,
Show me postmodern frailty
Lets bring life back to these tomes
Of blank verse, epics, satire
Rediscover why we made these words home
Let the classics rekindle our desire
Remember it's a library
We must keep our voices down
Be my apothecary
As we journey round
Let me see your fantasy, adventure, critique
Take me down paths I've never seen before
Make these book shelves creak
Don't leave me wanting more
I'm a bibliophile baby
The smell of ancient words sets me alight
I don't care how you rate me
Just as long as you stack me right
Don't try to categorize
You know that's not my style
I don't need to be legitimized
I just want to go a little wild
Finals always d
Seemingly Intrinsicthe November sky trembles and she's
out sleeping on the railroad tracks, again,
where no one hears her staggered breaths
and stuttered dreams
she promised she'd be back in a few
summers, once the war raging within
her ribcage finally called it quits
(she's so close to raising that white flag,
her fingers plead)
tightrope walkers never feel free, she's bound
by the internal pulsation of her heart, going
stagnant as she gives away the pieces of
herself to people who see her as nothing more
than the wide-eyed doll in the corner, yet
unnamed, forsaken by children with better
things to do
and perhaps these are intrinsic qualities
carved into your bones before you are born,
maybe her parents created her with a
tendency to fail and to cry for silent nights,
and she's right to stop asking questions –
who's and why's are not proper vocabulary
for spirits just whispering through.
these persistent storms overwhelm her ability
to breathe, but she
knows was taught
it's alright, it'
First SnowfallOn days like this,
when the first snow falls like torn lace
and the sun is
a whisper of warmth
above the clouds,
I hear the call of forfeit possibilities
count the ways
I wish that I had loved you better;
longing for another lost love
with whom I could have made
dfc 12-5: trijan refrainchasing pavements from 'neath my feet
for unimpeded earth;
be it mud, dirt, or grass green-sweet
its touch signals rebirth.
i can't abide its absence long,
to do so makes my head all wrong;
i can't abide...
i can't abide...
being apart from Mother's song.
chasing pavements from 'neath my feet
to trail my toes in wet;
where the solid and liquid meet
i feel contentment set.
water's washing can cleanse the soul,
percolate halves into a whole;
exhibits how to fill my role.
chasing pavements from 'neath my feet
til i soar through the clouds;
below restrictions are replete,
above there are no crowds.
blue, black or grey, the firmament
offers dreams no impediment;
blue, black or grey...
blue, black or grey...
endless the vistas it presents.
Emotional MindAh, yes, you've grown on me
you are posed in every line
I am mad
mad, much as one can be
O please add up to something!
I have in my head, composed a
beautiful letter....damn you, for giving
myself to you like this.
Broken defenses too truly,
You, a fine art, prismatic butterfly
between my heart.
On Receipt of Dead LoveThe words are mad as rabid dogs
that do not distinguish serpent
from butterfly and so shred it all –
relieve body of wing, belly of tongue
with equal resolve.
Metaphors resurrect themselves
from the repurposed carcass:
build reticence from the clinking
of exoskeleton against distended fang;
deftly, deliberately deconstruct
the masquerade true beauty surpasses.
And I, at once privileged and horrified,
am allowed to watch – nay, to wallow
in the dread that swallows pleasure
as pen recounts the deadness of heart,
released from its obligation
to soothe the beasts that howl.
FrostI am devouring chaos,
chasing it down with winter's chill.
Spare me your fingerprints,
summer's lovechild. Those knowing owl eyes
have me second guessing the wild churning
in my bones. You are the sleep that sweeps
my eyelashes, drowning me in my own daydreams.
When was it...
that you plastered yourself to my ribcage?
GreenFor a moment there I had you
Grasped within a scuffled palm
Breathing gently beneath my tulip skirts
Then the winds rose again
And you left as quickly as you came:
A rustle of foliage, dancing with a tumultuous gravity
"Ill be back for you come spring."
Serendipity and SnowfallI am la vie en rose,
a newborn with as many mini bones in my body as possibilities.
I am potential waiting to be tapped into.
I am a spectrum of light,
serenity in the symmetry of a snowflake.
I come veiled in lace from everlasting love's womb with my budding,
goose-flesh tucked tenderly underneath.
I spread my spirit wide,
outstretching my feather-tips &,
supplicated by twizzles,
I catch my ballerina's foot & fly.
In these fleeting,
finite moments of ubermensch suspension in multiple salchows comes clairvoyance,
a kindness beyond the absolution of mundane minds.
With the key to perfection being repetition,
I pray you watch me as I molt my flaws away under the wondrous,
I shall soar,
from my axel I shall spiral sublimely on the outskirts of onlookers' smiles-
as well as my own,
& I shall skimpily,
glide through the snowflake strata unto the star-studded shangri-la.
I find my freedom in a winter only world.
Let me lease into my
Flight of Fantasy reworked Once I dreamed I might pilot a spaceship.
Help Dan Dare conquer the Treens
Unseat the Mekon from his dinosaur steed
And end his reptilian reign.
I would howl at the moon with Akela
After drawing the teeth of Shere-Khan.
I'd peer down Zam-zammah's muzzle
Then slide down the barrel all day.
I would swing through trees with anthropoid apes,
Do battle with blue men on Mars.
I'd smash the machines of the morlocks
Give the Eloi sunshine and ease.
But I ate of the tree of knowledge,
Perhaps shades of the workhouse closed in,
So I know it would take billions of dollars
To fulfil my Venusian dreams.
Rice Boroughs' apes are endangered
Shere- Khan's on a penthouse floor,
Mowgli's no more than a cartoon film
And the Bandar- Log do as they please.
The Nautilus now lies rusting
Forty fathoms below the swell
With Nemo in Davy Jones' locker
an almost epilogueSought out from the ice and snow,
where 'twas tossed a summer or so
It's in my hands so much
it sits in the palms and presses
against my fingernails.
I choose to be
Santa Fe de BogotaSimón Bolívar found you como una Flor de Mayo.
I know that in your swelling city heart
you long por el mar, por la sal del mar,
but instead you straddle the roads,
hunker down over your landscape and breathe
your car fumes, inspiras las fumas como sombras,
espiras tranquilidad inquieta.
Colombia, madre, you have become
bloated in your old age, have grown your
ankles, pálidos e inflamados;
you should have been a sea lion,
morena y rapida y a la cresta como la espuma.
Mi alma, I will bring you the sea salt to run through your hair,
diamonds with which to crown your mane.
PrincessShe complains of
old debts coalesce
like black oil
floating on otherwise
She sometimes trips
over high-heeled shoes
that the dog has pulled
from their box
and left pock-marked and smelly
in the corner.
She is meticulous about
her ever-widening ass
and measures it daily
filled with empty promises.
But she swings it like a queen
as she hisses "Get a job!"
and clutches her purse
in French-manicured nails
out of fear.
I know not how
The Heaven's above
Breathe that vow
In which all life,
Sings without care
Sweetness in the
When shall it rain
Down from the skies
To relieve the yearning
Of my deepest cries?
mothersi always thought it was sadder
when kids didn't have moms,
cause they're the ones that popped you out
and brought you into this world or whatever you call it,
and you're supposed to have this bond-
my guess is having someone inside you for nine months does that sort of thing.
but i also guess that when your own mother only taught you
to fear botulism at age seven,
and that you were untrustworthy because you confessed
that your neighbour molested you and he could never have done that,
and let you fear you were bleeding to death when you got your first period
because when you asked once what a mispronounced-menstruation was
she insisted she didn't know what you were talking about,
it's a little hard to put all your trust in one thing.
and i'm sorry for that. i'm sorry you spend your life in the haunting period between awake and asleep,
where every damaged thought, every creeping anxiety, found its way into your awareness.
i do too.
i could never tell you that because i don't want you to
Steady She Goes11.27.12
I was your steady
but I was not your miracle,
and in the end you wanted me
about as much as you wanted
coffee grounds beneath your tongue.
I will not apologize for this.
You believe in a love that
does not want, need, or desire,
which is no love at all.
I believe in a love that speaks.
I am all roses and poetry
and one day I will love a man
who loves the freckle on my ear
and can recite my favorite poem.
He will stare down my demons
and accept the chance of dark winters
and he will love me.
He will love me like a treasure to hold.
I have faced greater messes
than the one you left behind,
and I will never apologize
for finding a greater love
than you know how to give.
learning to breathe anewtake me further from these shores
from the things I know
as the ripples start to form
before the cascading water
comes crashing down
you pull me into this
turning me inside out
twisting me upside down
my chest is crushed
and quickly emptied
I draw you into my
as you invade me
warmth spreads across
in your neverending
and you complete me
no earthly gooddullish drudgery
insides all ug-l-y
spilling out split seams
pitch black and bubbling
sick carcass covering
mostly in sane
pitted & precious
half-blessed & breathless
of days seen
seems less dream
than real scenes
tine of self
heart screams head
NeedI need a ticket to Wrigley Field, I need a better deal
I need a bus pass or insurance on my automobile
I need concrete to fill the hole in my heart, and
to stuff into my head instead of brains, I need a train
I need to get somewhere fast, maybe I need a plane
I need more daylight and less twilight I need a
stranger in the night to make things right I need
something new, shiny and bright, I need a new dream
I need some ice cream, I need to get to Wrigley before I scream
I need you more than flowers in this hospital room, I need
Devo on the stereo I need to go go go I need new sheets
I need a healing hand I need your kiss on my little feats
I need too much I can never have I need a gun to have some fun
I need to run I need a boat I need to sail I need to punch a whale
I need something like fun but not too much I need
to get some sun, I need to leave this room, I need to be groomed
I need to stop now soon before I rhyme moon and June
I need to stop.
look, little catsteps silently on fences
black and white- just like
my soul, it dances
gutter rats in dark alleys
or its own tail, while
yellow eyes glow
not for me, they know
I'm only worth light