Some more poems, yeah? Yeah, ok, why not.

Nods.

'Inhale'


I am learning to breathe
all over again.


Where I choose
to discover a kiss
is the art of beauty,
a kind of
entanglement
with freedom,
a sort of
impromptu
cafe scene
where the waitress
is ever so polite
and wishes me
a happy Ramadan
and blessings
for my kids.

And I'll reply
"I don't have any, miss
but thank you
for considering it.
I'd like to wish you
solace,
stability
and roses
in the form
of a tip."

She won't argue with this.

She'll smile
and think back
to a time
when men
only spoke with men,
when gratitude came
in the form of banishment
to the kitchen
or garden
or loom
with endless yarn
to spin.

Let me spin upon fractals,
where situations
become summer
only if you will it.
Let me open my fingers
and tell you
we are young
and silly
even to our last days
spent coddled
by the only ones
who care
to know us:
decrepit, stinking
of bored flesh,
for release
into

Void.
Insignificance.
The embrace of faith
the only deliverance,
the only flame.


Here, learn to breathe with me
all over again.



'wednesday, at home'


caress each flame, seven for each night.
all you hear is wind, the taste
of tiredness in your bed
massaging
your temples.

she sings five octaves.

you read the paper, enquiring
over descriptions you know nothing about.
i presume to say, "don't take a job
where the title eludes you.
twenty-eight dollars an hour?
sure, if you know what it means."

you say my mermaid painting
resonates. i want you to have it.
i want to exchange gifts.
the plays by lorca you gave,
you know how it fits.
green wind and green branches,
you know how i live this.

or try to, dismissive
of each weary driver
on either side of my lane,
their enthusiasm long dried up
by time and smog, by abrasive faces.

a child waves hello, a smile
all you need to remember,
all you need
to go on.

lamb chops.
cubed potatoes,
quartered mushrooms,
half-circle courgettes
with a hint of curry powder. somehow,
this alleviates the cold, this winter dirge
waiting for the sun to surge.

hallelujah for tonight.
you are warm, fed, a crucible
of thoughts spilling softness.
hallelujah. your framed photo
of punga ferns
dreams
with you.



'rather postcards than calendars'


I.

i'm in
no mood for calendars
or dogs named pablo.

sol blossomed.
the four winds
sleep. luna
cannot be seen
watching
over me.

i need postcards.
a vestal flame. stilettos
engraved, the sound of a page.

you want a diary. you want mercy to stay.

and here, this earth is disconnected from your hands.
you sing of sirens destroying themselves, splintered
strands of hair on a narwhal's horn. for you imagine:
what of narnia, what of poppyfields, what of bedsheets
in war? we stumble, i stumble, you soar and fall.
psyche is wandering. eros is beneath the floor.
shellac crumbles. the tone is sweet candour.

you want a diary. you want patience to play.
cross my fingers. crack my collarbone.


II.

leave the front door
slightly open.
moisten lips.
a spanish galleon could've sunk
in st. mary's bay, the madonna's bosom, after all.
each conquistador, a gold-leaf wraith
with forgotten titles.

cadiz. valencia.
their daughters' letters
ended up
in frosted bottles
of gaia's comb.

seaward, can you smell the moors?
orangeblossoms, heather, a gypsy cradle.



'varnish'


strange it is this knowing you
to hold onto mountains

as if the absolute carried
final truth.

you'll find me, buried beneath comets.
gasp and wonder at why misfortune
crawls up our spines. seethe and journey
within words and paintings. these reflections
seem far more real

than the vocal imaginings
within the comfort of this room.

we were foetal once, an enclosed cosmos.
burst and shatter, frail anger
at what-if's
and dreams ground
into soft grey
powder.

this taste of iron will never compare
to the drag of dandelion crowns

floating, floating:
orbs of whispered
content.

restless, restless:
a spiral figure
eight.

Author's Note

I'm Captain Slackarse when it comes to reviewing, even replying to people. I've only just returned to this site. Kinda. My apologies. Really.

Reviews

[Emily B]

It's always a pleasure to see you--and your words. We will take the feast with the famine. Especially when the feast is as delicious as this day. I'm at work and my co-workers have no appreciation for poetry. But when I get home tonight, I will listen to your work from your own voice.

I'll be back to visit again later. :-)

[Doug]

this is really good. i try to get stuff like this out when i write, and it is getting better, but i can't get the imagery like you do. my creative writing professor tells me to immerse myself in what i see. do you have any tips?

[Fabian G. Franklin]

I couldn't figure out how to listen to this, when I click on PLAY it just takes me to a blank sign in page asking for my info. I make mp3s with a free program called Audacity and load them into a free podcast page at fabian.podbean.com, plus I can store the mp3 on my computer to burn to a CD if I choose or listen to on my media player. I have always enjoyed reading your work but would like to listen as well. These poems were great. You might want to set you up a podcast page with podbean, its free and with backgrounds you can choose from to format your style; mine's all green and nature looking. Pop over and have a look even if you don't listen..it might be a thing you want to try, folks seem to love mine.

[Emily B]

I've been known to hang onto mountains
there's something the sailor just cannot understand
each green blade, each limb reaching toward the sky
some say God is in the trees

[Deanarrlack]

I really loved this and was reminded of a few Leonard cohen songs...Excellent write!

[darkgurl]

WOW! This is a wonderful and amazing write here, this is sensual..Kim

[Toni Prehoda Kahler]

Intensity, elements, organic images, depth mixed with innocence - you are a master of imagry! I am glad to read you once again, mostly because you take me to visuals and thoughts that I would never visit on my own. "Inhale" is at once sensual, and a journey through mood, story. I love the invitation at the end, perfect wrap.
Sometimes I read (or listen to) your pieces without understanding anything but the widening of my perceptions, and I like the questions that leap up from here and there, and I like the way I feel the world afterward; and I especially like the "dandelion crowns/floating, floating:/orbs of whispered/content." and the way the image slips into "restless, restless:/a spiral figure/eight." (eternity to me)

Thank you for these.