Posts tagged love

We are carbon and vessels
calcium pillars pressed together
epidermal wars with 
limbs and fingers for soldiers
Each sigh like a line from
my favorite poem
your whispers unravel the bonds
keeping my flesh from yours
pressing these layers of keratin
into you with a desperate hunger
I breath you in 
a vacuum of ecstasy
consuming your words and gasps
and my name, my name, my name
letters on the dashed lines
of your soft lips
and my skin, my skin, my skin
clings to yours like that
formaldehyde formula 
on your fingertips

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Copyright 2013 by J.I. Keaton, Kitsunes on Tumblr.

Image: Reblogged on Tumblr, artist unknown.

Gardens of the mind,
Inconstant pool of my thought,
Daishō swords held there;

The longer blade of wisdom
And the shorter edge of wit.

* * *

Into the waters,
Among the koi of lost dreams,
There waits a maiden;

She is clad in pearls and scales,
Warden of my daishō soul.

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Ann says: Daisho is a Japanese word meaning a pair of blades— one sword and one dagger.  Tanka is a poem consisting of three lines followed by a “reply” of two lines.  Thus the form of the two blades is echoed in the form of these two poems.

Copyright 2013 by Mustafa Demiri

Image:  ClockTowerMan at Tumblr

I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love — put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind. 

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Ann says:  The last stanza leaves me breathless!

Image by Bruce Hennigan

I.

She was born during that time when parents kept trying to outdo each other by picking a name for their child that no one else had.  Whether it was one too many cigarettes made from the leaves of the pot plant growing in the basement, or a blood alcohol level twice the definition of drunk, Sarah and John Beck decided one night to name their first born, Empathy.

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Her coffin was made from water, crystal clear, wet to the touch, firm and rigid when placed in the ground. Pall bearers, hands colder than a polar winter, made handles of ice when they grabbed it, and all six of them, walking on legs with no feet, carried her slowly the fourteen miles to her grave. I watched from a distance that was measured in years and saw the end of my daughter not yet born.

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He called me “our lady of the pootens,”

“pootens” being those

creatures who could not

survive on their own.

The appellation was not meant in honor

nor in love really—

A sense of the sardonic maybe,

the inevitable,

as I picked up yet another

hurt and hungry animal

to harbor for a time,

until it healed,

or died.

He didn’t know that was empathy.

He wanted it to be something else,

a space that I carved out

only for him

a space for him

to heal,

or die.

But I couldn’t do it for him.

I just couldn’t

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Copyright/all rights reserved 2012 by Audrey Howitt.  You can read more of her work here.

Image: The Child With a Dove by a follower of Jean-Baptiste Greuze

How Can You?

How can you remain white-knuckled,

all tense and tight-fisted in face of

a dazzlingly transparent soul?

How can you remain curled up

like a hedgehog, when flower buds

of pure feelings blossom around you?

How can you remain frozen like a lake

When the earth shoots warmth

From its belly, upwards, to spawn life?

How can you remain bodiless like a fog,

Whilst nature in fecund explosions

Blesses life with pure passion?

A warm wind blows your way, dear,

I hear your fences crumbling.

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When my fingers trace

your most delicate arch

run gingerly and freely

over every curve and valley

This is where I find peace..”

He whispered each word

as if it were his last

as if his bones

were being left

white and vulnerable

in the heat of the desert

as if his heart was

left to languish in the midday

exposed in a sharpened sky

I felt each letter etched

into my spine as I inched

closer to his craving

I wanted to smell his hunger

taste his aching thirst

move him to the edge

where the sun kisses the earth

“You know where to find me

here in the soft spaces of the air

there in the quiet place in your mind

wherever you are, I am there”

Selah.

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Ann says:  ”Selah” is a Hebrew concept that translates roughly as “Stop and listen.”

Copyright 2012 by Michelle Kennedy. Photo: Stock Image, Arches National Park

My hair trickles across her belly and she whimpers. She is embarrassed to show how her flesh swells towards me, and trusts that I will bend the bars. Fingertips dimple her thighs and start a tremor beneath pale skin. The undulation of my tongue flows into her hips, to the creak of springs. Her voice rises; her body heaves from the heels and arcs over me.

As one wave recedes,
it gathers into the height
of the wave that crests.

Copyright 2012 by James Ciriaco.  Image: Stock Image from Google

in somber silence

we say goodbye

to one we’ve loved

like the lowering of the flag

to mournful “Taps” at end of day

she joins the silent

in the grave

no longer will her laughter ring

across the dell

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