liked her sex best
on an armchair
or the sofa
with her lover
Bernice, in charge
of the sex games,
sweat cream being
slowly licked off
of her body,
or a warm tongue
her naked thighs,
which, through pleasure
brought the warm tears
to her dark eyes.
And in moments
to her childhood
and her father's
she wondered how
over the years,
she kept intact
inside her mind
and injured heart
and tortured skin,
the deep seated
to allow love
not to be spoilt,
or the places
he had tainted,
to be tabooed
to her lover,
when she slowly
slides her finger
along her spine
or between legs
as her lover,
laughing, calls it.
But most of all,
despite the past
hurts and foul touch,
she still has that
the dark years,
to love her hot
that sexy bitch,
all too human,
and all too much.
The raw sunlight pounding on my neck
Throbbing air, painfully cloudy
Wooden lips that rip my tongue
Hands that grain pieces of deception
Clattering roots, with pounding bones
Polluted words giving me blisters in my head
A blind stillness, captured me
Portions of creations, harboring hate
Callous and raw fists fluttering
Eyes trembling into my skull
With a sadness that I shall not have at all
i learned the hard way that love
doesn’t mean staring down the barrel
of a loaded gun,
telling me it’s his way or no way at all.
no one can ever make me
compromise my values,
not even the sweetest face (you),
not even the smoothest talker (you),
not even the gentlest touch (you).
i see you in every landscape,
every arrangement of orange leaves
on the autumn trees,
the snowfall on the tall mountainsides,
and i feel you in the hot sun
that beats down on my skin,
but i can’t keep dancing around
the words on my tongue,
the ones that keep trying to
pry open my lips, gasping for air,
begging to be set free.
no one can recalibrate my mind
to suit his needs, his wants.
we promised love to each other,
but even that isn’t enough for me
when my concerns, my beliefs,
aren’t second to none.
ruby laid back into the scalding water
exhaled as she frowned at the wet remains
of what once was the most perfectly rolled joint
well over an inch left, a small puddle forming
it will be days til it's dry enough to smoke
but she likes the transparency of the paper
and can imagine the crunchy skin glowing again
she's made the water unbearably hot
she slides down
until her head is under the water
thoughts flash by
too quickly to answer
one after the other
she wonders if she can still breathe underwater
like she did when she was a kid
a real mermaid
she knew she was one
images of the suns slow rising on the lone bay she drove to at seventeen
smoking a joint down pch at four thirty am
the waves drowning out everything bad in her world
she thinks about music
and her first boyfriend in seventh grade
he was a beautiful black haired
blue eyed boy of well over six feet
a punk rocker
who sweetly held her hand through the halls
and kissed her using tongue
she had carved his name in her arm
he died of a heroin overdose at 18
what sound her brother's breath made
as it was escaping his lungs
as the truck crashed into him
she thinks of the billions of stars
the atoms in the universe
she thinks how easily we become dust
she thought of all the ways she's absorbed love out of the world
she pulls her head out of the water
black curls cling to her shoulders
she feels faint
ruby finally stands
in the rooms candlelight glow
she catches glimpse of her body within the mirror
heavy swirls of steam rise off of her wet skin
she inhales deeply and wraps a towel
round her shoulders
and steps out of the bath
When I was a child, I wondered if monsters really did exist.
I would check under my bed and in my closet,
not because I was scared, but because I was curious.
And when I was a child I learned that they do.
Monsters don't always appear as people would expect
They commonly hide in our cities, schools, and sometimes our families.
They scarey part though, they can hide in our hearts,
or even our subconscious thoughts.
I met my first monster while I was still a child.
And while most would think it appeared to me with a shaved head,
driving a truck with confederate flags,
and a swastika tattooed inside his lip
so racial slurs can roll unfiltered off it's tongue.
My monster was the mother of my best friend.
She stood looking down on me like a doctor looks at a forty year old fry cook.
And while I never did understand why the brown of my skin resembled filth in her eyes,
or how she could look at a child, with that look of disgust.
When I was a child, I could understand, that these monsters do exist.
My mother always called me the devil child
Because I was loud, destructive and wild
I found out years later I was born with ADHD
No one wanted ever to spend any time with me
Parents didn’t know of ADHD or why I was different
They didn’t understand and they were very intolerant
Parents told older sister I was bad and she didn’t have to be around or play with me
So much of the time alone was really no fun, however for some help I did make a plea
I heard my mother double dog dare my father to hit me
Mother would refer to me as a turd in front of the family
All my cousins were smart, while I was failing all my classes in school
Got in to many fights with bullies and teachers who were always cruel
My family would all make fun of me, call names bully and teased
I was the loser that anyone could do or say what they pleased
None of my cousins was I ever allowed with to play
Was always much of the time alone every and all day
I lived in a strange way my dad was very to the T religious
And my mother was always drunk and of course blameless
She’d drink when home from work, on the weekends or holidays
And could always hide it from all her friends and the relatives
No one believed me when I told them that she had been drinking
They acted like I was crazy by then I knew what they were thinking
My mother took me out on Friday nights to eat and buy whatever I wanted, after work
Her last stop was always the liquor store for drink and smoke, I was left in car like a jerk
Bought games that took two or more to play, but she nor did dad never have any intension
Of spending time with me, I was in there way. I was a bad child that needed intervention
Wasn’t the perfect child I admit; I ran off when I was 16 did things I regret parents put me
Away, they came for counseling I complained about moms drinking, and she felt angry
She said her drinking wasn’t my problem, she’d be back to see me when I could face the truth
Never could mother admit her or dad doing wrong, everything was because I was a youth
Came home from school one day mom was passed out on the living room floor dead drunk
Called ambulance for her Dr blamed me and said no visit, and he called me a worthless punk
My dad would come home and find she was throwing up while passed out always in her bed
I’d watch him take bowls put them near her mouth to catch it, was something I would dread
He’d walk to the bathroom, empty the bowl and go back to get the next one to do the very same
And replace the unfilled one repeat the process. I was told by her doctor that I was the blame
Sometimes mom would run down the hall to the toilet bowl throw up then my heart would race
Because I always knew mom would do this and then she’d come to room to scare rant and pace
Since I was a bad spoiled child who had parents with money, nice house cars and good jobs
And I was not willing to help out or be responsible, was told I made the family look like slobs
My sister let her boyfriend talk her into letting him take me to dentist, instead he molested me
No one believed me because in the past I had lied about things, and the truth no one would see
I was different all the cousins, my aunts and uncle could blame me when things went missing
Or went wrong I was then and still am now the perfect scapegoat yes about it I’m still babbling
My father ran out the back door, when he heard me wake up and come out of my room
So he didn't have to bother with me, and I wanted to spend time with him he’d assume
Somehow I managed to graduate from high school and I then would move
To a different city I felt I might have better luck and my life would improve
Married two very bad guys both who daily beat, threatened me and verbally abused
Divorced them both had one child and how I’d raise this child alone I was confused
Tried to work and go to school never was competent enough to follow through
Each time I would start either I did not have the ability of completing anything new
Am not proud of this but I had 30 jobs that I lost in 10 years and even tried going to college
Unable to remember how and when to do things, my head from years of abuse was in a fog
Filed for SSI and Social Security, got on section 8, food stamps WIC and other government aid
I needed a home for myself and my daughter so I had to depend on things like this to get paid
My daughter grew up, became ill with a repeating debilitating disease
I dedicated myself to getting her well, and nothing about it was a breeze
Had to take her in pain for Doctor visits many times she’d cry and wished she were dead
This broke my heart with no family help, just her and I to face things in the years ahead
Unable to attend school for years, the Doctor signed permission to stay home
School system assigned a teacher who was mean nothing about her was tome
School Social workers interfered
And my name they smeared
She finally one day went into remission
And now the nephrotic kidney condition
Seems for now to have forever gone for good away
For years it’s been don’t want others to downplay
For a while I homeschooled her and the first semester back in the public school
She was on the honor roll things seemed to be looking up and I felt exception to the rule
Then one day she lost interest in classes, homework and attending
And the principal of the high school was calling and threatening
Pulled her out of school and placed her in to get her GED
Soon she graduated quite quickly within month of three
A year before she was supposed to graduate
I knew by then that I was doing things right
Enrolled me and her in community college we made the Dean’s list and no student loan debt
Last May she and I graduated have a new life now I don’t feel things in my life are a threat
But alone I’ve raised a good child, self-published a book and kept things together
I’ve published some poetry and stories in magazines that will be on web pages forever
Even though my parents have helped me out once in a while financially
I feel lack of respect since they helped family who treated me crummy
I’m still feeling and have most of the hopeless thoughts when I was young
But I still try to steer my daughter to be different from me and hold my tongue
Those cousins with the high degree
Don’t seem to have too much on me
Both lost their jobs within a year out of college from being snobs and dishonest
But the parents just think that it was because others were being so glibbest
Both stuck alone in life working in their old age
That just mostly pays a low minimum wage
Sister divorced husband for molesting her children still won't speak told her kids I was bad
She lives in my town and over 20 years she’s never visited so by her I've been for life had
Most of all I think it's because my parents never would face reality or admit
To any wrong doing of years of abuse and neglect, something I couldn't forget
Why am I talking about this after all these years still?
Because I think that it may just possibly help me to heal
All Rights Reserved
To bed I took, in habitual slumber,
cursive prayers die at my cynical tongue,
all pinned badges of the day cast-off
to the floor, only for my sorry soles to
impale upon, come morn. ‘Come morn!
I called, to the chasted walls;
‘come morn!’ I sang,
hoping to fill the thinned curtains
with a filter of light.
In oil paints, old dreams coloured themselves
in patient, kaleidoscopic hues. Though
withered of form, they delight in me,
promise to deliver in utero joys,
connection to the Great Mother;
all that was lost in the fall.
The fall of man,
so gravely reported, and so
limiting to humankind.
I fell. I fell to sleep as Romans did peace.
With grudge, with dissonance; mind-silence apparent
only upon the death of the day.
With stubborn regard, my ears tarried in vigil,
I awoke to each pine of the hallway,
each tremor of heart, pulse of thought,
and Lord of sound.
‘Come death!’ I sighed,
to my life’s rushing blackness,
‘come death!’ I cried, to my stars.
In cannabis, I attune, only to calm;
to bask in the light of some meadow-less dawn,
and in pains, I pray only for dullen thoughts,
to poison my days in some indolent mess.
And of Ávila, Teresa
shelters my mind. She comes to me
in sorry demise.
‘My child,’ she calls, voice echoed since,
‘fellow child,’ she pines, entrusted sphinx.
Spawn of Thebes, she riddles through centuries,
all panicked pores, all sickening spirals,
forgotten in the present, all-eternal.
A shepherd am I, amongst my thoughts,
she calls thus that I am not my mind,
rather, a chosen observer,
to be confused not upon the
idiocratics, more, ‘what is.’
A lowing at my window, she calls unto me
in reverberated tongue, nutritious tone,
a cyclone of holistic power.
Bright glimmer of light, she calls once more, ‘my child!’,
she cries, ‘my fellow child of the Lord!
Please, rain unto me your sorry state,
lack of appetite,
cooling plate. Oh, you that live so solemnly,
you who knows not of the arbour of life.’
I call not in terror and I call not in my fright,
upon the window, that ghostly glimmer,
she heals the walls in half-light, swimming
in opal reflections of ripples and chimes.
And, she is calling for beauty,
she is singing unto me,
‘come morn!’ she weeps,
‘come morn, and with it, the tidings,
of your blessed life to be!’
Stumbling, I trip over the apparition’s words,
she speaks not in life’s shadows and sinister plot,
but only in those that speak like a God.
In the awful haze of light-polluted skies,
auspicious streets and government plot,
her prophecies fair, but yet
‘Come now!’ I say, in no hope, ‘come
now,’ I say, an adult.
‘There’s no space for me here in this lifetime,
there’s no soil for my roots to embed,
in painful years past, I’ve been in sorrow,
and I’ll be expecting them in all the years, hence.
So what, if I’ll join the army,
or some other capricious,
All tributaries lead to the river,
as all humans to their torturement.’
Teresa, she radiated with colours,
and Amy, who lived within my chest,
they called out as one in my silence,
as a union, a conquest of the childhood mind,
to abolish the present tense.
As one, they sang upon to me,
They sang, ‘be born,’
under the moonlit streets, ‘be born
to all that you are, and ever you could be.’
And from this dream I came out in denial.
From this dream, I appeared to awake. I awoke
to the song of the starlings, and to
the precious pleasure of life’s augment.
With this groggy thought I’ll admit that,
in separation I fell apart,
I call, ‘come out!
‘come out and greet me,
old Eden, my eternal womb.
The union of mankind and nature,
and the union of our pasts combined.’
Take a drag of life,
Peaceful, nutty and tasteful,
we are all dying.
Death kisses our necks daily
but life rapes us all.
A sweet embrace of
the clouds are my god.
I kill myself every day
just to see if tomorrow
I will awake again.
Crackling in my hand-
when did this begin?
we all crumble.
I am the universe's compost,
golden sunlight, toes, fingers, tongue
Exquisitely dark we all expound
to minerals and dust and singed fingertips.
blind among the enemy . . .
This swifter's grift :
Silken, gimlet lit,
To a paler
Shade of need.
A grander banquet’s call,
But this tug of
This master and slave gavotte,
Black and scarlet
Of swifter tongue and fingertip
Neatly leather blind -
Tell me muse, of the anger, flesh on fire -
Is there really dignity in defeat ?
( that eludes the victor )
Tell me muse, of the truth in nature -
( Graceless, inelegant, taillight broken )
Is destiny all ways ordained in contradiction ?
Tell me muse, do hearts all times submit to the beacon call -
( shyness long forgotten )
with narrative so cruelly written.
As never before
with a persistence that is ageless
yearning is but "brand and shadow" - nothing more,
for if reason sleeps,
there'll be no learning
only . . . this simple riddle .
All Rights Reserved
James R. Morse, NYC 2013.
we are led into the presence
of things which have been brought
from darkness into light. "
Shortness of Life - Seneca .
Corinthians, Goya, Milton, Patti Smith, Rogets, Socrates .
I had a dream about us falling
Those three words rolled off your tongue
easily and it made me wonder if this was
I don't call you mine anymore and
you don't bother talking to me.
I guess it's true,
some dreams show the exact
Opposite of Reality.