Soft, speckled nose gone dry with sleep, tonight
I wake her up to stroke her fur lined back
A growl escapes to my surprise; what fright!
Now ears drawn back, prepare for an attack
Instead, she escapes, darting through the door.
Not to be overlooked are her sweet paws
Pattering across the cold, kitchen floor
She makes a show of them, extending claws
Her tongue catches a taste of droplets left
From early morning, in her deep blue bowl.
Like me, she finds quiet… sometimes bereft
In this house with creaky floors, not quite whole
I lean my head against her sunken spine
And listen to her heart keep time, like mine

I have been living in this apartment for 9 months
and there is a pink tree that I never noticed until this morning.
it reminds me of your lips
                                your tongue
                                   your nipples
it is hidden behind the leafy green of trees that survive the winter
and it only blossoms in Spring
and I am willing to bet
it only blossomed last night while we were kissing.
that tree is our tree, it grew in 4 hours
sunk its roots into the ground when I finally felt your skin again.
grew branches when your long fingers and chalk dust knuckles wrapped themselves around my ribcage.
buds sprouted when we fell into the lost worlds of our eyes
and flowers bloomed with every kiss.
(4 hours is enough to grow a tree when love is the gardener.)

there is a vibrancy to the world today
somehow even grey skies light up the world
and cigarettes taste sweeter
but the cold is still too much
and inside, my apartment is permeated with your smell
I want to bottle it and save it up
snuff for lonely days
because what keeps me going is not marketable
which I sometimes forget, because sometimes in love
you believe that everyone looks at your love the same way you do
an image of Perfection
memories of perfection linger in this house and it feels like
morning will last forever
but I wish that last night had lasted forever,
grown an orchard of pink trees so tall & thick the blossoms
pressed against the windowpane
so when you had to leave the petals would pick you up and carry you home
a hundred and eighty-five miles is a long way to depend on petals
so I'll thread my veins and stitch them together
(because of your love my blood is strong enough) & when you get home
O-positive 98.6 degrees will soak the petals into the ground
and up will sprout a pink tree
so you can look up and think of me
and missing each other might get a little easier
                  (if) absence makes the heart grow fonder

He tastes like
stale cigarette
smoke and lust.
He says
he likes me.
He swears
to call.
A kiss on
the neck
that burns
skin raw.

Tongue clenches sour.
Hands that shook.
Hair splitting evil.
Sin with a look.

Yeah, well, that’s just like
A movie reference, man.
Speak with your own tongue.

Hello Poetry


Yearned.
Ached.
For so long, for a community,
That values the ineffable wonder
Of a wordsmith's creations, intended to
Repair himself and the world with bullets of
Verse.

And here you are.
Like/Dislike, matters not,
So long as we value each others work,
And the the heart echoes within
What the eye read and the mouth whispers.

The array and disparity of your names, a delight,
Each one a poem in its own right.

So I resubmit a question for your consideration,
The answer is now known,
The answer is all of us.
---------------------------------------------------------


Who's Who In Poetry
(Revised)


T'is a curious thing,
these verbal peddlers, tribal members,
famously well known to no one,
perhaps at best,
a kindred few, fellow-travelers.

Each a troop,
bloodied, purple hearted,
word-wounded,
anonymous unto each other,
yet all bonded intimates,
in solitary struggle united,
yet sea-parted by the very nature
of the solitude of composition.

All poets are Cain scar-marked,
purposed for everyone to see,
a warning to rabbled boors,
imagination suppressors!

World:

cherish these flawed ones,
gentle these frail but gritty,
the Lord has tasked them
to be prophets in one tongue untied,
undo the strife of Babel's division.

Poets!

Be the harpooners
of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhapsody,
comfort caress us,
exhort the loopy
to light their illusionary candles,
turn the sad eyed lowlanders
into crinkly eye-lined smilers.

With clinical observation,
dense and demanding,
make us laugh at
the comedy of our situation,
teach us our free-to-see peep show,
reveal, unseal us
with tart empathy!

For who's who in poetry
is all of us!
saviors and failures,
recorders and decoders,
night writers of the oohs and aahs
of dreams and nightmares.

When this poet cannot,
no longer, anymore,
tastes his poems upon your lips,
keep your poems within his heart,
then he breathes no more,
and becomes one who was, yet is,
because of you, in poetry.

Hymn!

Watching his playtime,
His fun's hot,
On fire,
Blazing,
Voracious, hungry,
Slides silk tongue into hearts while dancing,
Prancing on screens monopoly,
Only stage on which he plays,
Dancing in mind as he spins his yarn,
Distinguished,
Feeds fire with fire,
Fire on which the ladies dance,
Struts on stiletto heels,
Sharp and rapid,
Maybe rabid!
Toxic treats mistreated,
He has an honours' degree!
In misdemeanour's fun,
In trussing hearts embalmed!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Hymn!

Watching his playtime,
His fun's hot,
On fire,
Blazing,
Voracious, hungry,
Slides silk tongue into hearts while dancing,
Prancing on screens monopoly,
Only stage on which he plays,
Dancing in mind as he spins his yarn,
Distinguished,
Feeds fire with fire,
Fire on which the ladies dance,
Struts on stiletto heels,
Sharp and rapid,
Maybe rabid!
Toxic treats mistreated,
He has an honours' degree!
In misdemeanour's fun,
In trussing hearts embalmed!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

how many coins do we have? you count
and I’ll see; call out as you count, tell me
how much exactly; and then how many days
it will take us to…Little Boy with his crutches
can buy a new one, maybe
and a new shawl for mama…
throw it, one coin against the other as you count;
I love to hear the clink of coins…ha, ha –
you know, sometimes
I even lick a coin to see if it’s pure…mama says I’d get sick
if I did that…yeah, certainly not as sweet on the tongue
as the grapes and fruit we sell, but certainly tastes well
to me in my mind
have you another coin in the other palm?
this day a Lord’s servant bought
some grapes in the street corner;
she said it was for her master’s table,
and our grapes were glowing and fresh
much as what her master loves…and she was kind to me…
did you count the other coin? sometimes I wonder, you know,
how many coins we will need till the end of our lives,
like to the time, say, when Old Boko died last autumn –
how many coins will it take to see us to that moment?
Yes, and of course, how many grapes
would we need to sell to collect that amount?

I want my name tattooed on your lips
stars tattooed across my back
my name to be a star
I want you to hold me on your tongue
to leave stars in your hair
when I run my fingers through
I want you so bad it’s driving me mad
playing on our radio
I want your lips so bad on my stars
-want stars when you taste me
your fingers to taste my tattoos
the stars to taste our fingers
when they wander through our lips
I want our fingers touching lips
by the stars that bathe our tattooed names
in the music of the madness twixt our hips
I want our ink all over our skin
A stellar map to lead us in

picky
teaser
lota
pizza
flamingo
burnin'
gerhkin
wordin'
processing
pro
gramme
lots
a
purple
tan
tanging
tongue
tear
stupid
deer
croissant
croissant
croissant


(are you here?)

rich
and
faming
silly
daydream
little
cupid
castle
cooped
chicken
kickin'
malicious
software

(are we there?)

yet
cooky
suki
mikky
mopy
skiing
slopy
tear
out
control
shout
doubt
pout
trouble
double
choc
tim
tam
ginge
sortafairy
tail
of
a
bat
rat
smack


(should we pack?)

and
CRACK
goes
ankle
blowing
soccer
flowin'
talk
tak
no
silly
silly
silly

all these
years

(should I be crying these tears?)


hello
again
a
pen?
why
thanks
some
lunch
punch
crunch
an
ankle
swollen
ready
all

flail
fall


(?)