south-city-lady
F/Atlanta
I am a writer; it has taken me decades to admit that about myself. I use poetry to excavate meaning, to express love, to appreciate human frailty. I wish to share and celebrate these emotional moments with other writers and grow within a community.
i pour a shot of amber song
it soaks through cubes
infusing my glass with
emotional pungency,
melodic lucidity
i saunter through lyrics
of nostalgic wonder
like purpled heather
amplified beneath
distilled sunset
words elongate
upon every sip
my heart parcels out
meaning through the final
round of your sylvan song
undulating sensations
flickering candlelight
how to capture your blood's
heat, ripened grape upon
lush lips, each slips me deeper
into intoxicating whispers
I grow drunk upon liquid feeling
languishing in shadows
of heaviness and divinity
Feb 27, 2022
Feb 27, 2022 at 5:43 AM UTC
This weekend, my city was hit by an EF-4 tornado. I'll never forget the sirens at midnight or holding my kids' hands tightly in a small closet as the news warned to brace for impact in 3 minutes. There was the unforgettable sound of hail and well over 170mph winds and then, the eerie calm that followed. But mostly, I'll never forget driving the roads before dawn to see enormous trees yanked from the ground by the roots, limbs snarled around power lines, and roof flashing and furniture littering the ground. The devastation took only 22 seconds, but its ferocity didn't shut down the resolve of our people. I am reminded that hardship and tragedies teach us gratitude, inner strength, and generosity. I am reminded that people are inherently compassionate and selfless as we help each other rebuild. ❤️
Mar 29, 2021
Mar 29, 2021 at 6:34 PM UTC
write your soul's depths
belief in truth's concepts
for you elicit a precious voice
resonant to raw strength
instinctive courage
press forward through unclear days
in the gloom of unknowing
you reconcile love with hate
propagating belief beyond
sight or sound
where speech is sacred
as dying breath
make haste - your echoes
reside within blistering canyons
for others' hope to hear
Mar 16, 2021
Mar 16, 2021 at 5:45 PM UTC
"Get immersed in your writing process until the world is gone." -Stephen King
Writing starts out as an unforgiving act with a rude listener whose back is perpetually turned. You feel his disinterest as your unconfined mind spews ideas into warped silence, trying to capture airy words still wet with flighted feeling, to strip them down, distort them into a surreal collage of unrehearsed meaning.
It's a crusade against the self, really, where you push reality beyond the scope of eyes or ears until only your heart is listening. Then, and only then, do the words materialize in your head, rapidly filling the mind's empty stadium. You become the spectator, the speaker, and the space. Poetic lines are the paste as ideas collaborate; you learn to stand in the cyclone, feeling a poem's tremendous energy, permitting the words to dictate their own dignity.
They rush faster and faster as you press their loops and curves to the parchment witnessing their enchantment, the dizzying display of language tumbling under and over and through until you are left exhilarated, breathless, and undefeated again . . .
that is until tomorrow comes.
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 11:28 AM UTC
I imagine . . .
a room draped
in muted lighting
the scene of a recent
gathering, now departed,
nostalgia clings
to a hazy Chardonnay glass
stained by cinnamon-tinted
lips, one sip remains;
I indulge
across the room,
conversation erupts
into liberated laughter,
echoing spirits l o o s e n e d
in moonlit tongues
beneath a winding staircase;
my shadow caresses
the wooden banister,
eaves
dropping
by floor-length windows,
majestic fingers cloak
a bohemian blush
as ardent eyes lean in
without inhibition; my lips
burn from their amorous
exchange
then haunting notes
drift upon midnight air,
the room blurs,
disintegrating into
shimmering confetti,
spilling down
back steps
that sting an untamed night
with distant memories,
bewitched in peonies,
fragranced by a piano's
final resonant
key
Feb 23, 2021
Feb 23, 2021 at 12:59 PM UTC
At some point we all confront
physical pain so profoundly intense
it feels we will be consumed by its overwhelming conflagration.
The deeper the burn, the steeper the journey,
the greater these life lessons become etched within the slick skin of our hearts.
Our life's true purpose is stored
within those hours, weeks,
years of desperation, of sweat,
and introspection. When we finally awaken
to witness our acts of courage along
with every dip of failure, we feel blessed
for having survived the ravages
of a tremendous storm that bent our faith
and altered the trajectory of our lives' paths.
We are not defined by the worst events
that have happened to us; still, the long alienating nights spent dissecting thoughts, confronting fears, acknowledging
our weaknesses can bring us into this moment
of extraordinary hope as we truly begin
to imagine our lives beyond
their conventional value; instead,
we value the years our lives extend to us.
Experiencing pain, loss, and uncertainty
can liberate us to live a bigger lives
than we had ever originally planned,
to become all we were destined to be
from our inception.
Feb 22, 2021
Feb 22, 2021 at 5:16 PM UTC
Your life is ripe for love, and it shall come
to you so unexpectantly, kissing your
soft lips when you thought you'd never
taste the sensation of passion; love shall
find you and replenish your soul
of all you thought valueless. You are
deserving of late nights diminishing
into rapturous dawns and tomorrows
more sumptuous than todays.
You deserve, and love shall come.
Only dream and believe of better days,
my love. ♥️
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 8:54 PM UTC
caught within the rain,
i taste its gentle texture
as tears upon porcelain cheeks
such an intimate exchange
i can scarcely breathe
or audibly express
sensual aromas
through words' simplicity
I have spent a lifetime
in silences. [unspoken]
traumas committed
against my tongue;
for years,
I heaved snow against
my chest
cultivated forbidden
territories so frightfully
polar, i can no longer . . .
handle their sharp-shapes
without the ecstasy
of frostbite
through winter's moonlit veil,
i sense your heat,
a telepathy of tenderness, hands coaxing
me from murky waters;
come for me
your prodigal soul-
reborn
rekindle these heated
passions,
unclasp my mind,
unfasten the sash
restraining these chapped lips,
thaw each
finger within
your eyes' firelight,
let me feast
upon your mellow night,
clothed in laughter,
wounds exposed
as damp rose petals,
pull me toward
your heart's
shelter, so this loneliness
may find
(at long last)
a nested branch of rest
within the wingspan
of your nocturnal song
Feb 17, 2021
Feb 17, 2021 at 9:35 PM UTC
— "That great abyss that exists between loving and imagining that one loves." -@Esu Emmanuel
the most hopeful wish we store
in satin-boxed hearts
is the unquenchable bliss
that longing will flourish
into staying, that cravings
will reach beyond passion's
momentary caress nestling
into late latte mornings
where his hand fills the contour
of your safekeeping
& sincerity collects upon
tongues soaking skin
in the stillness
of velveteen rain
Happy Valentine's Day 💕
Feb 14, 2021
Feb 14, 2021 at 10:20 AM UTC
pain is temporary
still I crave its fuel
feeding hunger, burning
through darkness,
wafer moon teases
naked trees
blanching sleek limbs
running away
from desperate crowds
that sting my senses,
from curses singeing
midnight nerves,
I am
a warrior
in No Man's Land
Feb 13, 2021
Feb 13, 2021 at 11:43 AM UTC