She exploded
Into onomatopeias
As lions tickle...
...from waist down.*

© 2014 J.S.P.

Kiss, kiss, kiss for me
A tender line, a border--all afternoon--
Straighter
Than the sword of the soul
To divide me, to awaken me,
Somewhere, between the rage
And the calm:

So that my thrusts steady,
Would hurt and agitate,
Bleed and satisfy, winning us
The ancient war.

Then, I am still for you,
For loving, for country
All deep evenings. Imagine
The stealth of the world in effect
As honey drips some place
Inside a hive. The cicadas-- intrigued.
A flower pollinating.

We will burn the known
Elements, even fire.
The shadows, the moon
And the stars will warm
Their hands together
Near the shaking flame.*

© 2014 J.S.P.

"I keep your letters", she said,
"Somewhere, between fresh...
...*******."*

© 2014 J.S.P.

The lone stark bugle cry—
Horn of the great mountain elk,
Ripples down cold through morning
Dusted wood as the mushrooming dews        
Drop into dearly waded pools under
Fawning toes of forage and cool
Evergreen.

Everybody died today,
metamorphosis - never completed.
Maturity entrapped the folks,
even the children, teeny, tiny babes,
The stars never danced in their eyes;
the sky wouldn't allow Starry Nights.
I only ever told stories, those Wisdoms
passed on from my grandpap,
dissed in the corners of the streets,
I look up for my internal stars
and wish these people would combust
and finally clear the air
so my grandpap could breathe.

he only wanted to be heard


7/30/14
PPropper

read between the sloppy lines
of drunk texts and high poems
scrawled upon pages of telephone books
in black bold letters, black slippery ink

i remember the days when you were mine
loved the ***, loved the roses
all your side-long glances and pretty looks
but without you i have gotten better,
in deaths quick sands i no longer sink

i miss you, honey,
but we'll never love again
when pages turn and our story ends,
read between the lines of my drunk texts,
and you will find me.

We wanted to be big girls since we were little ones
we used mom's lipstick
and pretended we were mature and pretty enough
to have red, bright lips
and shiny, size six golden shoes

mum used to tell me I was pretty
and she let me use her lipstick
but I didn't really like it
so I rushed to the backyard

I tangled wild flowers in my hair
usually mixed with dandelions
and mint leaves
sometimes a couple of ladybugs came by

and after that I just stood there
being happy
and crowning myself
as the Butterfly Queen

and mum got angry
because I was a mess
and my hair was tangled
and full of dirt
seems like flowers in my hair
didn't make me pretty at all

but now I am a grown up, and I am happy too,
because I can put eyeliner without getting teary eyes
and I can tangle mint leaves in my hair:

*mum can't yell at an adult now, huh?