Agnes de Lods.writes:

"Writing turns our thoughts inside out.
We cut and suddenly join words to touch the essence of both human and non-human existence. I  allow myself not to be too sure
whether what I write is a record of what I have seen,
of my falls, or maybe a hallucination,
trying to wear the veil of mysticism.
I am only following the crumbs left by the undefined"

<AoL>

PREFACE

Perhaps it's me,
perhaps it's you.
but I trip over the inspired insights you so oft
slip in, share, and guilty feel
you have commissioned me to write
a poem for everyone
but especially,
for the poets here,
who peer, preen
and pepper their
inside innards
to find,

"the undefined"

<>

I know well these crumbs,
that once,
tasted
demand a full on British Baking
real life escaping escapade of a unque episode

god how I love the poetry of a glance askance,
the invisible invitation to take a closer look,
the hither in-a-come-closer

god how i love the well hidden but tracing whiff of a smile,
of an 8 year old when she's gifted an
unexpected delight, a simple bracelet,
which alway says please, little one, always,
remember me?

the pretense of irritation of an phony whiny
'I know, I know'
just for her, a savory masking
of the pleasured knowledge that you know her,
so well, of what she'll next speak.
just as well,
hell! even better,
before she knows herself

the shock of a particular poem
when first read, is a stone to temple,
a knife to the breast,
for the only first thought
forever, is my guilty plea of
"I should have written that!"

Need I go on?

perhaps one more,

the very first time you accidentally intentionally
touch each other's skin, hair or breast,
and the shock equivalent is of an electric chair
shared,
that requires stoppage of breathing, allowing for the full on
desire to fall to the ground,
thinking I'm found, I'm found out, I'm revealed, unveiled,
that comes out
of your eyes silently beseeching
if anything could ever be better,
than a joy undefinable.
and a memory memorized forever,
that defines,
that makes one fine,
that comes crossed off that secret list,
one more of the
undefined
of being alive
and changes you
for the entirety, and
the subtlest shade meanings of the phrase.
just
for the
rest
of your life
is immortalized
<>

now, here. I cease.
quite pleased,
that I do indeed!
remember;
begin again to recall
how to breathe
out, then in…
and then,
tho still off kilter,
                                          again,  and a gain
                                                            ­                           <nml>

7:58am Tuesday Sep 9 Twenty 25

someone in the room asked, "what is one thing
you would want to change about a girl?"
she turned her gaze, with a wine glass
wrapped in her delicate fingers,

"To be a woman."
her answer instigated the audience,
some stared at her, puzzled and confused
some who understood her,
looked at her intently intrigued.

"I sense a charisma of Athena,"
a witty man approached,
showing his well-sculpted physique,
"you're silver-eyed and daring."

she wasn't one for flattery,
"She's Helen of Troy,"
another man walked, cornering her
"bringing armies to heel with a turn of her head."

she flashed a daunting smile,
sipping the remaining blood red wine,
"I am no goddess, but a woman;
because to be a woman, is to be undefined."

IA

What is it's meaning?
I may never know,
I may have to keep dreaming
And let it flow.

Flow through my veins,
See it from afar,
Unshackle its chains,
Allow it to bruise and scar

Through flesh and bone,
Head and heart.
Ruptured then sewn,
So I don't fall apart.

Back and forth it goes,
All through my head
Like beatings and blows.
Exposed on the bed,

Vulnerable and raw.
It plays on my mind,
I watch it with awe.
It cannot be defined.

Uncertainty is rife,
While some may panic,
It is here I thrive,
Neither worried nor manic.

I trust in the universe,
I know it will be right.
While this may be adverse,
I choose to see the light.