wandabitch: Favorites

Jul 2013 wandabitch

Jon Tobias

I feel like a comic strip hobo
With no money for deposit

And still I step from slapstick to cement
and hope court jester is enough here

I have come out of the rain
and into your home
Drawn to you
Though there is no pie in your window
No ghostly fingers of your sweet smell
beckoning me in

You make me feel
Like a ghost in a graveyard
Praying for a new harmonica inhale
and exhale
So that this music can sound more like a dance for two
A panic waltz for feet trying to match your grace

And today
Darlin'
There is honey between my teeth
A sweet sound

Our love is backwards
Blacklisted
An elbow torqued and knuckle gutted dry heave halleluja

Arthur Miller would have written a satire about our love

I remember our early conversations
You said you didn't believe in god
I said that he was a fantastic literary device
You said though you didn't believe in god
that people themselves could be godly
I suddenly wondered what you would look like with a jerry curl
"Let's not call it godly," I said
"What then," you said
I don't know

I just know that
Your eyes are like second winds
like Breathcatch memories
of highway carjackings
where you were the one left on the side of the road

The warm summer pillow of your stomach
And the peel of my face away from it
Is sticky like candy
Your stomach is like candy in that way
So is my face
I can be sweet too

Your smile is speechless
like the speakers are speechless
And the music has stopped
and our bodies are still
save for your smile
That quivers like fire

And I am a comic strip hobo
With a bandana backpack
and not much to offer

But I am drawn to you

You make me feel like harmonica breath
You make my mouth feel like honey

Jul 2013 wandabitch

Down the Rabbit Hole

Jul 2013 wandabitch

Brycical

Down the Rabbit Hole

We roll
on the magic carpet into the outward reaches
to wrap abound bodies in communal hugs
atop magical tye-dye mountains and black and white rivers
of Peter Max the hushed whisper of
red bird hair ***** into a conversation
flying further into the horizon that is my dawn light glowing chest.

We roll
over each other on the floor sofa laughing,
like you see in the movies
of delinquent bohemians celebrating life with beers and
pills you swallow. Feels like the puppet strings
on our wings have withered; free to flail.

We roll
our bodies & eyes
backward-forward-sideways together with the music
wryly dancing as the world turns into a desert--

every molecule in our bodies warms--slowly,
like a hot bubble bath,
the earth takes its time spinning....
unlike our Sufi brains still rolling
rolling
and rolling like a stone down a hill betwixt a meadow
between two excited lovers in a cliched scene where
they are running toward each other--
naked with tattoos on their arms
and a smattering of neon orange and blue paint speckling their bodies
while they wear a native american headdress and Ray-Bans.

Jul 2013 wandabitch

Navigational

Jul 2013 wandabitch

Daniel Magner

Navigational

Laying down words
with you
always tastes of coming clean,
throwing down things
how they really are
under all the changes they go through
to accommodate other people's
emotions and reactions.
No filters or pauses
searching for the "right words"
our voices play perfect chords.
I haven't even felt this before,
I thought I'd loved
**** well felt like I had,
but this has the potential
to blow that, straight off the
map.

Jul 2013 wandabitch

Pool Side

Jul 2013 wandabitch

Daniel Magner

Pool Side

You asked about the tattoo,
taken aback when it wasn't attached
to my two year, too much, relationship.
That's all I gave but you persisted
so the explanation that most people's guesses
missed it,
led to the part that no one fits in my heart,
and when they do
the same spot on my left arm will have a fresh,
brand new,
tattoo.

© Daniel Magner 2013

and you said you'd keep that in mind.

Jul 2013 wandabitch

Untitled

Jul 2013 wandabitch

Glen Brunson

Untitled

there is a hole in my tongue
where the roots go
and I am left here
with sycamore leaves between
my pebble teeth,
praying for rain.

Jun 2013 wandabitch

trust

Jun 2013 wandabitch

Wasteful Words

trust

these are but sagas for lovers and haters in love
who love to hate but are in hate with love

these poems

of couples who exist to exist
and to redefine Is

these are but stories for the sons of bleary eyed fathers
who tread the same threads across dilated garters

and heroic stoics be proud!
these are but fables of folly
and of transparent whim

of hunters’ beguilement
of huntresses’ ****

of mechanical males who practise old tricks

these are but tales of maidens and heads
of neverending aims nevertheless transfixed

these are but poems
of Envy and Trust

poems that unbe the unfair
for the sake of unlove

and while mechanical feelers probe seas of flesh dealers
and reels of film cast doubts of Enough

these are still
but poems of Trust

Jun 2013 wandabitch

Making a Beeline for Her

Jun 2013 wandabitch

Folorunsho Obalugemo

Making a Beeline for Her

Should i come upon an enchanting
Popsy who by my own reckoning
And sight investigation --
Whether she is ebony or brunette --
Is beautiful in my estimation:
Of a jolly heart and steady soul,

One that's lovelier than Venus--
I will not my wits abandon,
Nor give my eyes a pardon;

I mean,

One that smells better than rose--
Straightway will I close,
To not perceive her scent, my nose;

I say,

Of such that tastes sweeter than nectar--
I shall seek nay to procure her taste,
Lest my substance and time I waste;

wait,

Whose skin is softer than butter--
I will not even at all bother
To have a touch of her.

Am I silly to administer
Such injury upon a charming Sis?
For I will forsake apace all business
At hand, and make a beeline for her!

Jun 2013 wandabitch

'Black Magic Woman'

Jun 2013 wandabitch

st64

'Black Magic Woman'

I got a Black Magic Woman
Yes, I got a Black Magic Woman
She's got me so blind I can't see
But she's a Black Magic Woman and
she's trying to make a devil out of me.

Don't turn your back on me, baby
Don't turn your back on me, baby
Yes, don't turn your back on me, baby
Don't mess around with your tricks
Don't turn your back on me, baby

'cause you might just wake up my magic sticks!

You got your spell on me, baby
You got your spell on me, baby
Yes, you got your spell on me, baby
Turnin' my heart into stone
I need you so bad
Magic Woman I just can't leave you alone.

- Santana

03 June 2013

Just love love LOVE this song!

So many interpretations...

a) It is brilliant. A mixture of African music and rock.
It speaks about being in love with a femme fatale.

b) polyrhythms that give the song a "voodoo" feel distinct from the original. This song has a latin feel to it. The song is based on a woman - who is very mysterious and she is pushing him over the edge. Meaning making him fall in love with her and he is scared she will turn her back on him once she has cast her spell.

c) it's about drugs.

"she's trying to make a devil out of me"
he means he acts bad while he's on it.

"So blind I can't see"
he's tripping doesn't know reality and what he imagines.

Stop messing around with those tricks"
The drugs messing with him.

"Yes, you got your spell on me, baby,
Turnin' my heart into stone;
I need you so bad,
Magic Woman, I can't leave you alone. "
He means the drugs has a spell on him and it's making him crazy, but he needs the drug so bad that he's addicted to it.

d) A special woman, perhaps she doesn't exist, but she's like no one else.

From: http://www.songmeanings.net/m/songs/view/961/

sub-entry:

'colours'

1.
new ground
shifts as loosened bedrock
moves turtle-slow
yet, moving forward
all the same
into unanticipated growth.

2.
mind over matter
experimental scratches
on grey slates
bring truth closer,
scrape the tenth-tip of
brighter vision
no cause for fear.

3.
wind and hail
hard deluge
intimidate,
black nite
may tease
slumber
endless...

4.
this is the time
only now
with no guarantee.

so beautiful the hour
which streams on
journeying forever
climactic roaming
against all odd
disbelieving tidings.

5.
escaping swift into
cavities so tiny

remembering our future
clear-cut of defined perspicacity

and

flying so easily through
the colours of your being.

Jun 2013 wandabitch

Confusion is my name sake

Jun 2013 wandabitch

Bruised Orange

Confusion is my name sake

Whatever other costumes might have been hers for the choosing,
She wore the robe of disenchantment.

She should have been taught,
Truth skates a razor thin line that will slice the flesh from your bones
When you try to deny it.

The mask she placed upon her face, a tragicomic mockery of belief,
Its blue-black marks tattooing her cheeks,
Were a constant reminder of her mistaken identity of herself,

Mistake.

(And in that moment of stark realization,
Didst thou not ponder the sickening irony of a life gone awry?)