"cande" poems
Glowing pools of cande light
Arranged carefully around the studio.
A steel cage stood, big and strong
So unlike the man outside.
An experiment
For kicks,
For love,
For leather.
Manicured nails, gelled hair and
Sheathed in Armani.
Standing, observing and evaluating
The other and the scene.
The city bustled, street lights shone
And people walked by
On the street below.
Laughter penetrated the window.
Hypnotized, the clock stopped ticking,
The violins got louder and
The laughter faded
As though the window thickened.
Picked up the sharp thongs
Coiled by the gloves.
Violins again and again
Kept repeating the beginning
Of the same song but
I loved it every time.
He stepped inside, shut the door
And looked up.
Wiry and thin.
So unlike the steel cage,
Big and strong.
So uncertain and full of fear.
The bustle forgotten,
The city hummed quietly
As long slender fingers
Clenched the leather.
Violins again and again
Getting louder and louder
Like the drum in our ears
Beating ever faster.
Smooth skin and sharp leather
Met.
Whimpers and gasps
And titilation.
An experiment
For kicks.
For art.
For leather.
Two bodies:
Both wet and sweating.
One standing, observing and evaluating
The other and the scene.
Laughter penetrated the window
Again.
The violins stopped,
And he stepped out for bandages.
It was an experiment.
Just for kicks,
For lust,
For leather.
An experiment.
For kicks,
For pain,
For pleasure.
May 13, 2011
May 13, 2011 at 1:03 PM UTC
Two consonants with a vowel in between
seem to be something like taboo in my mind.
I’ve read them everywhere but refuse to
jump on the band wagon. I refuse to
accept what this acronym means.
These thoughts were going through my head
as I stared intentely at the glowing candle stick
in my hand. I was emersed in the glow,
how the the blue magically turned into red orange.
What got me the most was the dripping hot wax,
it had fallen but made a mark regardless.
Just like you.
There was something beautiful about my candle that night...
about everyones cande.
They were lit as the magenta band around the sky
turned into midnight blue and engulfed our heads.
All that stood out was the illumination of the candles.
The candles that lit up faces full of sorrow and unsettling remorse.
These faces had arched eyebrows and lips askew.
These faces had eyes so sullen and red they would
pull at your heart strings and the rest of you.
These faces were void of sugar, spice, or anything nice.
We all wished we could give that
one
last
word
of advice.
As I came up to the microphone, I looked up,
past the banners full of love letters,
past the slightly waving flags, into the night;
I’d like to think I felt your spirit there,
lingering to hear our last words before going on a journey
out of sight.
My words cracked just as the solidity in my face.
I missed you. I miss you. I will always miss you.
But as I sit here, I think about what those three letters mean.
Those letters that associate you
with engraved headstones and rose petals.
Those letters that bring my tear ducts out of the drought
that came after the last devastating flood.
R.I.P.
Jul 18, 2011
Jul 18, 2011 at 6:22 PM UTC
From My Wife
By Joeysguy
Many times I have said
It’s my wife who puts the poems in my head
So I believe these words are from my wife
She is telling me something of our next life
Our golden years had never started
Since years ago when she departed
Up here we will have our golden years
Together again without any tears
When the flame moves on the cande you light
It’s her waving to me at night
Those strange sounds that I hear
It’s my wife that she’s near
When I’m playing an old song
I try to listen if she’s singing along
She see’s the tears coming from my eyes
Wishing I would stop and dry my eyes
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 3:09 PM UTC