"ripely" poems
Waking breath ghostly frozen, clang of pot-belly stove opening, cedar crackles good morning, sap sizzles, pops, melting. Warmth finds children sleeping, humid air, mouth-breathing. Smell of boy sweat and feet, young women ripely sweet.
Cats purring, stirring, padding quiet down stairs, weave meowing through mom's legs. Dented percolator burbles better days, snap of toast burned haze, molten mush bubbles burst, fade. Birds early on the highway Paradise-seeking, time, flash-burned, fleeting. Cobalt jay mockingly complains, chickadee sings his own name, coyote wails, thin and plain.
Children rise, sleep in their eyes, squabble over bathroom prize, eldest wins, click, locks herself in. Hurry, hurry the bus is coming, ancient driver, annoyed and honking. Brown-bag lunches crinkled running, feet slapping, seats squeaking, lungs hot and bursting. Ride the dawn breaking, hearts aching for more than this, rural bliss.
Stop sign flashes caution, young lovers in the back seat, bodies in motion. Stop, start, sway on down the highway. Engine mimics hot blood lust, accelerated diesel rush, nothing can stop us. You grab my knee - young, carefree. Brakes sigh and hiss, sneak one last kiss. You mouth - meet me later, we'll sneak out, rush to a future we haven't got, ready or not.
The old road at dusk, frog song accompanies us, bike wheels on the asphalt hum, forbidden moonlight run. Feel your heartbeat on my spine, frantic drumming matching mine. Horned owl hoots, forlorn and bleak, a premonition we refuse to heed, reckless with need. In the clearing young love begins, forget-me-knots on burning skin.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 9:44 AM UTC
Heavy lavender blossoms, lifted
by sudden rushes of night wind.
Jacaranda, her scented branches swept into
dancing alone under the only streetlight.
Hiding further in the dark, bushes of
kumquat fruits, ripely orange,
tempt me to taste them.
In the deep blue air, first stars create
orbs of light beyond themselves,
glowing hugely in the sultry, silent sky.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC
I would die to say here, truthfully,
splaying my arms round as the sky,
this, this! is how it is possible to live
and not sink under a faint surface,
and not run, windfaced, against a distance,
and not lay down, weary as nothing.
This is how it is possible for us
to look without shaking skin or heads
or blenching eyes, writhing like mangrove
limbs in this incomprehensible slough.
To live as discovery of life and still not know
if ever we were born, or when, if ever, we’ll have
died.
But to you, I cannot say this, truthfully.
My person is not truthful. It has a voice
you hear through air in the daytime, I am
not truthful to you. Else I would be
fringes of all time
stretched. You cannot see me, truthfully.
I am ground movement, just under, welling
untouchable imperative unattainable.
Are you bound by the point to create
your own destruction, as I? Then proclaim it
yourself, truthfully, waving your fresh
roots out to me, soil juiced and ripely plucked.
I will try to remember crossing the plains from
dawn till dusk, before I made the world fragile.
If I do, I will dissolve, and will come out your
breath, speaking truthfully. But will you remember
too? So that, disappeared, I may find you?
I would not have to die, then, truthfully.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 6:37 PM UTC
Ripely at 13, quickly an Internet queen
Found a boy around the same age
To swap and talk of things
Mindless banter from pitcher to batter
Such fun to see the words received
Upon the silliness, love was an illness
And the two were a couple on screen
But he became rash and rude and demanding
Forcefully aggressive and to my understanding
Required some photos of her undressed
As to which a little frightened she replied
“I guess”
For a year and a half, enslaved by a monster
No words of love just innocence slaughtered
The last picture she sent was of red bloodied arms
Without clothes on her body
Death from self inflicted harm
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
Next time, I want to be loved for all of me
Not just lashes and lips
No, not my ears and eyes that so seamlessly
breathe new meaning to life
No, no I want to be loved for the crusts of me
The thick and thin of me
(Baby there ain't no thin of me)
Just ripely thick honest sweetly raw delight.
Which is precisely how I want to be loved
Through thick and thin
Bring strength and nourishment,
Challenge both body and mind with thought and compassion
Night and day, day and night,
Light and dark,
Good and works in progress...
Will not be told "too much you ask for"
No, that jus means I too much Woman for you.
Get back at me when you can relate
I'm out.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 6:08 AM UTC
First find her ripely inconsolable. She must be beautiful (squeeze the round end -- does it yield perceptibly without deformation?), yet she must think herself ****** The following factors produce this effect: a society which denigrates her, a family which ignores her, fairy-tales which tell her she fulfils herself upon belonging to a man. Once you have selected her, you must purchase. Pay with attention, time, care and compliments. Do not spend too much -- you might suffer buyer's remorse later. Then, before she is sure of herself, make demands. Tell her that her utility is based on your own convenience, and slowly browbeat until soft and creamy.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 11:29 AM UTC
“she said,
‘almond colored sheets
are the best
for dreaming.’”
well, my sheets aren’t almond
but i did tend to dream
when you were lying
right next to me
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
dad’s numb lips
two bruised slugs comatosey cozy
glued onto a paper-mâché head.
lips the delicate hue of grape skin
tinted by self-asphyxiation.
his wet mouth became unexciting so I rested my head on his chest
on a wine-blemished button down
intoxicating me.
the blotch soon wore off onto my neck
a small patch bitten reddish purple.
speckled flesh–a stamp of lust.
his universe existed in an 8oz Styrofoam cup.
a cough syrup medley shimmering violet with needle-head fizzy stars.
sip, swallow, spent.
he made his galactic purple potion perish.
and in this way he was God.
a baby was born
a seed gorged out of a plum
wailing in a thin sheet of sheer mulberry plastic.
we were made good for lavender stacks
weaved into flowering quilts
warm enough for a peasant foot.
you are the royal dye of Joseph’s coat of many colors.
I am the artificial tinge of a grape flavored popsicle stick stain on a bathrobe.
what if Joseph wore a bathrobe?
rotting plum for a knee
you kiss it ripely
– a sunset sickly blooming
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 11:35 PM UTC
You
So young
Ripely falling from the strangely fruited trees
So full of life
Why do you worry about what lies ahead?
So young
Yet hanging onto every word as if it means everything
You don't have to worry young one,
In time you will learn
To stop being so predictable and settle into life's heavy burdens and "what ifs"
Your life will stop one day
But the world will never stop rotating for you
Young one,
We have a long way to go
And you must learn that we do not fall into to love
But grow in it
You have so much to learn
But life is not about learning love,
Life is about living
Living with all your newly profound wisdom
Young one,
Do not worry about the future
Do not worry about what has happened
The past does not define you or your future
Young one,
You must learn to live In the moment
And not to turn your back on life,
But to take it by the hand
And let it guide you to who you really are
Young one,
Close your eyes
Picture you as who you've always wanted to be
Open your eyes
And that is who you are.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC