Monday, June 29, 2009

The House Of Kray



When you are away from me,

Each minute is missing its heart,

Like an egg with nothing inside.


Don't you know...

The sunlight only lights up the lace at my window

Because you love me.


The night only turns my bed cool and welcoming

So that you can join me there.


I only breathe,

Beat,

And covet each moment

Because of the promise that you'll be part of it.


Come back to me.

These fingers are lost without your skin.

Only your kiss,

Your joy,

Your laughter

Can convince my little world to wake up,

Settle quietly in your hair,

And live, moment by moment, in the House of Kray.

_______

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Dancer On A Rope Bridge



There is a bridge

Between you

And me.


It is a rope bridge.

There is a breeze across it.

There is sweet water beneath it.

There is thick green on either side of it.


Step out in bare feet,

Feel the wet boards,

The rope railings love your hands.

Come across half way and

Meet me there--

Please kiss me.

No.

Again.

Over and over...


There is a reason I love a dancer.

There is a reason I wore this dress

Just for you.


Let the world shift and fall away.

We can wrap around each other's bodies like a rope bridge,

Like falling,

Like us in the thin air,

In love

In~tense

Insensible

In a

Wet and spinning world,

Us two,

Like figurines on a music box,

Toes curled and

Carried away on the current we have given ourselves up to.

_______________

Friday, June 26, 2009

The Lost Stripes



A zebra misplaced her stripes.

She asked the leopard about them.

"I only see spots," she replied.

"Is something wrong with your eyes?"

"What?"

"What?"


Then she found a mime who was wearing a striped shirt.

"My stripes!

You stole them, didn't you?

What have you got to say for yourself?"

The mime only shrugged.

___________

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Cosa Bella



(this is not really a poem. I am not sure just what it is. But it expresses what I want to say, and it's my blog, so there!)


The woman in the dvd I am watching has perfectly arched eyebrows.

This makes me feel that she is worlds better than me and that i am a failure.

I think to myself that that actress exists to torment me.

Then I think, do you think she just rolls out of bed looking like that?

The credits say otherwise.

If my life were a movie, these would be my credits:


Miss Fireblossom's make-up: Fireblossom

Miss Fireblossom's wardrobe: Fireblossom

Miss Fireblossom's hair: Fireblossom. Well ok, sometimes Jaime at Woodward Avenue Salon. It stays perfect for a day, til i wash it.

Miss Fireblossom's body double: Fireblossom

Miss Fireblossom's stunt double: Fireblossom

Catering for Miss Fireblossom: Fireblossom's One Woman Catering.

Fireblossom Fan Club: fireblossom32@gmail

Inquiries: Fireblossom Talent and Booking Agency
Assistant to Miss Fireblossom: Bosco


My eyebrows are still fucked up. But i feel better now. RAWR.

______________


Tuesday, June 23, 2009

The Wick Effect



Where does the morning start?

Where does the air first touch my skin when I lay in my bed on a June morning

With my eyes closed,

Giving all of my first thoughts to you?


How do you make my life happier, better, fuller, more inviting with every moment knowing your name?

Shall I ask the birds

--because you love them--

Which feather gives them flight?


Which drop, if removed,

Would stop the waterfall?

Which beat of my heart loves you the most?


Which petal makes the bloom beautiful?

Which charge, charged back, brings the lightning?


All that I am,

All that I feel,

All that I desire or hope to be,

Every dream, every prayer,

All my laughter,

All my silence,

Everything, all of it

Is yours, Bice.


Will it burn up,

Be consumed, gone,

Like so much smoke on a summer day?


No.

Never.


It is the wick effect--

My love for you flames, melts, pools, rises in air, and then burns again;

I am a little bright candle in a glass jar.

I am love in the palm of your hand.

Keep me close--

I give a fine light.

___________

Monday, June 22, 2009

Letter To Myself



For Bice, who may or may not be a succubus! ;-)


Having been marked by a succubus at the age of 16,

You know one when you see one.

I know, she will say, oh,

I am only this, or I am only that,

As if she were as common as cornflakes--

But you have been doomed from the beginning.

Admit it, you knew.

Admit it, you're glad.


Go ahead and ring your bed with little paper bibles--

Her lips on your ear will teach you a different scripture;

The gospel according to

Her mouth

Her voice

Her hands

Her hair.


Whether you believe or not, she will convert you.

Whether you convert or not, she will set you aflame

Like some ecstatic saint.


Go ahead and struggle, it's even kind of cute--

But sooner or later, you will have to sleep.

Sooner or later, she will have you, body and blood and bones--

And you will wake yourself, too late,

With the sound of your own moan.

___________


The very smug Miss Beatrice will not allow me to publish her picture here, and so actress Ellen Page stands in.

Friday, June 19, 2009

A Poetic Biography Of Dante Alighieri



In twelfth century Venice, they

Didn't play tennis. No jog

Nor mah jong to help

The day on. One day

Beatrice said to Dante, when

You're not scribbling and scratching

What plans are you hatching?

Dante said, whoa babe, you're the

Doll for me, forget the Divine

Comedy! For Bice's foxy charm

He did fall. That's all.

_______

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Rain On The River



Why does it rain on the river?

Low clouds, ridiculous fools.

You can never come close enough to kiss your lover the river

Or give your desire to the earth.


The earth and the river go side by side--

Each defines the other, and yet,

They are equally faithless.

Let the sky open,

And they each offer their bodies like brides.

They both say,

"I am the one that you seek. Come home to me."


Idiot clouds, desired and desiring,

Needed and needing in a never-ending cycle--

The earth can be sated but the river never can,

And that is why you love her better;

That is why you pour yourself into her.

That is why it rains on the river.

_________

Monday, June 15, 2009

Come On In My Kitchen



Come on in my kitchen

Dontcha stand outside

Come on in my kitchen

Good things inside

My joy and pride

C'mon.


Some dishes are meant to simmer slowly

Others must be quickly seared

As if the skillet's touch

Were almost too much

Look here...


You are so sweet

Kiss me

Kiss me

Feelin it from my eyelashes

Down to my feet.


The afternoon has gone late and hot

Go on, slip out my back door

See you at the sunrise

Baby, never mind

The sugar on the counter top

The flour on the floor.

__________


For Bice, as always. No crappy plastic measuring cups were used in the creation of this poem.

Saturday, June 13, 2009

For Bice



The moon so loved the river that she made a gift of the lotus flower,

My Bice's special bloom.


My fingers hold her with intimate grace--

I seek her river-kissed scent--


Joy teaches me what the legends

Of the forgetful water lilies meant:


Because we love, there is nothing else.


No place to move on or back to.


No dreams except this one, this moment.


Nothing to offer except my love, my heart, my soul,


Only and always yours.

__________

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

A Children's Story



Once upon a time, there was a unicorn named Solo. She lived in a field next to a forest, a place where no one had ever been. It was pretty there, and she had everything she needed, but Solo was bothered by something.


You see, Solo did not know she was a unicorn. In fact, she didn't know just what she was, because she had never met any other creature quite like herself.


"I must try to go and find out what I am!" she decided one day in Spring. She said goodbye to all the little creatures and birds who lived nearby and were her friends, and off she went, into the big world.


Solo traveled for a long while, never seeing any creature which looked like herself. Still, she was determined, and kept trying, though it got very lonely at times.


Then one day she heard a commotion and followed the noise. There, in a large patch of dust, she saw several very unusual creatures playing some sort of game, and so she cantered up to them. She was about to introduce herself, when she was bowled over by one of the creatures, who just kept going. When Solo had stopped seeing stars and gotten to her feet again, she saw that they were all running into each other and trampling things and it was all part of their game. Then she saw that these creatures each had a horn protruding from their faces, just as she did! Finally, one of the creatures paused to catch its breath, which came in great snorts.


"Pardon me," ventured Solo. "But could you please tell me what you are?"


The creature looked at her with his dim little eyes. In a deep bass voice, he said, 'I am a rhinoceros!"


"Am I a rhinoceros too?" asked Solo.


This was met by a rather horrible rough coughing from the rhinoceros, which Solo finally recognized as being laughter. "No!" boomed the rhino. "Just look at you! You would never last the afternoon playing our games! You are too soft. And you are so white! Don't you ever play crashball, or dive into a mud pit, or anything fun?"


"Um...no," squeaked Solo, blushing.


"Well then you are not one of us! Get out of our way so that we can play our games!"


So, with that, Solo resumed her lonely quest. Discouraged, she decided to stop and rest a while by a stream. As she took a drink, she saw her own reflection. "The rhinoceros is right, I am too white and my legs are too skinny. I am surely a very ugly creature."


Nonetheless, Solo pressed on. Many days passed, and she saw raccoons and robins, dairy cows and cats, but she knew she was not one of them, either. "I don't have black rings around my eyes, nor beautiful orange feathers. My horn is not like the cows' horns, and I cannot jump up onto the rail fence like the cats can. I still do not know who I am!"


Just when Solo was beginning to think that maybe her quest was in vain, she came to a pasture where there were at least a dozen graceful, beautiful creatures. Solo's heart sped up as she noticed that they all had legs like hers, and beautiful tails and manes as well! Solo excitedly joined them, and she spent all day playing with them. "This is wonderful!" thought Solo. "I must be home!"


When the sun began to go low in the sky, the horses--which is what she had learned they were called--all turned in the same direction and began to leave the pasture. Solo, happier than she had ever been, tried to follow, but one of the horses looked back at her and she spoke.


"We liked playing with you and you can be our friend, but you can't come back to the barn with us."


"Er...what is a barn?" asked Solo, never having heard that word before.


"Our barn is a pretty red building with warm stalls and fresh hay that our human provides for us. We sleep there!"


"Why can't I come, too?" asked Solo, her heart breaking.


"Because, silly.....you are not a horse!"


"I'm not?" asked Solo, astounded.


"Noooooooo! You really are a silly one. You have a horn in the middle of your head. We don't. That means you can't be one of us!"


Solo looked cross-eyed down the length of her horn and saw that it was true. Not wanting the mare to see her cry, she turned quickly around and galloped away into the deepest darkest part of the nearby forest.


Solo found the loneliest spot in the entire forest and said to herself, "I will live here, by myself. I don't belong anywhere. I must surely be a wretched, horrible creature."


"Why do you think that?" asked a voice from a tree branch. Solo looked up, amazed to see a pair of big yellow eyes staring down at her.


"Oh! You startled me! May I ask...who might you be?"


The figure moved out a bit into the moonlight. "Why, I am an owl!" he replied.


Seeing his feathers, Solo asked, "Can you fly?"


"I can," said the Owl.


"And with your big yellow eyes....do you see a lot of things?"


"I do," replied the owl, kindly.


"Well then, can you please help me, Sir Owl? I have been trying to find out what I am, but I can't seem to find anyone who is quite like me, and I have about given up."


"Never give up!" scolded the owl. Then he asked, "And did you find anyone who was even close to being like you?"


"Yes," answered Solo. "I found rhinos, but they said I wasn't one of them and couldn't play with them."


The owl made a face, not an easy thing for an owl, when you think about it. "Did you want to be a rhino? They have rather unfortunate skin and they attract flies. Did you really want to be one of them?"


"Well, I suppose not," admitted Solo. Then she thought about it some more and laughed. "No. Definitely not!"


"Well, nothing lost there, then!" chuckled the owl. "Did you find any others, besides the rhinos?"


"I did," said Solo, softly. "I found horses and felt sure that's what I was. We spent the whole day playing together and I loved them but they wouldn't let me go home with them." Thinking about it made Solo sad all over again.


"I see," said the owl. "Horses are fine and beautiful creatures, and do seem quite a lot like you. But they haven't got horns,"


"No," whispered Solo, hanging her head.


"Listen to me, little unicorn--"


Solo's head came up and she said, "What? What did you say that I am?"


"Oh, you're a unicorn, no doubt about it."


"Is that a bad thing to be, Wise Owl?"


"Not at all! But let me explain something to you. There are some things which there are many of. Some of them are beautiful, like the horses. The fact that there are lots of them, doesn't make them stop being beautiful, but they are simply not very hard to find. Other things that there are lots of, aren't so nice. Like flies. No one likes flies except the bullfrog, who eats them." The owl made another face, then continued.


"Then there are things which are rare, but we are glad they are rare. Things like getting the mumps. Nobody wants to get the mumps once, let alone twice. But then, little unicorn, there are other things which are both beautiful and rare, and when they are found, they are the most precious things of all. Things like four leaf clovers and red M&Ms, and, well, unicorns!"


Solo shook her head, and her white horn caught the moonlight. "I'm rare? And...beautiful, too?"


"Yup."


"Wise owl, is there anything else that is rare and beautiful?"


"There is," replied the owl. "Love. Love is rare and the most beautiful thing of all."


Solo hung her head back down. "I will never find that."


"What am I going to do with you, little unicorn? You have to believe you will find something or else you never will. Now here is what I suggest for you to do. Do you know the way out of the forest?"


"I do," said Solo, wondering what the owl was dreaming up.


"And do you know the little road that leads away from the forest?"


"Yes, I know that road," said Solo.


"Good. Follow that road until the end, where you will find a little ginger bread house. In that house lives a girl. All she ever says to me is, Owl, I wish I could see a real live unicorn! I think that if you go there, and stand outside her window in the morning light, she will give you apples and sugar cubes. And you never know, little unicorn...you may just find love there too."


"Oh thank you!" cried Solo. "You've been so much help! I'll never forget you!" With that, she turned her hooves towards the little road and the ginger bread house at the end of it. As she trotted eastward, she saw the sun coming up, and her trot turned to a prance. It was going to be a wonderful day ahead.


THE END.

_________


Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Indulgence



My Bice,


Pay no attention to the grumbling sun

Or the moody impossible stars.

Sulky angels are not worth your notice.


You pass by and they act like tired children--

Forgive them, Love.

They cannot help their jealousy.

__________

Monday, June 8, 2009

Flaming June



Many times I have slipped easily into sleep, like a soft brush into paint,

Losing myself in ochre, crimson and saffron

Like an Indian woman wearing a sari.


I confess, I've loved dreams,

Courted them and cherished them--

But Darling, now June arrives through the curtains with the morning

And I flame,

I wake with your name on my lips--

Beatrice,

Shakti,

My Own.

_______


the painting is "Flaming June" by Frederick Lord Leighton, 1895.

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Beatrice, Described



She's Beatrice.

Too delicious for Dante.

Too daring for Duckburg.


She's the fixer of a hurt heart.

And smart? She's got it down.

She can do it herself--

Like put up a shelf--

Get out of town!


Beatrice kiss

Goes something like this:

Totally awesome.

Banned in Boston.


Beatrice is

Better than Batwoman,

And it may be

That I loved her from the start--

And it may be

That she'll choose to keep my heart--

Cos she does what she wants.

She's Beatrice.

The one I love.

_____________

Saturday, June 6, 2009

Estrogenia

I received this reply to a response I had made for travel information:

  • Thank you for inquiring about points of interest in Estrogenia and for information regarding Estrogenic culture!
  • Every 28 days, don't miss the Feast of Saint Midol. Don't forget to estrogenuflect!
  • Visit an Estrogenic Art Fair! Go through the tunnel to the famous cavern where local artists create estrocentric art! Doughnuts and Lifesavers available!
  • Did you know...that there is no word in Estrogenic for "no"?
  • But there are 573 words for "shop".
  • Only one Camaro automobile has ever been sold in Estrogenia. But 502,349 bright yellow Volkswagen 'beetles" were sold in the first three days of last week.
  • Tiny Estrogenia leads the world in chocolate consumption.
  • The official language of Estrogenia is Snark.
  • Estrogenic army knives include an eyelash curler, an emory board for nails, and a cell phone.
  • No one knows what the Estrogenic national anthem is called, but you can dance to it.
  • Estrogenia is bordered by Testosto Rica. If Testosto Ricans run out of wars to fight, they furiously attack themselves. Their chief export is bananas.

______________


Friday, June 5, 2009

Love 101



Take a blonde to the beach.

Whatever.

But you can't take a dark woman anywhere.

Listen, little hummingbird

So quick and bright--

If the mood strikes her

And the window is left open,

She may take you.

________________

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Constancy



Between the darkness and the light,

Where the poppy, juniper berry and grapevine grow--

Lives mother Medea, full of patient persuasion,

Softly calling a name she knows.

_________

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Your Voice



Your voice

Is like impossibly blue water--

I want to fall backwards into it

And float, with my eyes closed.


When I have to be away from you,

It is like surfacing into thin and ordinary air--

My only desire

Is to drown again.

______________

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

The Calling



Her line goes back through a thousand mothers,

And as many winters,

To this moment now, the one she lives in

With grace and surety.


Do not approach her with ego, addiction, vanity or cruelty--

She will show you her back and scorn you.


But if she chooses you,

If she lets you see the unfettered natural passion behind her eyes,

If she says,

"you are mine"

Then you are--

Then you're blessed--

And you can follow each other through dreams along a snowy timber line

Into a place you've never imagined nor seen before.

Don't waste it.

Don't name it.

But, woman,

Know that it is Holy.

__________
If you would like to help wolves, go to http://www.defenders.org/

Monday, June 1, 2009

El Fuego



For Bice


Two lovers lay in the dry California grass

Miles from anyplace--

One had never kissed a woman like the one in her arms,

And the other had never kissed a woman at all...

Not like this

Not with intention

Not without a second thought

Not because she needed to.


"Kissing you," whispered the first,

"Is like kissing the curve of the night sky in summer.

The stars are just confectioner's sugar

And you are always to be mine."

The second spoke no reply, but curled herself around her lover

Like a vine that grows after sunset

And by morning is so much part of the arbor

That there is no more distinguishing lover from beloved.


For what happened after that,

Some say the Santa Anna winds were to blame;

Others say they saw two women walking hand in hand

Easy and slow before an all-consuming wall of flame.

______________