In The Gardens Of Răscumpărare

I searched for my love

in the shadow of a sycamore.

In my hands--

dust.

On my body--

ash from a Gypsy fire.

I searched for my love

in the railings and rectangles

of city buildings.

In my hands--

broken glass.

On my body--

words from a howling wind.

I found my love

in the hanging gardens of Răscumpărare.

In my hands--

her hair.

On my body--

salvation, her lips, and a thousand birds. 

_______ 

From The Curve Of A Blue Womb

From the curve of a blue womb,
the one at the far reaches,
but as close as the next breath or the first,
the last,
spun from the flung white shine of a million stars,
into this space as narrow as a letter slot,
delivered by a Divine hand into a bone bowl,
blinking,
sitting here, writing this poem.

From the curve of a blue womb,
by way of the jaws, the wound, the perpetual shriek
of the keeper, the watchman, the madwoman,
set into a ready cage,
stripped of language and sex,
set out to dry and called art
by blind idiots with broken hands holding dawn in a coffee cup.

Something has been making its way up the stalk of my spine,
by increments, by prayer, by instinct, by race memory,
an insect, an emotion, a soul-flag strung on a line,
lifted by animus, by glory, by reflex, by holiness,
a mouth on a face on a body on its way
from solar plexus and on out through lips as an anthem or a gasp.

I'm telling you these things in your arms, in confidence,
in darkness, in fear, in recklessness, in sound mind,
in breakdown, in nakedness, in touch, in aphasia,
everything that curls and weaves and strikes within me,
this storm passing over the island of your body-sanctuary,
and losing strength even as strength is gained,
leaving bootprints in blood all the way from the start of the circle
to its end, a path out of myself,
through an impossible gauntlet of everyday 
spiraling up from the half-lit heavy pool of me,
aiming for an element only dreamt of in fevers and in ecstasy,
promised by absent angels speaking from the aviary of flesh and spirit combined.

From the curve of a blue womb,
I come spouting rot, nonsense, paperback scripture,
recipes for holy observance, bank holidays, disaster, doubletalk,
finding only in your kiss a distillery for spirits and the restless dead,
the quick, the clever, the blessed, the crazy, the torn apart, the unsatisfied,
the wise, the wept, and simple coneflowers
tossing like anti-aircraft gunners in the breeze
at the foot of your steps,
inviting me to at last fall into them, 
into you,
into some kind of peace I barely remember,
and which only comes back, for a gorgeous moment
when I am loving you.
_______ 
 

Book/ Lover

I was keen to find God,
but books were closer at hand;
so I kissed words through indigo, blue, azure, 
and on until daylight.

If only your shirt were on the chair,
and your body next to mine in the soft dip of my bed;
honey, if you were close at hand,
then I wouldn't need books at all. 

 

I Want (You)

I want
to trace my finger down the middle of your back,
then take your shoulders in my hands, just so,
the way I would in taking something perfect and warm from the oven.

I want to kiss you
in a way that can't be denied;
a way that turns the light outside our window
from late evening to early morning
just because of the touch of our lips.

I want to be gathered by you,
held by you,
made captive by you,
as the earth is to the sun.
I want it all to feel as urgent as air,
and as free as the scent of leaves unfurling.

I want my loving to have language; to say
joy--here it is.
pleasure--here it is.
My heart--
yours, only,

but all I say is, "Hi, sweetheart,"
hoping 
that you can hear the rest.
________

 

 

My Love, Alexandrian

My Love is as smooth as the most beautiful lie,
and as merciless, and raven-clawed, as absolute truth.

See the hunk of shit she drives,
and the impossible perfection of her elaborate expletives,
caressed like sleepy babies
on her lips until the language seems
almost holy.

She licks me with her tiger tongue,
wearing me away;
she planes me, layer by layer,
until I am nothing but shavings,
fragrant and useless and
utterly at the mercy of gravity, and her moods.

I am a single leaf of milled paper,
carried like a new future in a thylacine's mouth.
My Love, she is the burning library at Alexandria,
sending everything she can so magnificently be
directly Heavenward, but piecemeal,
as ashy birds,
word by
word by
gorgeous
word.
_____

the thylacine was a wolf-like marsupial which lived in great numbers in Australia and New Zealand, but which is now thought to have been hunted to extinction. The thylacine had the widest gape of any known mammal. 

The library at Alexandria was one of the 7 Wonders of the Ancient World, a repository of the world's knowledge up to that time. It burned.
_____ 

The Fable Of The Matryoshkas

When I met you, you already had
almost everything.

You spoke, and from a halved lime,
a golden-eyed tiger stepped.
From the tiger's mouth, came vermillion birds,
and in the birds' beaks,
silver rings to please you.

If I had told you I loved you then,
I could not have borne the weather of your face--
a clear sky of indifference,
or your smile, constant as any equator.

I knew,
that to win you, I would have to get beneath your heart--
I would have to fold my yellow wings,
with their India ink edges;
become vermiform
and as light as a ghost's fingers on a cotton ball.

There I slept.

After six Novembers and a single Spring,
I opened my eyes--
a solitary traveler when I arrived, I had become four.
You felt the North, South, East and West of me
within yourself, nesting your heart,
as if you were a Russian hat, and I, Medusa's vanity: her hair.

Now, we are together forever,
like bone and limb
or
the closed and golden gates of your almond eyes.

I am more than content to be your courtesan,
your slave,
your palm leaf, arched over you like Desire's own angel--
but if you dismiss me,
all the matryoshkas of our union will break.

You will see me, at last, as I really am,
a constellation of spilled confectioner's sugar
anointing these shattered nesting dolls
with their linseed smiles,
drug store red lipstick on every jagged edge.
_______

Matryoshka dolls, also known as Russian nesting dolls, or babushka dolls, consist of a series of similarly painted dolls, each one revealing a smaller doll inside it, down to the last and smallest doll, which is typically a baby.

Both images were found on Weheartit.com. 

Wheat & Lavender

The sky is always in motion
As are the swaying heads of wheat or lavender,
Whose very roots are carried with the turning earth
Moving, like the blood within our veins,
And our passions born there.

My darling, you are always near me;
Even when we seem to exist apart, please believe
That soon enough, you will hear me
Coming back again, through wheat and lavender,
To hold your name as close as skin to breeze.
_____

My Petition To St. Creola

Beautiful St. Creola,
Our Lady of the Sea Shore,
The pockets of your blue linen smock stuffed with dawn clouds,
Intercede for me,
I beg you.

My nights have become unpretty, pungent, abrasive,
Like tar roofs,
Patched and leaning,
Unable to hold the rain.

St. Creola, patroness of all that is lovely and ambiguous,
I cannot decide
Between My Love in the morning, her skin warm as east-facing Italian stucco,
Or My Love in evening, wearing moonstone earrings and making a bird perch from sea ripples and snakeskin.

She is the bootleg water-dove,
The posey nightcatcher.
I am the indigo bloom, and your adherent.

St. Creola, hear me.
The stars turn at your command,
The skies open at your pleasure;
Let there be a rain of cormorants, sapphires, silver dust...
Let there be your own jasmine scent in her dark hair;
Let there be bells,
And within their ringing or their silence,
Her answer.
_______ 

linked to dverse OLN #33

When Saints Emptied, White & Weightless, Out Of Heaven

It snowed.
(then it didn't.)

She stayed with him.
(then she didn't.)

The world turned.
The sky was wide and clear
Like a blue fat girl with good skin.

The traffic was rosary beads
moving up one by one,
a honking, half-assed Rapture.

She attended classes.
(then she didn't.)

She was a February gray angel.
(then she wasn't.)

She went out, wearing a pink scarf
and black leather boots.

In a cafe, she met a blue fat girl.
She called her "zaftig."
She said, "You have a beautiful face."

She didn't consider her.
(then she did.)

Again, it snowed.
They went home together,

orbiting each other closely all the way down the street,
like a couple of she-gods
with aprons full
of catnip.
________

for dverse open link #32

In The Land Of The Blue Wolf

In The Land Of The Blue Wolf,
We were together.
It was supper time,
The street lights were on,
And the buses were lit from within like candles in glass.

Two moths, we found the store window you were looking for;
We spread our wings against the cold panes.
We spread our love around each other.
The stars wheeled slowly above our heads.

In The Land Of The Blue Wolf,
We tilted our chins up and sang as only girls can.
I loved your olive-skinned throat,
And knew that I would stay with you, then,
Even though the road is long
And the night would never fall so sweetly for us again.
_____

The Smartest Gals In The Room

Sometimes a bird gets inside the house.
Sometimes they shoot a man into space,
And oh, the look,
The look on their face.
Some haven't got the sense to stay home,
And some can't tell
Up from down,
Their ass from a big damn hole in the ground.
Some don't know
Their butt from next week,
Much less their place, and oh the look,
The look on their face.

Sugar pea, check out the trees--
It's spring, and everything is in bloom;
Everyone we see
Wishes they were you and me
Like Angel 1 and Angel 2
The smartest gals in the room.

Sometimes a dog goes off its chain,
Running hell for Tuesday down the lane,
And oh, the look,
The look on its face.
Ladybug, ladybug, why rush to go home?
Your husband's asleep,
Your children are grown,
And the condo people will keep the lawn mowed.
There's a mint on the pillow,
A magnum in place,
When you blush, I just love the look,
The look on your face.

Sugar pea, check out the trees--
It's spring, and everything is in bloom.
Reality
Is just you and me,
Angel 1 and Angel 2
The smartest gals in the room.
_____

photograph taken by my friend Daryl Edelstein!

this poem linked to Real Toads Photo Challenge.

A Slip Of The Tongue

I was slack-jawed, sleeping,
Dreaming of fences, birds, festival,
Discarded saints and elevated gypsies,

When my tongue slipped out of my mouth
And went straight to you.

It said things, glorious things, bold things,
And it did things, too;
Things that brought it home lolling, full of itself,
Trailing cats and canaries like confetti.

From that time on,
Though my tongue is back, my control over it is gone.
It whispers to me when I am
Slack-jawed, sleeping, dreaming of waterfalls, blooming arbors, suns burning in the faces of rivers...

The power of my tongue compels me,
And I go straight to you.

I say things angels envy;
I do things the damned haven't thought to try.
My tongue declares you devil's food,
And leaves us to our own devise.
_______

When I Think Of You, It Brings These Lines

by request

When I think of you, it brings the night
Because
Blackbirds gather under my skin,
Millions of them,
Each feather a craving, unstill and restless until
Your touch calls them and they
Black the sky
With their dark joy.

When I think of you, it brings the fire
Because
Small suns gather under my skin,
Millions of them,
Each the lit center of a swirling want, until
Your kiss frees them and they
Bright the sky
With their full desire.

When I think of you,
It is shadow and light--
It is everything--
It is all that one who loves you can (gladly) endure.
_____ 

For Scorpio

When love makes me desperate--
When I need you to be
As close to me
As each creature is to its heart beat,

I go down through the grasses and the trees
To a place that exists in the world
Simply because you do, my girl.

You know that I am a gypsy,
Though I stay like a book upon a shelf;
That's as may be,
But if I keep to myself it is only so that I
May write you these poems
My maddening darling, my sweet.

In this hidden place, I have but one thing to wear--
My summer robe which hangs faithfully there,
Made from strawberry silk and white;
I have a porch that I may pace
As I watch for you, your face,
And I am always constant, in the noon or in the night.

I have a silver bucket, to draw water,
And two French doors, always parted
To welcome and invite my beloved only guest;
Within is my bed, no table, no chair,
Where I wait for my favorite, the one I care
For fiercely and softly, desperately and best.
_______

Linked to Real Toads open link monday

Allegro

8 stairs
To my door--
You said, 8 minutes, baby,
Not one more.

8 long kisses,
Fix your lips, and then--
8 letters in "I love you",
Then you're gone again.

_______

for A Word With Laurie

Bakery Cat

On the curtain,
A dragonfly.

On the bedpost,
A streamered hat.

Long red stockings
And a short soft sigh,

The night full and sweet
As a bakery cat.

________

I wanted to add a video with it, but youtube changed things again and I can't figure out how. If you want to see it, it's HERE. And all of it is dedicated with a wink and a smile to STWIASD!

Desire

I want to love her like a rainy Sunday.

I want to breeze in the back door,

Trailing low bruisy clouds from my hair.



For her, I want to be heart-catchingly gorgeous.

I want to be the most filthy beautiful woman who ever made the fields falter and bow.



I'm not, of course.

I am older than late afternoon,

And as plain as garden mud.



Still, I blush darker to say,

I dream of her--

And my desire, far from fading,

Has only grown more insistent.

When I was young, I was blank blue sky;

Now I blow in where I will, brooking no argument, scattering the crows.



I want to leave her soaked inside like church gloves left on the roof of the car in the storm.

I want her as fragrant as rain grass.

I want to think, "I love my own smooth face when I am this close to her."



I want to love her like a rainy Sunday.

I want to keep her inside,

In bed,

All the sweet afternoon long.

_______

magpie 60

If You Love A Tiger

If you love a tiger,

Accept her temper as you do her pleasure--

Learn her body with your own, by night and day the same.



If you adore a tiger,

Though you long to kiss her claws, resist the urge--

Warm her through like afternoon, keep her wet with evening rain.



There is always some witless goatherd--

Feed his poisons to his ugly wife,

Switch his bullets out for bindis.



There are always other tigers out to find her--

Change the seasons to confuse them,

Paint the moon with oil of linseed.



If your dreams are full of tiger,

Be the mangroves for her shelter--

Memorize her yellow eyes, forget the way you came.

________

Kali

Kali comes to me
In shell necklace and rings--
She stands by the water
By the water, and sings
For sailors and the water
And the bones that it brings.

Come, Kali, come
To my cove near the beach--
My cove by the water
Where we'll sing each to each;
Sing to each other
And share the split peach...

Kali is gone
But the peach it was sweet--
And the bones from the water
Lay smooth at my feet;
Smooth at my feet
And sharp at my heart--
The sailors cry, Kali,
From far down the deep.

________

Did you read this morning's poem, The Lycanthrope? If you didn't, go read it. I'll know if you don't, and I'll put a big black mark by your name in my awful little book.

photo: Kate Beckinsale
____________

Fritter Shack

There's a half door
On the back
Of the shack where I make
Corn dogs
Fritters
And all such like as that,
But I'm thinking on
When you come on
And make her take three steps back
Then bend low down
And bow to the crowd
While your hand strokes the deep brown side of her neck...

You are a barrel racer
And I am a taster
Of all that comes back bubbling golden,
And they love us
Each in our own way
Until it is time for closing.
You know that
When you wear that
Pearl snap shirt half open
I can't half think
On nothing but the
Sweet
Skin
At the base of your throat,
And oh,
Oh,
Baby,
Come on in my fritter shack
Make me take
Three steps back;
You know, when you look at me like that
My heart already has
One knee to the ground;
And when you trace your fingers around my ear,
I'm desperate to feel your palm
Alongside my throat
I almost disappear
Like smoke
For sheer desire and want of you, my darling girl.

For a few moments,
We lean together,
Then we're gone like blazes,
Hell for leather
Barrel racers,
Confection makers,
Two as one
Gone hot in the half light of the
After-closing
Melting gorgeous
Setting summer sun.

_________

for magpie 36