poetry i like

Hey you, dragging the halo-

How about a little holiday in the islands of grief?

Tongue is the word I wish to have with you.

Your eyes are so blue they leak.

Your legs are longer than a prisoner's last night on death row.

You're a dirty little windshield

I'm standing behind you on the subway

Hard as calculus.

My breath sticks to your neck like graffiti.

I'm sitting opposite you in the bar waiting for you to uncross your boundaries.

I want to rip off your logic and make passionate sense to you.

I want to ride in the swing of your hips

My fingers will dig into you like question marks blazing your limbs into parts of speech

But with me for a lover, you won't need catastrophes.

What attracted me in the first place will ultimately make me resent you.

I'll start telling you lies, and my lies will sparkle become the bas stars you chart your life by.

I'll stare at other women so blatantly you'll hear my eyes peeling

Because sex with you is like Great Britain:

Cold, groggy, and a little uptight.

Your bed is a big calculator

Where my problems multiply

You're not my new girlfriend, just another flop sequel of the first one,

Who was based on the true story of my mother.

You're so ugly I forgot how to spell!

I'll cheat on you like a ninth grade math test.

Break your heart just for the sound it makes.

You're the this we need to put an end to.

The more you apologize, the less I forgive you.

So how about it?

-jeffery mcdaniel
---------------------------------

When they taught me that what mattered most
was not the strict iambic line goose-stepping
over the page but the variations
in that line and the tension produced
on the ear by the surprise of difference,
I understood yet didn't understand
exactly, until just now, years later
in spring, with the trees already lacy
and camellias blowsy with middle age,
I looked out and saw what a cold front had done
to the garden, sweeping in like common language,
unexpected in the sensuous
extravagance of a Maryland spring.
There was a dark edge around each flower
as if it had been outlined in ink
instead of frost, and the tension I felt
between the expected and actual
was like that time I came to you, ready
to say goodbye for good, for you had been
a cold front yourself lately, and as I walked in
you laughed and lifted me up in your arms
as if I too were lacy with spring
instead of middle aged like the camellias,
and I thought: so this is Poetry!

-prosody 101, linda pastan

love

moonlight is sweet fairy dust on her tongue and eyelids
and between the soft sheets of innocent cotton,
she cradles herself.
an oxymoron altogether.
sports bra, emphasizing the power in her arms and the ripples in her shoulders
pulled tight across her top two abs
that clench deliciously in the dark.
pink checkered pants
slung low on her hips
and caught against her bone with a red string.
tiny hands skim her smooth skin
skating, sliding, cradling the curve of her belly.
hard muscle, softened
woman is curve, man is line
and as her fingers curl around her hips
thighs
ribs
stroke the tender ravine of her spine
then once again return the embrace of her hands flat
sliding toward each other
across her tummy
embracing

part one

random musings:

rain beads against my throat
a necklace of silver
heavy
slick fingers combs rain-daisy chains through my hair
an ornate crown
nestled atop my proud pose
thick rings slip down my fingers
too big for my modest hands
they join the growing
(i’ve been known to make molehills out of mountains)
glittering diamonds at my feet
(hard edged yet ephemeral pain)
staccato accents with the pearls where the moonlight
nestles comfortably into drops
and they tumble down the tops of my feet.
i am rich with
potential

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powerful
delivering you from your everyday evil
the influence can be seen anywhere
two words, one sound, two meanings, the same
except for how different they are.
heroin. heroine.