43: skull warping crush

My sad heart crawls toward ecstasy,
parched unknown flesh trapped in torso,
thighs, pale arms unkissed
by warming rays of light.

Long tapered fingers grasping air
in hope of contact. Dusk-caked
feet, broken nails, tired soles
one in front of the other,
calling for direction, in trackless
pine forests on limestone plateaus
washed with dry lightening thunder.

Lips cracked salt-stained from tears,
the only water to be felt, coursing down
sunken cheeks lost to spring rain smiles.

Mind and thought memories locked within
the skull-warping past into present futures
where no one thought can escape
from the maelstrom clamor of the collective
grief shielding the soul from the terror
turmoil of the crushing moment
when all was lost.

Gak, but it hurts

My eyes are burning and I have a headache,
and my back is acting brilliantly.
and the days, they are going, on and on,
slowly, ever so slowly thawing, in the heat.
Yes, I have a cold, or a fever, la grip.
Sure it is hawt as I like it, but I shiver.
Spring is here, where I am, the sun is summery,
and the evenings are no longer a time to hide,
but my body creaks and groans like a grandmother,
and my mind is numb and tired.

24:26 The Facts

A Universal Story…
How to waste your life.
She likes to fool around.
I like to keep him humble
I don’t want him to change,
or charge more. That guilty smile.
She was too pretty.
You’ve got to have the right cast.
Birds. bees. You are familiar
with them, aren’t you?

23:26 Henry James

I really love the material.
Just before you became a star,
very impressive. Older, wiser.
Clear sighted, just for one moment.
Any idea what they’re talking about?
People who are out of season.
No acting required. Absorb it;
you know me very well–the depth,
the essence of our personalities.
The gift of the eye and the ear.
Watch and listen, and I will bring
me to you. Everything. With devotion.

22:26 But I fell…

Looking at you exhausts me,
everything cast properly,
the right person for the right part.
Curtsey and bended knee.
An error in judgement
mars your lips, your cheek.
The actual location of contact
gives the real feeling, ideal.
Smiles and bright colors
casting a glow, a blush,
without showing weakness.
When you’re in the room,
it feels even more empty.
I turn to look, and you’re gone.

21:23 ex officiō

By virtue of that office,
in the institute of love
I am symbolic, not actual or real.

The ex-lover is pariah at least,
an unfortunate social gaff in passing,
an unthinkable dilemma at parties.

You shouldn’t talk with me;
be seen with me, or remember me.
No, that would not be right.

I walk, in the recollection of your light,
your love with an infinite caresse
and a sublimated passion that never wains.

Would that you were but a memory
rather than a burning ember in my heart.
Would that you were a memory.

I see the future in the salon de provence,
Though there should be no recollection
of our passion or its passing.

20:21 “Love’s where you grind it?”

Love’s where you grind it,
where you in the darkness find it.
Love’s not the cure, just the antidote.

Love is black and hot,
not what mother taught.
Love burns the tongue and sears the soul.

Love keeps you up all night
jittery dark deep delight.
Love is not love if it decaffinates, when caffination calls.

Love is a strange disease
the addict needs for mental ease.
Love is an ever fix’ed cup that needs must be consumed.

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s café?
Thou art more bitter and more sweet.

19:19 Cheap Shot.

Although I’m nearly caught up,
my poetry is rank. It speaks of easy endings
bawdy images and skank. The best I can,
on notice short, is to throw the thoughts aside,
and settle for mere verse and rhyme, and
metre of that sort.

I need this for my heart and soul, as the lover
needs her beau, to prove to her she has the stuff
that others can’t bestow. For this is all the ego’s crush
to keep up with the rest, and so she writes this fucking shit
she know’s is not the best.

And now I’m done and in the clear, caught up
with each and all. My head is high, my fingers inky
but hidden in my shawl. Until in counting retrospect
I check each word and verse, and realize I forgotten
one, and the poet’s gears reverse.

[I forgot to write the 8th poem :(]

18:19 Word Wicked

I want. I will. I wish. I wont.
I’ll walk. I’ll wend my way.
And all my wicked wishes
will be worshipped willfully.

When wannabies and wankers
wallow in my weeds, this woman
will, all wild and worldly, welcome
with wordy witchery.

16:19 Changing Diapers

The days of love are endless after all.
After meeting, love and marriage,
children, grandchildren and beyond
even the golden jubilee.

But the mind fails in the end
as the body weakens in time,
leaving two frail bodies,
woven through many decades,
grown too much in twain
to separate except in death.

Who best to care for the elderly
child than the one whose every thought
is a memory of an eternity of love
for the woman, now a child once again.