shadowed

the blue moon throws

grasses into stark relief

bats swoop through the light

 

light through the window

drapes his face in shadow

the bus comes soon

 

 

 

the artist

she paints broad red strokes

slashing across the canvas

expressing lost love

.

endless arabesques

muscles knotted, stretch, plie

painful loveliness

.

clay covered fingers

pressing, building walls higher

beauty from nothing

A peach

Bite into the flesh
of my peach –
Tearing apart
inconsistencies,
preconceived notions,
thoughts of how
Love should be.

Ravenous,
devouring –
fueled with longstanding
hunger
and years
of tender neglect.

Drink from me –
quench your thirst
for life,
for love
until your wanderlust
for both is finally
satiated.

And I’ll cup gently
your full, rounded belly,
smile softly
as we curl together
in dreamless sleep.

Sparkles

Brilliant cut sapphire
Lake sparkles this afternoon
Even no geese swim
Surrounded by goldenrod
the turtle lies in the sun

The sun on her hair
Casts a shimmering halo
Her eyes closed in sleep

The spider races
Across silken tightropes
To reach its prey

Above airplanes drone
Eyes closed I bask in sunlight
The crickets still cheep

Lips on my forehead
I nestle into your warmth
Your hand smoothes my hair

A complete story haiku

Tap-tap towards me
Knock-knock on the door. Waiting. Turn.
taps. Walking away.

Happy birthday, Charles Bukowski…

Denise R. Weuve

Charles Bukowski‘s birthday is today.

This will be stream of conscious as he would have it no other way. So I live in Long Beach, CA very close to San Pedro where Bukowski rode out the remainder of his life. As a poet in the area, it is nearly impossible to speak to a mature writer who cannot tell you stories about their time schmoozing with the master. It often makes me wonder when he had time to actually write. And I’m jealous. How could I not be, he wrote Are You Drinking, and if I list them here, I shall not finish.

As of late, the past two days, you have been rummaging through my mind. And no, it has not been because of James Franco’s “Ham on Rye”, but it’s Franco. . .what? what? No the reason is Tuesday, this poet at the Tuesday reading, Eric…

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south

geese silhouetted
a dark V against blue sky
leaves turning scarlet

inspired by http://parumnuntius.wordpress.com/2012/08/14/1111/

Still

The sky presses down
Holding each leaf Motionless
Before the storm breaks

Haiku

Spiderweb baskets
Nestled among goldenrod
Filled with morning dew

obscured

the mist lies heavy
in the valleys at sun rise
yet the sky is clear

i search for my way
although the compass points true
seeking other paths

faintly lit north star
even hidden by the sun
remains constant