My poem “this poem is not about you” was published today in the “words to linger on” section of voxpoetica.
I’m extremely excited about this! If you would like to see – please click here!!
a few words spewing from my soul…
28 Feb 2013 17 Comments
in poetry
My poem “this poem is not about you” was published today in the “words to linger on” section of voxpoetica.
I’m extremely excited about this! If you would like to see – please click here!!
28 Feb 2013 6 Comments
in poetry
I see 13 tiles
stretching across my ceiling
left to right;
last year in the dead of winter
3 besmirched squares
were covered over by a layer
of clean, white paint.
They still shine happily
in the near darkness
like your night-dimmed face
grinning above me – in return
I faintly smile, eyes drifting
looking over your shoulder
to the painted tiles above,
feeling kinship with the ceiling.
27 Feb 2013 5 Comments
with eyes tightly closed
seeing with my fingertips
your goosebumps my braille
27 Feb 2013 4 Comments
the moonlight kisses
the angles of your face good-night
before slipping behind
the close-drawn cloud curtains
leaving your lips untouched
my mouth presses smooth
the lines softly etched
at the corners of your eyes
as time passes
they still taste of only you
27 Feb 2013 8 Comments
in poetry
the crows filled my yard last night
just before the sun was sinking
below the horizon’s furthest edge
the unintelligible cacophony
of a thousand beaks cawing-
none appearing to listen to the other
until one lifted off
wheeling over the space and away
the rest following freely
destination unknown, but somehow
knowing that where they were
was not where they were meant to be.
Provoking the thoughts… the Bard
And more about crows:
http://raysharp.wordpress.com/2013/02/28/everyday-crows/
25 Feb 2013 15 Comments
in gogyohka, poetry, thoughts Tags: Louie Armstrong, morning, sex, sleep
limbs bare in the morning light
sketched charcoal
as they stretch against
the blush of the waking horizon
Louie croons softly
“It’s a wonderful world”
your lips whisper
against the nape of my neck
your hand gently cups my breast
as vestiges of warm dreams slip away
22 Feb 2013 15 Comments
in poetry
zero anaphora,
what comes before,
a gap to refer back
to what once was
you loved me –
tender, deep
with legs entwined
and foreheads touching,
your hardness pressing
into my softness,
yin and yang
I loved you –
hearing the slap, slap, slap
of flesh upon flesh,
bed rocking, loud cries
hushed laughs
soft kisses
alpha and omega
the end comes not
in blazing fury
but in subtle shifts,
incremental distances
slowly stretching out
until the space
is unbridgeable
unless
we can become
zero anaphora,
forcing the gap
to refer back
to an “us” once more.
Another form of anaphora, similar to a pro-drop is the zero anaphora. For example:[11]
The gap in the phrase “a straight and narrow [gap]” is the anaphor for the antecedent “two roads to eternity”; the two phrases are said to have a zero-anaphoric relationship. Similarly, the phrase “a broad and crooked [gap]” contains another gap anaphor.[11]
21 Feb 2013 21 Comments
meeting of our eyes
across a crowded space
tunnel vision
like a train bearing down
frozen, I see nothing else
your lips on my neck
eyes meeting in the mirror
our smiles radiant,
as we bask in the moment
and your hand slips to the curve of my waist
myself an inferno, wishing
your lips, mouth, hands to stoke the fire –
solar flares stretch thousands of miles
into cold, empty space –
no less, my body reaches out to you
20 Feb 2013 14 Comments
in poetry
They say hindsight is 20/20.
Like looking at something in the past
magically makes
all your mistakes cleaner,
like scrubbing away the emotional messes
with a stiff brush and some Clorox.
Looking behind perhaps
you see paths
that might have been chosen –
or realize that the exit is now
completely hidden
by brush and billboards advertising
insurance on life, or lasiks,
leaves you stranded, gasless
in a desert surrounded by cacti,
collecting bones bleached by the sun-
remnants of unwise tangents drawn,
consequences spontaneously
breathing a life of their own,
until you see only to the horizon’s edge,
highway’s lines converging
to one single point.
Maybe they are right –
life is just a series of parallel universes
and nary a pillar of salt,
each choice peeling off another reality
until you are paper thin,
no substance,
never embracing your destiny;
never owning your past.