Periscope of Reason

I swim in the luminous pools
of your passionate gaze.
In your eyes drowning would be a kindness,
a gentle welcoming home.
You have been my point of origin,
my journey, my rest-stop of refuge,
and my desired destination.
All I asks is four walls around me,
a roof over my head, and you.
You, the soft pillow to which my head is pulled
by magnetic attraction, gravitational force, love.
Some mysterious scientific law is at work
in my heart.
Mystical, magical, and mighty forces
that I dare not embrace, yet dare not reject,
push me, pull me, lift me, toss me!
I must raise my periscope of reason,
and re-evaluate.
Consider all options.
In-vest-i-gate alternatives.
Raise my consciousness.
Periscope of reason,
showing truth through mirror tricks,
I cling to this mistress
of illusion and truth.
Her very existence is diabolical.
I stand at the roadside,
eyes opened wide,
and I pray that I will know her again.

Stuck

Melancholy tunes pour like rain
from my stereo...
Tunes chosen with care
to enhance my wallowing.
Wallowing in pits of despair,
pools of self-pity,
and puddles of longing,
I find myself mired
in myriad patheticisms,
wondering if ever
I'll see the light of love again.

Upheaval

Something of desk work and pornography
sent me shuttling out of my
hum-drum ordinary life
into this great swirling mass
of joy, heartache, and respectful sex.
Who said tenderness has to be dull?
With you, it was like the silent majesty
of a butterfly's unfolding wings,
It was a cocoon that shields me
from the harsh onslaughts of an unforgiving world.
Until your protection was really needed,
and you were with HER, legs in the air!
I rise up above what you thought I could ever be!
I am more, More, MORE
than you deserve!
I am sure, Sure, SURE
you will get what you deserve!
You, harlot of hellfire, sing evil.
I have baptized myself
in waters of righteousness
while you writhe in a quagmire
of the wretched pain you unleashed upon me.
There is no rest on this road
you have set before me.
I will not sleep until I see the lights of Santa Fe,
calling to me in the night.

From the Shanty*

I was in the woods,
I was big gamin',
I saw the deer,
and took my aimin'.
I shot that deer done dead.
Those eco-veggie freaks
are always blamin',
but I ain't doin'
no shamin'
'cause deer these days
ain't well fed.

*found scribbled on the back of an envelope from my college days. Thanks to D who collaborated on this creation. No deer were harmed in the writing of this piece.

Morning Here

Today, I am a collection of sighs
and never-ending "why"s
and un-made decisions that pass through
my pathetic excuse for a life, like shadows.
The shadows dance a melancholy jig
upon the barren walls of my heart.
In this galloping agony of life,
there is no joy,
no bucking stallion
to ride into the sunset upon.
The sun descends upon my dreams,
stars emerge, crickets chirp,
and I ask myself,
Where is the dawn?
The light? The illumination?
Why can't it always be morning here?
The night triumphs again,
tearing the searing noon sun
from the dewey morning sky
and leaving only the pincushion of night
pierced by stars to rest my eyes upon
as the curtain of the day is drawn.

Solstice Disaster

Deep,
deep,
deep
within
where there is no love -
where there is no light -
she sits, alone - shivering
into a thin blanket
stretched tight on her tiny frame.
Days of jumprope and hopscotch
are long behind her.
The pick-up sticks, the bag of tricks,
the squeaky swings, the bees that sting,
all of these call out for healing -
and an audience.
Without witness, the truth remains
forever obscured
like a malfunctioning lighthouse
in a dense fog -
unseen and unable
to provide sacred, healing light.
She is seeking
calamine lotion, oreos,
and chicken noodle soup.
Healing tonics for her scarred soul.
In her tree house of refuge,
her ladder is missing.
Being the spritely fiction that she is,
she simply lets herself go,
allows herself to become one,
one with the tree spirits,
and disappears.

The Breath of the Ages

Into the dark tunnel I go,
further,
consciously deeper,
breathing the breath of the ages,
the hidden memories emerge,
the convergence of all past lives awaits in the light.
And this moment, every moment,
is rich with untold treasures
of the precious life energy
running through our veins.
With every transformational breath,
I become more and more
in harmony with the guides.
We commune as gasping sobs
escape my throat
like endless machine-gun fire
poured into my mat.
My bloodshot eyes gaze
upon the transformational carnage.
Carcasses of those who
I have outgrown,
left behind,
litter the streets of my heart
which are paved with rainbow patterns
of love and light.
Again and again, I untie
the energetic knots
while my unending quest for conscious relationship
leaves me in spasms of abandonment,
my 5 year old seduces disaster.
The toxicity pours all over
my friends and roommates,
and my all-important growth emerges triumphant!

Glossolalia

Foreign phrases fall from my lips
as if a stranger from a strange land
had taken up residence in my vocal chords.
I long to shout,
"DON'T SPEAK FOR ME,
BEING FROM LANDS UNKNOWN."
Set your tracking beam of love
and dazzling light
upon my meager form.
Carry me to undiscovered destinations
that have not yet known the hand of a cartographer.
O, Sweet Renderer of Territories
and Bodies of Water, chart the route
for my fragile, angst-encased
soul to travel.
Show me the way!
Chart my path with a compass of truth.
Words elude me,
hiding like dust-bunnies under unmoved furniture.
My delapidated futon is seldom still,
yet no configurement allows
my bones to comfortably rest.

Chapter One, Completed

And so, I reach the finish line,
the inevitable conclusion on this New Moon night.
The sublimation, confirmation, declaration,
and revealed truths set the stage
for the falling curtain.
Applause, I bid you, arise!
I stand and cheer,
pondering the derivative of "ovation."
Images of stunningly talented ovaries
flash on the screen of my mind.
What is the identity of the shadow
in the projection booth?
Is it truth, fear,
or simply a pawn
of the the higher power
of the muse?
Muse, sweet and beguiling muse,
won't you dance a sweet rumba with me?
I will spin you in wild circles of ecstasy.
My promise is sound and true
for I am not Jolly John,*
pouring lies into your ear,
taunting and teasing you
with promises of bargains.
Let the second chapter commence.


*Jolly John is a used car dealer.

Invoking the Goddess

Goddess of love and pleasure,
I love the way you caress my soul.
You make me feel like a natural woman.
Every touch brings fireworks
to the sky of my heart.
With every explosion,
my innards crumble
from the force of your love.
Let me hear you.
Let me feel you.
Let me know you.
Let me drink your sweet nectar,
and I will feed myself to you.
Feast on my sweet flesh,
O! Goddess of love and desire,
Come, come for me -
Come for me -
Come.

Red Wings of Love

The bloody ink of my love
spills across the page - this page -
soaking into the absorbent paper - this paper -
like a menstrual print.
Here - I offer you my heart...
Take my bloody love - and be kind
for I am through with slack-jawed,
gun-toting rednecks
whose ignorant intolerance
of my armpit hair
has turned me to The One
who will love me completely
throughout my cycle.
O! For the love of a woman
willing to earn the coveted
Red Wings of Love!
That is surely the ultimate bliss!
In a tempest of passion and uncertainty,
you are like the ice-cold ice cream dripping
down the side of warm apple pie.
You are the union of opposites,
and the mystery.

Banishment

What cloud of desperation obscured
my now crystal-clear vision?
How did I transform you into
a being worthy of my treasures?
Now, I know. Now, I see
how you would have squandered my love.
My love would be useless to you,
like annoying fifty-cent pieces
cast into a dank and putrid fountain.
The venomous sting of your Scorpion soul
did not pierce the armor of my heart.
The stench from beneath your rock
is foul,
inviting you back home
as I flee to solitary safety.
I grapple to discover reason in my cave of refuge,
it eludes me, twisting, turning,
changing shape, changing form until I see...
you are nothing to me.
I cast you to the fury of the sea,
the wrath of flame,
the terror of tempestuous winds,
the rot of the earth.
Be gone!

Helmet of Hair

Barbed wire staked around my heart
and staked around my home,
razor-sharp talons that will grip and destroy you
should you foolishly dare to cross my threshold.
Harsh and bitter vengeance
will rain down upon your helmet of hair -
Never again shall you enter my domain.
There will be
No Boomerang Love Here!
Take your love and fly
so that I may no longer cry.
Lay your love in a deep, dark grave,
crawl in with it, and die.
I cross you out.
I black out your name
with thick permanent marker strokes.
You are erased.
You have been whited out of my world.
I have partaken of a soothing ointment
to shrink you down to nothingness!

The Great Yes

I am empty, barren, and colorless -
a canvas sitting in the dusty dark corner
of the home within my heart.
I wait for the touch of your brush.
My faith is deep and true
for I know you will paint me
in broad brushstrokes of love,
tinted with passion.
I will glide in a sweeping arc
across the canvas of this shared creation.
In this Eden, we co-exist,
side-by-side,
genitally monogamous.
Do we dare to partake of the forbidden fruit?
There are times to blindly obey
and times to toss caution
to the angry winds of fate,
and say yes, Yes, YES!
we will eat, we will love,
and all will be immersed in the great yes.
"Yes!" to life. "Yes!" to love.
"Yes!" to the vision, not yet conceived or seen.
Give birth to your unknown truth,
labor hard and deliver into welcoming arms.
YES!

Hitching a Ride

Like the smothered cries
of a soft, feathered dove
squashed with razor-sharp insensitivity,
I yearn for peace estranged.
In the bleak and terror-infested
womb-like caves of Afghanistan
huddles my long-abandoned hope
of a world no longer dependent
upon liquid gold, black as fresh asphalt.
The hopeful song
of an ice-cream truck in the distance -
a child's siren song, beckoning, luring,
the truck does not reach me.
I stand at the roadway, desolate and rejected,
a hitchhiker on the road to love
with no thumbs.
Cars pass, trucks pass, kids on bikes
leave me stranded and dusty.
Can I hitch a ride with you, bewitching Aphrodite?
Will you wash the dust from my worn-out boots?

Rainbow of Desire

Over and over, I rise up, Up, UP!
like a phoenix from my own ashes
to live again, drenched in misery,
until I am once more consumed by FIRE.
Fire, fluid as molten lava
giving birth to islands of you
smouldering, steamy in my turbulent seas.
There are no depths
two fingers can't reach,
no heights beyond my climactic
rainbow of desire.
And you, you are both
the pot of gold and the leprechaun.
I have waited all my life for you.
Just as a helpless, newborn infant
waits for its mother's breast.
You offer yourself freely,
like a concert in the park,
and I partake of you, I drink you in.
Your sweetness dances on my tongue,
soothing the burn from my too-hot coffee.
Alas, I should have used the half-and-half!

Props

Thanks to KS who inspired the earliest "bad poetry with nice pens." KS of the lovely bouncing hair when she laughs co-wrote many of these with me. KS, if you happen upon this blog, I miss you.

Bankrupt Soul

Searching the blank and shallow eyes of strangers,
I find my heart
staring
BACK,
pained and in desperate agony,
aching for the void to be filled.
Yearning, longing -
an endless cry into the infinity
of a cosmos yet undiscovered...
The realms contained within
remain ever unknowable.
I AM ALONE.
Utterly alone,
sitting silently with my bankrupt soul.
I search endlessly
for the nebulous source...
that which has taken a gripping possession
of the priceless jewel
I abandoned with reckless neglect.
My dreams died painlessly in the black of night.