Deep Stirrings Poetry Community

	Push push push down deep within. Swim within the emotion and color. Blend, melt, mix, Fold within the other. Bend your back and fit within the pages of poetry. Taste the love. Flow with me Make with me. Fly underneath the dreams of others, to places that they can only be peeked and awed at. Take my hand, don't let go.

: Speak to me. Take my hand. What are you now?
I will tell you all. I will conceal nothing.
When I was three, a little child read a story about a rabbit
who died, in the story, and I crawled under a chair :
a pink rabbit : it was my birthday, and a candle
burnt a sore spot on my finger, and I was told to be happy.

: Oh, grow to know me. I am not happy. I will be open:
Now I am thinking of white sails against a sky like music,
like glad horns blowing, and birds tilting, and an arm about me.
There was one I loved, who wanted to live, sailing.

: Speak to me. Take my hand. What are you now?
When I was nine, I was fruitily sentimental,
fluid : and my widowed aunt played Chopin,
and I bent my head to the painted woodwork, and wept.
I want now to be close to you. I would
link the minutes of my days close, somehow, to your days.

: I am not happy. I will be open.
I have liked lamps in evening corners, and quiet poems.
There has been fear in my life. Sometimes I speculate
on what a tragedy his life was, really.

: Take my hand. Fist my mind in your hand. What are you now?
When I was fourteen, I had dreams of suicide,
I stood at a steep window, at sunset, hoping toward death :
if the light had not melted clouds and plains to beauty,
if light had not transformed that day, I would have leapt.
I am unhappy. I am lonely. Speak to me.

: I will be open. I think he never loved me:
he loved the bright beaches, the little lips of foam
that ride small waves, he loved the veer of gulls:
he said with a gay mouth : I love you. Grow to know me.

: What are you now? If we could touch one another,
if these our separate entities could come to grips,
clenched like a Chinese puzzle . . . yesterday
I stood in a crowded street that was live with people,
and no one spoke a word, and the morning shone.
Everyone silent, moving . . . Take my hand. Speak to me.

Rain burns to be let loose, but the wind has damaged
the tracks in the sand, eroded by years of water
blown back, to chill the rivers into ice.

Chunks crushed into each other by flows of time
breaking shards, slowly, falling, throbbing in pain
as salt pours into water.

Homes travel, hearts becoming buoyant
to the tides of ice, yet overwhelmed
with monsoon winds, billowing with power
they sink beneath, gasping for the rain.

you and i slipped hand in hand through the garden of hate
left fingers intwined, four and four makes eight
you taught me there the road to salvation
a lesson gleaned from lewd acts of sexual deviation
forget everything in life that you've been through!
with hate, and violence, bitter is the pill that swallows you.

Heartbroken and torn
Stabbed with pain
Emotionally tangled
Confusion beyond comprehension
Intricate maze of illusory debasement
A place of utter mayhem and perplexion
Something so beyond the roller of spiritual deprivation
Too many voices contained in the mind speaking words of chaos and amusement
A shamble to know the hallow identities that lurk the dreay streets late at night performing acts of hatred and desparation
Its so hard to think of the reasons why all these situations exist but emotions of sympathy and forgiveness come to the soul
And resonate to the mind to develop solutions to provide relief in hopes to find solutions

1:20am 5/5/06

Hips swaying, keeping rhythm
with the earth, the vibe of life
surrounding
thunder and lightning, in eyes so
cloudy, now so clear for
a second, a moment of care,
intentse longing is a drive to see,
to feel, to know...
Moving, embracing, communion
with earth, built up over years
finally exploding with a whisper
to find the rhythm.
Tuning to a song so primal, earthy, lovely,
true to the moment,
whole, complete, relaxed, at
peace.

Sleep is a curse unknown,
to these bones
I dare seek
an answer
to wake the dust,
the night,
the shimmer.

Trembling, cold, fingers
embrace the heart
of wisps of dreaming,
intangible as
waves.

Bed Posts

Love
So many layers
Behind closed doors
Behind the closed eyelids
Of truth
New scars where old wounds grew
Your fingers grow up my skin

You say you love
But maybe it’s just your fingers and your words that feel that way
Tip, tip, tip, finger tips
Crawl up the spine
Words fall from your month
Find the holes
And say
Truth is what it is all about baby

Way down
The waters stir
Way down the emotion bleeds
Bleed and melt and blend and mix
Till I don’t know where my eye or heart starts

I promise on this morning that my hands will always and only be yours
Mistakes fall away like layers, like leaves, like rain, like sweat
Puddles of yesterday beneath my feet
Tomorrow is pinned to my bed post

1/8/06 12:26pm

Will the hot water cleanse the depths, or will the curse of feeling
every nuance,
every cadence,
every jolt of memory
remain.

Words not recalled in the moment haunt for a small eternity,
miniscule and feeble, the infraction so minor,
the memory so out of proportion as to induce emotional
insanity.