Only Mermaids

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Hello, my petits choux!

I hope everyone has a lovely Thanksgiving and Christmas holiday.

Oh yes, and I would like to extend a very merry welcome to fatcagney !!!!!! Thanks for joining the community and post whatever you'd like.

Well I'm working on something right now, but I figured I'd share a few of my late night doodles. ( Collapse )

I really hope I did the cut's and stuff right *crosses fingers*

Hello my fellow jetsetters,

I know the semester has just started (for all you college folk) and things are hectic (and tragical for all those displaced because of Katrina). I just wanted to drop a hello and encourage everyone to share writing/rants/concerns/personal anecdotes/knock-knock jokes. This is a strange little community that doesn't demand much, but exists as a demonstration of solidarity.

xo,

michele

Oh yes, and

Welcome xxtigerlillyxx !!!

Feel free to post what you'd like :)

If Her Name is Anne or Margaret or Jane

then she will keep to herself
and long for the seashore on full June nights
as the sheets tangle loosely around
the delicacy of ankles and pink, flushed toes--
that last slip of moon is revibrating a neon glow,
lingering shy behind voluptious clouds
and the jaggedy gold hips of stars.

To you, Anne or Margaret or Jane,
I say this, like a cold hand placed over
fevered heads: you are only the sunlight
that leaks rays into a tightly locked room--
these uncommonly pretty things--and not the dust
that remans, and I will remember how to lace
up skates perfectly before we let the weight
of our legs slice over the ice, flaking it up
like snow--the trees rocking on either bank--
if you fall, I will do more than band-aids
and vaseline, or frigid terry cloths pressed to skin.

I know you will grow up in a forest
and often forget a sock on one foot--this is okay.
I will wrap my scarf around these naked parts
to keep the warmth from traveling home into
the breaths of night air that balloon around
our faces--you may want small canaries in oversized
metallic cages before the autumn and this is okay--
I will lead you behind the house, place the heavy
binoculors in your small, pale hands and point
to molten brown thrushes stalking insects in the trees.

And sometimes I will not know their names
but as my daughter you will keep your gaze ahead
and you will not tilt your face up to ask why.

You always lose yourself he bites into her neck. Give me that kiss, he says, digging into the side of her mouth, looking for the kiss that could not be gotten, her remembering Peter Pan and how Mrs. Darling was the first to own a beyond Neverland corner kiss, linger, linger.

What are your inhibitions? he screams into her neck How do you dance the dance?

She presses his ears. Contain yourself.

You’re the impossible one he rocks into her.

What is this song in you? she asks him.

Scoop me up cherry red he breathes into her collarbones.

 

He catches the hem of her blackened white dress, poor pretty satin clutching ink and charcoal smudges like storybook fingerprints. Look what you’ve done, he says. This dress was a wedding.

I’ll marry only words. She stares frantically at the sky. I won’t let you steal me away.

You premature poem he laughs darkly into the cave between her breasts. Your poet is a fool.

You would know, she pouts, childishly. Sometimes I think I hate you. She digs her fingertips in his thighs.

He comes at her, a kiss crashed into Neverland, the oasis of his brown heated mouth fizzling away and evaporating, the stark vapor filling her nose with the scent of inevitable.

The genius of poetry is diminished by the amateur he howls blue gray into the back of her neck.

Everyone starts somewhere she smudges a dripping war cry into his hand outstretched.

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I would like to welcome loli_limelight  and dreams_illusion  into the fold. Thanks for joining!!! Please feel free to post what you'd like.

michele

My friend Annie emailed me this poem and I thought it was really lovely:

(from the poetry daily archives..)


All in the Mind


On the day to buy the pumpkins
and the mums, children wearing masks
pressed their faces against the glass
of an orange bus.

You could imagine
how you would pick her up, point
to where the birds were circling, ready to show her
how chaos becomes a silver arrow, then leaves.

You've dreamt it, the kid off in Europe,
barefoot in the fountains,
a Roman boy buying her coffee,
touching her later in her room.

This is when you wish
you could call God back to say it was by design
that you never had this child, that you could
keep her here and hold her in the mind.


Richard Wollman
Crazyhorse
Number 65
Spring 2004

LOVE SONG FOR ISHMAEL


He wrote to me, sun-parched, a storm-poem;
I have grown weary, wait to lay anchor.
His seaward song brought me rains to fathom.

On the dryest of days I was tossed numb
Though now the world about schemes much blacker.
He wrote to me, sun-parched, a storm-poem.

Braved strange waters, across continents come,
Piping raindrops over desert’s ochre,
His seaward song brought me rains to fathom.

His bass quenched summer’s dearth, its spent chasm;
Marvelled Summer into Fall, each acre.
He wrote to me, sun-parched, a storm-poem.

His hands so full of wind and momentum
Gave gale, swept up salt like sour liquor;
His seaward song brought me rains to fathom.

Eloped home now I am enchanted dumb;
Yearn to nothing but again hoist anchor.
He wrote to me, sun-parched, a storm-poem;
His seaward song brought me rains to fathom.