i.
i’m watching the back yard
dance in the winds, trees
moving their hips in a circular
motion to match the salsa
rhythms
of the wind.
it’s
seven or eight.
the light is
filtered
through dirty
dishwater clouds
and
lightning
flashes as the day darkens upon
the city.
and i with my open
window, blinds shoved upward,
am awake alone, my roommates long since sleeping,
as i watch the trees
shake
their hair and tango in
the gusts of the wind
to the music that
cannot be heard, only watched quietly
in awe
of power, and beauty.
ii.
the sky is misty, all
the water in the air
thrown by the winds
back and forth
splattering buckets against
my window
in a cycle of nature’s finest
powers of destruction
and i am watching the pines
bend down,
like supplicants
down
no vegetation untouched
by the dancing winds,
the four foot
weeds in our back yard
crushed
as
they start, and slow
bend
and blow
in the buffets
from
all sides, a
beautiful
synchronized
chaos as the trees find the
rhythm and ride,
body swaying, hips
beating a life well-
lived.
*senior thesis poem.
about, obviously enough, experiencing hurricane katrina as it bore through mobile
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Friday, August 26, 2005
go obfuscate yourself *
we play with the meaning
of nudity,
only cover the
important
parts.
suspended
in a haze
of smoke, and liquor, and girls,
you can lose hours,
whiled away with searing
glances, the play
between the sexes,
false seductions, alcoholic
flirtations that
sway
and bend
when asked for veracity.
an atmosphere of lies,
few things as they seem,
and i flirt with these men,
i do
i lie with my body and say
things i’d never mean; buy
me a drink, buy time with me,
buy my hot body gyrated
over your lap so you can
run to
the
restroom
when your time is up
in grim imitation
of longing, of desire, of being
close to someone,
being held.
* B.A. senior thesis poem. i'm sure it's not everyday the students turn in poems about stripping in their thesis. i'm pretty sure i hold the title on that one.
of nudity,
only cover the
important
parts.
suspended
in a haze
of smoke, and liquor, and girls,
you can lose hours,
whiled away with searing
glances, the play
between the sexes,
false seductions, alcoholic
flirtations that
sway
and bend
when asked for veracity.
an atmosphere of lies,
few things as they seem,
and i flirt with these men,
i do
i lie with my body and say
things i’d never mean; buy
me a drink, buy time with me,
buy my hot body gyrated
over your lap so you can
run to
the
restroom
when your time is up
in grim imitation
of longing, of desire, of being
close to someone,
being held.
* B.A. senior thesis poem. i'm sure it's not everyday the students turn in poems about stripping in their thesis. i'm pretty sure i hold the title on that one.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
confession
and yes, i worshipped you
i bent to kiss your scarred ankles
and held your broken body
in an attempt to make you feel
anything other than pain.
i lived for you, your breath
alone was my religion. (if i keep
you alive, then i will not die)
but my adoration you turned to
heresy.
i cannot forget
the utter despair of realizing
that the love of my life had looked me
square in my eyes
and turned her back on me.
i bent to kiss your scarred ankles
and held your broken body
in an attempt to make you feel
anything other than pain.
i lived for you, your breath
alone was my religion. (if i keep
you alive, then i will not die)
but my adoration you turned to
heresy.
i cannot forget
the utter despair of realizing
that the love of my life had looked me
square in my eyes
and turned her back on me.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
barfly
lately, i have joined the single few
who go to bars
in an attempt to make the
ache fade.
time stretches and slows
opposite my longings, races past my groping
hands, rocketing into the no man's
land that means i must start over
again.
i am tired of new beginnings
that excite, and then let down.
time
marching forward
does not slow for
my broken psyche, my muttered pleas,
the unwillingness to be thrown back
into the race.
i am still wearing my
hobbles, desperate to hold onto
the familiar, yet dying to be free.
who go to bars
in an attempt to make the
ache fade.
time stretches and slows
opposite my longings, races past my groping
hands, rocketing into the no man's
land that means i must start over
again.
i am tired of new beginnings
that excite, and then let down.
time
marching forward
does not slow for
my broken psyche, my muttered pleas,
the unwillingness to be thrown back
into the race.
i am still wearing my
hobbles, desperate to hold onto
the familiar, yet dying to be free.
Friday, August 12, 2005
please pardon
i don't know where the hours go
i sit, unmoving and time flies around me,
for i am but small impedimentia in the way.
i blink and the sun is coming around my
curtains and i am wondering where
the hours go
forcing my insomniac eyes
to close before it is too bright to sleep.
and i know that it is on purpose that i
avoid the oblivion of sleep, but
my reasons are obscure
i'm wishing that the few minutes
i had with
her hands stroking my flesh tonight
could have lasted into the early
hours. i am more lonely than i
have the right to be.
i sit, unmoving and time flies around me,
for i am but small impedimentia in the way.
i blink and the sun is coming around my
curtains and i am wondering where
the hours go
forcing my insomniac eyes
to close before it is too bright to sleep.
and i know that it is on purpose that i
avoid the oblivion of sleep, but
my reasons are obscure
i'm wishing that the few minutes
i had with
her hands stroking my flesh tonight
could have lasted into the early
hours. i am more lonely than i
have the right to be.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
gasping and shivering
you used to say wings were for you
and i don't know how much
you've forgotten, but i've had to remind
myself every so often of the
nearly three years of space
between us,
i have clung
tightly to the memories
of what we were and
remembered your words,
our whispered promises
in the dark, your
talk of wings swelling
my heart.
i don't
know if you still
desire that pattern of ink
on your skin, but
baby if you're still
yearning to fly then please
oh please
just let me know
and i don't know how much
you've forgotten, but i've had to remind
myself every so often of the
nearly three years of space
between us,
i have clung
tightly to the memories
of what we were and
remembered your words,
our whispered promises
in the dark, your
talk of wings swelling
my heart.
i don't
know if you still
desire that pattern of ink
on your skin, but
baby if you're still
yearning to fly then please
oh please
just let me know
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
hindsight
you spend your whole life attempting
to be like all the others
and you wonder why your heart
won't cave and
why the boys
they mean nothing.
you chide yourself for your cruelty
and expect next time to be different
yet it never changes,
and then
you meet her
and she inflames you
like nothing else
and you spend years chasing her memory
and crying because she is gone.
you do not realize the importance of this lesson.
to be like all the others
and you wonder why your heart
won't cave and
why the boys
they mean nothing.
you chide yourself for your cruelty
and expect next time to be different
yet it never changes,
and then
you meet her
and she inflames you
like nothing else
and you spend years chasing her memory
and crying because she is gone.
you do not realize the importance of this lesson.
Tuesday, August 9, 2005
passing through
it's the loneliness i can't handle, the
feeling that i am utterly alone,
disconnected from the world
devoid of any ties
i've developed to a
fine tune the skill of ignoring
those around me, yet now
i long
for physical contact. i have not
had so much as a hug from
anyone but a stranger's mother, who
greeted me cajun-style in a bar
in new orleans, where i began
perfecting the personae of the
girl who sings, and doesn't mind
if her skirt is see-through.
so forgive my habit of observing
you in the late night hours
feeling that i am utterly alone,
disconnected from the world
devoid of any ties
i've developed to a
fine tune the skill of ignoring
those around me, yet now
i long
for physical contact. i have not
had so much as a hug from
anyone but a stranger's mother, who
greeted me cajun-style in a bar
in new orleans, where i began
perfecting the personae of the
girl who sings, and doesn't mind
if her skirt is see-through.
so forgive my habit of observing
you in the late night hours
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