Collectible
July 9, 2010
Perfect little doll on my shelf
sweet as can be imagined
every inch of clay
delicately formed and delivered
to me like a birthday present
I want to unwrap you
every now and then
remove you from
protective covering
enjoy your delights
Take in your elegant costume
preen your collar and cuffs
sniff your aftershave
and wiggle your arms and legs
to make sure they still work
Twist you around
to make you dance with me
whisper secrets in your ear
Imagine all the lovely trinkets
you would give me
all the sugary compliments
Maybe even let you kiss me
a peck in the dark
Finally, I will tire
and want a new distraction
your delightful words and trinkets
no longer such a thrill
I will put you back
where you belong
your home, a hard shell
and firmly close the lid
slide you back onto the shelf
Don’t fret my friendly folly
someday I’ll return
to coax you out again
dust you off and let you
worship me
like you always wanted to.
Bubbles Blown
July 7, 2010
You got out easy, unsatisfied
I am still haunted by every moment
so naked and quiet.
Everywhere around our place, I see us
Our words hanging in the air above
like bubbles blown by some silly child
just floating
momentarily
until the inevitable – a pop
It’s Over.
Fading like the memory of an old lover’s smile
You know it’s in your head somewhere
washed out and worn.
You miss the vividness of the memory
You miss the tingle you once felt
at the thought of him.
Now, I suffer in sweet silence
my only comfort a shred of text
a single cloth
with your scent.
Smooth, heavy, laced with sweat and sandalwood.
I can still feel your breath upon my neck, my ears, my lips
touched you so often, yet never enough to satisfy me.
Attempts on her life
June 8, 2010
I have no mojo. No words have been flowing through me for 2 months. I haven’t been neglecting you, I really just haven’t had anything new to say. And you know how I hate to repeat myself!
Yesterday, on the F train I grabbed a notebook and pen and started writing. Nothing made sense, ideas were all over the place. Markings like “gilded age shoes”, “no calories in cough drops” and “lies I tell myself” that lead nowhere, for now.
This morning, I scooped up the pen and paper again and wrote a poem. I don’t know jack about poetry except for a class I took in college in 2000 with a professor who’s name I can’t even recall. But the words were moving through me, so I went with it.
It has NOTHING to do with food -for now- but read it if you like. Marie’s first poem in a decade.
Expect more attempts to regain my mojo coming soon. It may take a while to get back to some stellar posts, but we’ll get there, I hope.
Within her pursed eyes
June 8, 2010
Dreams that are visited
by you so warm and hot
She resides in a soft place
between divided worlds
her eyes longing to stay shut
in the universe of fantastical
dreams where you worship her
where passion is too fierce for prudence
where every touch is a torturous delight
that she can not resist
She enters the alternate world, a hard landing
that creates a hole within
A familiar pit of sorrow engulfs her
at lid’s opening, the well deeper and barren as before
Two worlds bursting and beating together with too many endings
Within her pursed eyes where dreams are real
as they are unreal
is the truth of the lie.
My Love Affair with Cheese 