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.

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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.

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.

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