i wanna taste//just once//again//again

SONY DSC

photo by Abhra Pal

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we drink spring
sky-turn wings&
reach/dip gossamer antennae
deep–///fuse
in the blossom’s ripe/wide womb
so(ul) high
w/ sweetness

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at dVerse today we’re writing poetry to macro shots – and we do it in 140 characters or less
The fantastic image is by Abhra Pal

i cannot not//do it (& somedays it wrecks me)

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bateau ivre (the drunken boat) – a very cool pub in berlin-kreuzberg /sketch by me

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i write not to forget
there are 282 steps
leading skyward
to the Siegessäule in the heart of Berlin
(&we count ‘em
with each lowered breath)

chase vowels
to dragon-wing the movement
of the sky,
&clothe the song that slips like prayers from my lips
in the S5 train
to the exhibition center

can you see?
the little chubby boy, ringelsocks, blond curls
on the counter in a pub in Kreuzberg
playing hide & seek with my colleague

afternoon
seeps through a mintgreen door//slit,
unwashed pane

life sits with us,
(imagined cigarette between its lips)
so approachable

i gather words
so i can sink//a refugee//
against the poem’s hairy chest,
smell skin/breath

write, write, write
to keep the essence //
bone to flesh from trickling
through my hands into an out of reach place

“i can’t get the lines straight” i say
(a bit desperate)

take my sketchbook out,
feel thin-skin-pulse under the pen’s soft tip

&let a second’s flavor drip

like honey,
sweet

&thick

&rich

under the weight
of ink

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Gay has us writing manifestos at dVerse today..  see you at 3pm EST…smiles

it smells of cow dung, moon & hens//& it undresses you nerve wrackingly slow (that’s how i’d sum up in one line how poetry did find me)

it was rain
for weeks&weeks
that wet spring back in 2010
South Africa on board of a well heated coach,
touring Germany with us

i tried to cheer them up
a thousand full-soaked pages
on a travel log (my first one)
& forever ruined ballerina shoes,
a fair(l)y mystique castle
in the fog // & poetry died
with Goethe long ago

(that’s what i thought, so no, i
didn’t search// for it)

//clickClicK
followThatPath//homeSchool/handCraft/
this&That //Blog–
today’s Guest post
he’s a poet?//DanG i–

it feels like that one kiss
in the evening by my gramma’s farm house
not my first but
someThing in the taste, the
way, our lips, tongue,
in the wide arch—electricity
inEver faster bolts down to the core
of my intestines

& we never —
went beyond it

try to sleep with poetry
and it will kill you

i sit in the car–
march rain on a concrete highway
in the dark// red rearlights in an avalanche of 6am cars
glisten on the slippery surface– glass
“a mirror” i think– that is what it is

&in that black//ink//play
detect a hundred hidden shades
(of me)
i haven’t seen yet

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for Poetics at dVerse today Anthony’s theme is “evolving as a poet” care to share a bit of your poetic history with us..? doors open at 3pm EST…  i’m in berlin on business at the moment, so my commenting back will be delayed a bit.. see you then…

the invisibility of the artist

sketch by c. schoenfeld

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we stand
one foot on the rim
of being seen
sometimes

beyond
is nothingness,
in front a world
of words & lines & shades

waiting to be brought
to those who listen

“what ya doing?”
(irritated glance)
“psshhh” i say, sitting on my legs
(bad habit)
in the half dark on a chair
way outside the lightbulb’s shape// of reality,
the living room– a tree, orb, boat–

i’m clothed
with just the moment
& apart from this– the artist’s nakedness,

he kneads his forehead
“you’re not drawing me, right–?”
i lean back, smile

sink deeper in the slit between the lamp shine &–

he turns his head back to his laptop

&forgets–
my pen, brush, me
the observer, way out on the waves,
never sure if there’s a way// & how the wind–

i strew bread crumbs on the floor
(for orientation)
lean tenderly on beads of hues&words

&wash up on the shore–
the last straw loosely
in my pocket

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invisibility – in any form – is Mary’s theme for poetics at dVerse today… doors will swing open at 3pm EST…

urban spaCes//& whose orbs we cross along the way

the old man in front of me –is mad,
shaky fingers wrapped around
an iron stick, he traces
the trajectories of venus// mars
on the rough plaster of a housewall
//busy shopping street//

clacKc//clacKclackk

i’m just one orb
behind him, his grey hair
curL off-loop //multi-headed-snakes
make spaCeWindVorteXes

to the right, in a café
seats stuffed // a tingly loneliness
melts through the pane,
her eyes maintain a
hold-your-arms-up-in-the-air GaZe

suddenly we’re detoured,
off the path
we’re meant to take
(each of us)
sileNt //williNg
questionLess

i adapt my steps,
cram coins into the parking meter’s
greedy cleft

&seesaw through a galaxy
i didn’t see
a minute back

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brian’s theme for mtb at dVerse today will be developing characters in our poetry.. capturing people.. not only physical details but giving the reader a feel of the person as well…doors open at 3pm EST

“hey, i’ll help you sort ‘em once we reach the top” i say to the little boy with messed up skis and sticks, sitting on the chairlift next to me

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that’s where we had dinner after our day in the mountains… i just fell in love with the colors after all the snow…smiles

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walls cRaSh in on me
i call my husband
“wanna take me to the mountains?”
“when?”
“tomorrow”
“dunno, really — have to check”

“please”

i so need to breathe
speed/fall in the slope’s white cleft
feel the wind whip
my face&

the same mad urgency
like asking him
to make love to me on days that–

“wait, ok, i’ll check with my boss”

“thanks”

in the evening,
i put my snowboard
next to the piano, rucksack,
piles of clothes, skis–
feel the moon’s unsteady heartbeat,

chunks of fabric missing
in my snow pants
“ugh, you need new ones”
“nah, i’m good”

“meet at 12?”
“yes”

i run fingers,
quivering & impatiently
along night’s wide velvet chest,
stripped bare
to the northwind  b l o  W   i  nG
million snowflakes
in my face

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for OLN at dVersePoets

the thing with nettles is– if you grab them boldly, they don’t sting– right?

life’s not a soft approach, often
–either or//
black white//high low
no too big grey zone
(that’s what i would say)

“you’re too extreme”
my husband (a Libra) sighs, “relax” &
“try to balance more”

once they phished me out
of a nettles field,
scrEAming,
blisters spreading in bizzare
hills and valleys
on my skin
(my cousin threw me in// i guess he had a reason–)

i thought i’d die

& didn’t

planned to punch him
fists to stomach, kicK-box
rope-tied to a tree
he was stronger though,
& we played on

so do you
test-phase /soft-touch/trial-finger things
instead to grab ‘em boldly with both hands
like friendship// marriage//
art// work &– (you fill in the blanks)

or head-jump//risk-fall
scraTCHing cheeks & knees,
mud //blood// scars across the skin,
set everything on one big card
like Esther did in the old testament
(to save her people)

gramma made me tea,
placed me on the kitchen couch
& wind spilled through the window
over me

“gotta go” i say
she shakes her head
“dinner at 6”
“ok” i smile,

“&if i perish, i perish–“

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…if i perish, i perish..that’s what Esther said… not only a beautiful but a brave woman as well…smiles…
Björn has us write fable inspired poetry at dVerse today… mine’s sparked by Aesop’s fable
“The Boy and the Nettles” //morale: Whatever you do, do with all your might

indigo//

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my watercolor travel kit

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an old peppermint box,
(space for 6 small
watercolor cakes max)

cheek-to-cheek
squished against
their brother’s chest, &

if there could be
only one?

(like Highlander— you know)

i dip a heavy pregnant
brush tip (carefully)
onto its even surface,

fuSing//

deep//rich pigment
falls to fullNess, eye// limb(s)// spine
in water’s limpid womb

“it would be you” i say

//without hesitation

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today at dVerse, Victoria asks us to write object poems – maybe stretched into a metaphor as well… first thing that came to my mind was my watercolor travel kit and the one color i wouldn’t want to miss for the world..smiles… see you at 3pm EST

to be seen//between star wars & a man with seven sons

the thing with planetary systems is,
they have their own laws
you’ve heard about
in stories told by white bearded men
pool-deep eyes

yet you grew up
along the rim
of different galaxies,

he looks at me
across a cramped full dance floor

“wanna dance?”

“what?” i
don’t even know him//why–
“nah, sorry, i’m a lousy dancer.”

“ah, come on” (winning smile)

“hey, i’m invisible” i say
“you cannot even see me”

“but i do”

the thing is, i’m not blond, looong legs,
blue-big-lashes-heavy eyes
nor tall (or sexy), usually

i’m outside, under a dark canopy,
in work pants//tending sheep
as nights throws glittering stars
upon me

scratching marks in desert sand,
visible for just a moment
string-pick melodies  that glide
on cobalt/blue/winds— inside

Samuel, in Jesse’s house
is searching for the king,
(staff and oil jar in his hands)

& cannot find him

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written for OLN at dVersePoets - doors open at 3pm EST

a daim & snickers wrapping heart 4the lord of keys (yep, that’s all he got for valentine)

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hubs watching the olympics..

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i stretCh// lateral motion//
(altitude & latitude in countercross rotation)
towards him,

bed my head on flufF balls i find in his navel
“i collect them just for you” he smiles

“i’m bird–song– twig//nest architect” & hum
all the main keys, G- and F-clefs
dangle loosely
from my chest

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Shanyn has us writing short love poetry at dVerse (about objects, people or places) without using common love language – pub doors open at 3pm EST