>thirsty for life

>bowing low

next to B3, the road
which runs 
from south to north, north to south
without ever breathing 
or sighing or loving those who travel it. 
he, grey hair, back bent in sorrow,
flowers in hand, small cross
morning, mourning
rips my heart raw, bloody
as we pass, blowing
fourteen meters swaying wind into his face, 
then leaving him alone again,
touching concrete grief for seconds, wish
i knew the story
wish i could – hold him close,
laying down
blossoms of sadness, of hope
for the people i’ve lost on my way
to speed, to carelessness & lovelessness,
toss the driver from his seat, take
the steering wheel & turn on the wipers, erase the tears,
tears welling up like mean dwarves
and i long
for petals raining down,
for a cross to bow before and
an arm, wrapped ’round my heart,
telling it there’s a new road,
another north to south, an
east to west and a hope
to find what gets lost
so easy at the side
of madness-covered routes
and i’m breathing, breathing tears and their taste, 
salt on my lips
makes me thirsty for life

linking up with One Shot Wednesday – and i’m still on the road, still traveling – but will try to comment back by the end of the week…

>smoking them silent

>

they still call you, 
these voices, you say, feeling
hoarse like abrasive belts
thick and full with
their lust
and you never
got rid of that scent
of sweat, of need,
find release
for the pain, insane
when they held you close
to the ground, buried hard
beneath the weight of their grunts,
madness floods,
ejaculates fast until
nothing was left
to deafen that smell
it helps
to burn them slowly, you say
in your mouth – one after one – all
at once, don’t stop ’til you’re at ease, ’til
they burn your lips and glassy blisters
flaming release
until they can’t touch,
until they roll to the edge
until they let go ‘cos
you smoked them low
and supine

This poem is my response to the One Stop Poetry Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge. The prompt was shot by photographer Fee Easton, featured today on One Stop Poetry.

>you still hear the music

>

today, it lost
its adventurous smell, the kind you inhale
deep, smell again and again until
you’re drunk, excessively hungry or satisfied
and your nose gets dry from aspirating
the danger-soaked rifts of kilimanjaro 

where i danced, high from heights and
barefoot in heels, snow icing on skin,
pure thrill of holy moments running
the veins, doping me through the night
when we

ran out of snow, music stopped dead and
instead of dancing the ups, i mourn the lows,
touch my fear like alienated lovers in thin nights
and where shall we go from here? this child

was lost in its play, cherries in soft ice, hid beneath
piles ‘n piles of cream, dream and
keep on kid i say, don’t watch the night come close,
how it swallows your heart and you die
crimson, wet and lonely on the tops of your hills.

take this pen, write about fighting hard and
fish-like gasping dreams, soaked salty and slick
with your tears, spilled – like vomit now;
dig the snow girl and find those heels
cause you hear, you still hear
the music

i’m linking up with One Stop Poetry – come and join us, meet some crazy poets and spend some fantastic, poetic time together. Sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

>fragility

>tonight
is about pages of unread books,
sparks left on busy streets

when i break
into fragments of what i am,
what i fear, want,
hide & hope

and you love me until morning,
until rays of light
split our pride into tiny stains,

until you no longer
call me a foe
and what stands between us
stays back on the floor,
scattered clothes.

breathing blue, drunken dreams,
soaked in kisses like wine
we drink greedily,
with love-rough lips,
from broken glasses.

.

>island blues

>what I’d take to this lonely island..? guess
my alto sax 4 bluesy moments, the Book of

him, who keeps my feet from stumbling (the
roots, you know…), 2 or 3 of the old poets who

survived more than just their life & maybe some
duct tape 4 fixing my shattered heart before

- buried beneath sandcastles -

                                    i may find wings

what can you say in 55 words? linking up with g-man

>platforms

>dragon-flight into my heart, pinpoint landing on a

platform, built of black coffee & wet rain. what
you leave when you leave is much more than

charcoal-dusted smells of blazing fires, consuming

treasures, i didn’t know about, getting lost beneath
piled sugar cubes of hopes & dreams.

today i shout crystal-frost into silence & breathe

oxygen-less

what can you say in 55 words? linking up with g-man