Poetry and Tea Roses

House of Heart

I will always disappoint you.

My words  are no where near roses,

ink stained and caked with clay

though I have scrubbed them bloody.

My lines overflow with sudden downpours

that I inflate into a monsoon

a swell you can not hold back with

the tenderest of sighs.

Still I expect you to save me from obscurity.

I tell lies lovingly,

each verse a litany of devotion

or a buzzed serendipity.

I will fall in love with the sleeved heart of every poet.

Give me a purpose ,  a  wilting tea rose

or the embryo of a pearl washed ashore.

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River Worn

At the bed of a murky river
I found you wet and worn,
a rare gem beaten to the silt
beneath the hooves of a wild horse.
Like a secret,   a sacred poem,
I  held  you in my palm
rubbed you smooth and honed,
a refined diamond in my hand.
At the bay of obsession you slipped
from my grip lost forever to the
inlets gaping mouth.
How weak we were at the final kiss
something we wanted to be strong for.

 

 

 

 

“They call me Red…”

Dennis Cardiff, prolific writer and author of many books, including the tremendously successful “Gotta Find A Home: Conversations With Street People” and administrator of the WP site by the same name has a new and exciting drama in progress, this stylish gem with a hint of noir,  deep  shadows, the back door of fancy places and alleys and barkeeps who have seen it all is captivating. In addition expect  a dash of  erotica as well. You can find initial scenes at his blog. I highly recommend a visit.

Dennis Cardiff

Rhondda acted nervous on the drive back to the farm. “Patrick,” she asked, “will we ever be safe?”

“I can’t predict the future, but I’ll always have your back; I’ll always be at your side. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together as we have in the past. It was a surprise to learn that our photos had been circulated in Ireland. Perhaps it’s time for a change of scene. I’m sure that Paddy has everything under control at the farm.”

When they reached the farm they told Paddy of their accomplishments, recommendations and their meeting with the biker who recognized them from photos.

Paddy said, “I can understand your concern, but nobody has traced you back to the farm. Soon we will be well armed, but in the meantime, perhaps you two should consider a change of location until we can get this sorted.”

“I’ve been in contact with the…

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“Africa Out of the Blue” by Gurkski

dithyrambs & ditties

We were dark skinned.

We knew yams and hunting

the Savannah and fear of lions-

and in the dark, demons.

We loved the nurturing green fields

and protruding body parts,

Let me mention only eyes and needy lips.

That is how we began with a song like

a sad howl and weapons from wood.

Sunk in deep meditation I revive our

archetypes.  They dance and sing the joy

of being and I catch a hazy glimpse of

Mitochondria Eve her brown eyes dancing.

Out of Africa  we moved under the

brilliant immensity of solemnly mute

and eternally cryptic skies.

We raised our head for single singeing kiss

and in  just a geological second  we are gone.

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to get to you

In this dream  my arms
are the branches of trees
and you are my  nourishment.
Cut me down to a boat.
My  spine a sturdy keel,
my hair  the unfurled sails.
A lighthouse is my only lamp
for the stars have fallen into 
your hands.
If the sea does not capitulate, 
red sails   cast into a cleft 
too wide  for me to cross,
I was trying to get to you.

 

Art from Getty

 

 

 

 

❦ The Chicklets’ Poetry Party Scrapbook ❦

A big thank you going out to Gigi from Resa and the gang!

Graffiti Lux Art & More

Holly & I were honoured to be guests at the Chicklets Poetry Party. We are the first humans to visit the Coop. It was such a wonderful event, I decided to make a Scrapbook.

I found some vignette sleeves for the pictures, and painted a cover. The painting expresses the movement of the Beat Generation into the Hippy generation.

Joyce and her little sister, Sandie, opened the party. They want you to know if you click on the pics of the party, you can read the poems!

Holly, one of the best poets, ever, wrote a stunning piece. She was accompanied by tambourine. Holly is so cool. She can snap her fingers. I’m still learning how!

Kathy wrote and read 2 poems.

Flicka and her mom were rescued from a factory farm. She read 2 amazing poems by Melanie.

Albert and his best pal Ducky wrote and read…

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something wild

Our whispers have grown silent

still your eyes beg me to save you

from your cage of tedium,

rooms of secrets and dormant fireplace.

Caught in s stalled sundown between

dark and light, in mine, I know your heart is tired.

Take this house of lavender and ginseng,

this fortress of forgotten desire   filled

with vivid hues of dreams where I no longer visit.

I am the arch of a cougar’s back in search of

something wild that goes straight to my head.

 

Big Cat Rescue-

The Moon and Trees

Beyond the terrace
I pace barefoot through
the garden past the blurred
flowers that bend their petals
as though they know me.
Brilliant in the starlight
the old tree stands apart
as if  having outgrown the
rest it needs space.
It sighs to the song of a breeze
limbs reaching to the sky.
I wonder if it has eyes
to hold such history.
I feel it is friends
with the moon
I  hear them laughing at us.

 

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Attraction is a mystery

the eternal mystery

A Faded Romantic's Notebook

Attraction is a mystery

What is it that captures, captivates and compels?

What is it that draws us, like iron to magnet, bee to honey, moth to light? What is it that makes us warm to another, need to make contact, need to be in their presence, or simply make us catch our breath when they come close?

Is it in their eyes, or their mouth? Is it the arc of their smile? Is it in their height, their weight, their curves and lines? Is it in the colour of their skin or their hair? Is it in their laughter, or their voice, or their words, or the intelligent mind within?

Is it in their honesty, their truth, their empathy, their kindness, their compassion, their hope?

Is it in their movement, their balance, the way their body moves when they walk? Is it in the clothes they wear?

Is it…

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