Woodnotes

Last night I fell asleep

before you came home.

I dragged the dog out for a walk

but he hates the cold as much as I do.

He pissed all over the kitchen floor,

he despises being alone.

He ate snacks before bedtime

wallowing in loneliness.

You wanted to have sex

while I had creative writing on my mind.

My blue journal sprawled between

my thighs,

I want my head there, you said.

My pens took precedence

Patience was playing from my phone

I ignored you. I fought your lights.

You take it personal, but I’m a writer

and you know that I can’t interrupt

my flow. Sex came and went,

making love is for another lifetime.

I took the kids out for dinner

ate avocado rolls

veggie burgers

St.Louisbourg burger

with onion rings.

I said, it’s hard to be an artist

to be in a relationship,

I am preparing them

for the heartache, but it’s

Too late.

If the one you’re with

does not understand what a woodnote is

or what defines you.

It’s a natural musical tone

or the song of

some bird

no one cares about trees

nature is becoming extinct.

The young and old have their heads

filled with useless information

school shootings

young wolves writing poems

academia taking the back seat

poets knocking on your door

I am locked in;

dead children

another statistic.

Here we are sleeping together

never at the same time

chaos in our fear.

Writing prompt: word: Woodnotes

#februaryfalls18

Lordy

I was thinking about

you are too loud

in my silence,

You’re a cross

between a rock star

and a supermodel

as if spring is in the air

when winter has a few songs

left to play.

I will admit

I do not fall into cliques

or rules

because I make my own

and burn them after.

 

I pull back for my own sanity.

 

Understand you are so wild

that no one

can hold you down for long.

 

Lordy, you are raw talent

combined force

of a drink and a coffee

of a poem

you read a thousand times

a song you can never

stop listening to

and the car crash

you relive over and over.

 

Lordy, Lordy

I make up words

sounds

and some people call me a savant.

 

Shut off the world news

and caress my disturbance

it cannot bear concealment.

 

I recited this to my husband

and he nods his head

because he was watching me write it down

shook his head

and said

you are so fucking gifted.

 

I am envious.

 

Don’t be, I said. I’d rather sit and watch

the news and not listen to

my mind

Hard

The hardest part of living is accepting your defeats

recognizing your accomplishments, taking care of a plant.

I am bad at all of the easy things and good at the hard shit.

I can take so much pain, you would think I was a punching bag.

I am made up of being a woman.

I am pure femininity. I know no other way to be

or live than by these thoughts and words.

It is  not easy to step into the beauty and continuously fight off

the weeds that try to break through the soil.

I try to make it work. Sometimes I am the only one left

at three a.m looking around for the earth I was born in.

Every day changes me. Every love kills me. I loved you

with thirty years of need. I admit that I need you

and I am not that fine with driving on a highway for thirty minutes straight.

I say I’m sorry so often you’d think I made a thousand mistakes a day.

I am so weak and vulnerable at human frailty.

It seems that vulnerability is a weakness now

but it’s how I live

with the words under my blouse

bra, panties.

And my mom calls me and I stop everything

to pick up the phone

because I worry that one day

the phone will stop ringing.

What am I cooking? Where am I?

How did I sleep?

It’s hard to live with death

constantly on your mind,

it’s easy to write it

and frame it

sell it to the highest bidder.

I stopped waiting for people to apologize

pointless to be waiting on a full moon

when you know it passed.

My heart keeps cracking, freezing

warming up

pounding

it follows the arms of the clock

incessantly

listening to philosophers

free in its spirit

because no matter what faces me

I never give up on the ones I love.

 

 

 

 

Le Club

“the difference between Art and Life is that Art is more bearable” – Charles Bukowski

 

I want to keep all the seconds

minutes, hours to myself.

I want to revel

in the magic

of two glistening bodies.

I made a list of things

and created poetry

from chandeliers

and hotel lobbies.

Pinot noir and club sandwiches

with no tomatoes

who would believe

the poem?

My notes of you?

skin and sin, you said,

two peas in an ipod, I said.

I’m not afraid to eat

or to love your body.

I can caress too

I can feel your insides out

and your pain.

I could be a Real person

no frills

orchids on my skin.

Set alarm to sundown

and kiss some of your freckles

hello and goodbye.

Mohawk on your head

cause you’re the warrior

I’m too busy taking pictures

of chandeliers

being cozy in your arms

in my jeans.

I wonder if all the having

covered all the wanting.

I wonder what you were thinking

when I said

what was on my mind.

I am who I am.

I say the worst and the best

all in the same line.

You probably liked me still

do with me what you will

make my body sore

I will never complain.

Turn me anyway you desire

I like what clearly

makes you

want me like a teenager.

But I know how to lose people

by not knowing how to hold

on to them.

I’m always saying the wrong things

or staring at your lips

I’m banging my head

my heart

my body

my soul

my mind

up against your squeezed up chest

I can’t breathe

but I like it

being under you.

Sometimes you follow your heart

destroy your logic

in the walk

to the elevator.

I water my soul

with your kisses.

I’m fine.

Don’t know how to behave.

So excuse me

for this poem

that I’ve been meaning

to not write.

I always feel it’s

never good enough

for you.

 

Less you, More me

From above if you were watching through

a fine telescope

my wise ass remarks

would help you to understand

that it means nothing

to die. One life to create memories,

one breath to forget. Then Alzheimer

kicks  you and sets you on fire

with nonsense. I try to laugh

to cover up my turmoil of

uneasiness at these awkward situations

when the brain ceases to speak,

when the mind is muddled with

words you never thought

would make you cry.

 

Hold on 

to that patience, you will need it.

 

There was a time I lost everything in you.

Now I speak to my soul and repeat

less you, more me.

All this to convince myself that I still matter

somehow, before the memories fade

or the cancer grows

or the breasts disappear.

It’s Hawaiian day at work

and I will wear my hula

tell all the teachers how I appreciate

their soul

hug a child

and try to forget about the telescope.

 

Hold on to your soul,

you will need it. 

 

My translator

Everyone struggles with the other side of the grass

is it green

is it the future

of the deep driven past

repeat, shuffle, play

life, songs

music every fucking day.

Off to another town

to play the role of how we go up

and fall hard down

onto the bed with you

in my high heels shoes

and nothing else.

You do not have to love me at all

as much as I use it

I don’t.

So many may say it better than me

so many may be prettier

or smarter

or uglier

or closer

and yet here we are

in the same room

no one else can see us

my eyes on yours

and yours on mine

who cares about the wallet

or the cars we drive

or the typing in my head.

Let go the pain

and let me keep on loving your insane

heart

I knew it from the start

to run

but you kept on pulling my hand

painting the road yellow

fanning my stress

massaging my lower back

digging deep inside me with your

magic

I still run fast

I need to

I’m made that way

like a statue coming alive

so cold

so bloody hot.

It’s merely rings on my fingers

gifts from the past

nights made of hot lust

wedding night drunks

it’s all or nothing

nothing or all

it’s my heart

my mind

my soul

that confide

to each other

my keyboard the translator.

Books not written

It will always feel

like you are losing me

as soon as you get too close.

Today I wanted to stay home

and write all day

and tomorrow

the same

but what silly thoughts

are these?

Trust me, that as soon

as you need me

it’s time to let me go.

Can you cut off

all the media?

All that noise?

I can.

I have.

I will.

I must.

Can you track me down

to see how I feel?

Can you close in on me

from everywhere?

Surround me with your strength

disarm me with your gentleness

the gap between the two

obscure

wide and approaching.

I see it from all angles

of this square

or that circle

or whatever you want to

call a shape within my mind

within a form

within an outline of my love.

For if you have my body

it comes with a soul

united.

Others can separate the two

discuss politics like sports

stir wet and dry ingredients

simultaneously

but I can save the day

with my frosting abilities

my inner sparkles that shine.

Soul and body

not that hard to disconnect the dots

that are invisible.

Reading Little Prince

again,

it appears life needs no explanation

while I was boarded up

with nails

until  you

resurfaced me.

Believe me, I have always

known how to walk into a room

full of people I know,

the trick is to do the same

with strangers.

I have always known

everything about me.

He reads my eyes and

that in itself is another

book

not written

(yet).

IMG_7743

lined shells

Almost fell asleep in the warm water
anti-stress relief
waiting for me
like a stone
lined shells on my shore
as I bury my head
to block out the sound
of the washing machine
the smell of apricot
and the suds evaporating
exposing all my flesh
to the surrounding ghosts
in flames
inside me
longing to get out
watching my every move
word
glance
sigh
orgasm
and waiting for me
to fuck up
over and over
as I slide into the darkness
underwater
where only mermaids
can understand
my need to escape
people
and their gemini faces.

Face me with your
early face
not your night one.

I walk like a woman
and I’ll look you
in the eye.
Straight on
like someone who stole
your heart
unannounced
uninvited
nipples chilled
heart aching
head aching
sore soul
from all the bullets
remaining tight and
sleeping with the silverware
wrapped around my heart
of gold.
You walk like a man
and I like the
way you read me
and never analyze
the mess I create
and the beauty I sow.
It is intertwined
within
each moan
and grace.

One time do not let my light
dissuade you
from my long legs
that run fast
and my young heart
that detonates
when you leave
me again
and again.

Things I love to look at

-light pink roses
-second hand books
-you
-notebooks

you were walking around
with grey shorts
and blue sunglasses
your chest was bare
I pretended I did not know you
but how
your presence disturbed me
still I wanted you to stay close
closer
you entered my bedroom
like a knight
and stood around
to challenge anyone
that came in your way
of me.

The Tree

You climb the steps every day

what pray tell is different today?

As soon as I stepped

on the concrete

the cement was fresh

the sound of my feet

silent

the sky, undeniably gray

new sod in the yard

tree was bare.

I should revel in the stark new ground

yet for all that I see

when I look around

is how you painted my deep red walls light

I should be a bird ready for flight

how the change glues me

to the pond

of my heart

of my clenched nervous hands

shaking to rise in new lands

as most bring up the past

how the trees had cancer

(it was a good thing, you say,

they surely couldn’t last)

but I like to wipe the brow of the dead

kiss foreheads, revive

recount my love stories

in various messed up beds

who can see the future

bury the ancient Queens and Kings

under the rubble

make wax heads like

Madame Tussaud

artistry out of death.

I step on the grass

dare me to talk

I will not be so crass

pretend you don’t see me

as I smile and agree

how lovely

a dead tree

can be

in the middle of my life.

The kids used to climb

my cardinal bird used to visit

so I drive to Starbucks

to save myself again

and what should come on the radio

but our song

and you could never guess

how I need my lovely mess

as I put on my new pretty dress

and forget how everything old

must be replaced

with something new

but as usual

I digress

my mind never paying attention

to the street signs.