Sweet Tea in the Bone Garden

Curdle the sky with
the slobber of madness,
stars gone sour
with poisoned love,
welcome to the
dark side of the
southern witching hour.

Honeyed venom coats the mind;
spoken tar and feathers,
it cannot ever leave
yet it may weaken in time
(that snake oil salesman)
and cause only moments
of accented abrasion.

Blessings to the face,
and cursed in the bone garden,
smell the heady mix
of magnolias and moonlight,
in the gloaming of night.

I think I will meet
Death tonight, I hope
he likes sweet tea…
—————–
(C) jp 5/2012

Day 28 – Prompt: Space

Not outer, well I suppose you could – but a poem that touches on space, openings, distance, size.  Mine is about the small space/span of time of daybreak.

——————————————

Aurora

Aurora sways,

arising in the first blush of dawn.

I see a chalice made of petals

and brimming with nectar that shimmers

like radiant diamonds melted.

My throat clenches in sudden dryness

and like a serpent’s, my tongue flickers out to taste the air.

Lips the color of coral part in a moist, breathtaking smile

and even with such space between us,

I am rocked to my core.

Curves swirl

and twirl,

slow

lazy,

as a ribbon

falling through the air,

and as my avid gaze travels the valleys and hills of my Goddess,

I feel both graced

and diabolically rapacious.

How I long to pluck those petals,

savoring each one as if it were my last meal.

I will devour the Lady,

consume the flesh in a torrent of nips and bites,

drain the elixir in leisurely, tender sips.

Decadence such as this sets my blood to thunder,

my body to fever

and I move forward,

reaching hungrily,

ravening for the beauty before me.

It is a futile chase, as always.

Every step forward pushes Aurora back,

my Star simply scintillates in silence,

smiling when I collapse in defeat,

kneeling in stardust strewn by my Beloved’s passage.

My hands scoop up the cool, crystal leavings

and rub them into fiery flesh,

seeking to quench the thirsty bonfire at my center.

Like yesterday

– like every day,

I fail utterly.

Aurora has conquered me again and knowing this,

brightens until tears stream from my beauty-blinded eyes

and my Flame is all I can see then fades.

I remain,

locked in slave-like adoration

and begin my daily penance…

Day 25 – Prompt: Cento

But I ignored it; not big on “borrowing” from others. Today’s could be considered R-rated so if that offends, don’t read on.
————————-

Going Primal

early dawn
mist cuddles trees but

don’t want to cuddle don’t need tenderness
hungry-oh-so goddamned hungry
want to smell-taste-hear-wallow in sex
feel flesh on-in-around
lose sanity-self-control  deny humanity
want to fuck like a wolf
howl victory
at the little death

(c)jp 4-25-12

Day 17 – Prompt: Epistolary Poem

Today’s prompt is an epistolary poem — a poem in the form of a letter. In particular, to write a poem addressing an inanimate object — Dear Headache, Dear Goldfish Bowl, etc. But that’s not all. Try to include at least 4 of the below in your poem:

1. a song lyric
2. a historical fact
3. an oddball adjective-noun combination (like red grass or loud silence)
4. a fruit
5. the name of a street in your neighborhood
6. a measure of distance

So I did all of ‘em!

————————————————–

 

Dear Bathroom Scale,

I’ve hated you, did you know?  I felt as if you were taunting me; cackling madly each time I ate anything that was “non-healthy”; each greasy, delicious pizza slice or handful of salt-kissed chips or my nectar of the gods (also known as Pepsi) – any item similar in naughty nature.  I tried to place all the blame on your metallic shoulders and then would run a mile or more away (mentally of course, god forbid I actually undertook more actual physical activity than absolutely minimally required) to distance myself from the lie.   In my falsity and my fattiness, I was drowning amid a sea of Twinkie-scented denial and you were an easy target.  You were an orange, I was an apple- it was clear we would never be friends.

It was obvious it was your fault that I bought and ate such trash, that I never ran the Peachtree Road Race, or that I huff after a single flight of stairs.  And let’s not forget it was you who forced me to look in the mirror and feel beyond disappointed in the reflective me, that your presence alone drove me to shut out the possibility of *shudder* being seen naked.  Apple bottom, watermelon-shaped belly, two chins…

I don’t know exactly what made me wake up.  I got up one morning, shuffled my folds past the mirror and thought, “no more.”  I heard you laugh and could hear your thoughts, “heard that one before, come to the dark-side kitchen, we have cookies…and more!”  Or so I thought.  So I thought it again, with more conviction, “No More!” and I listened…

And where I thought I had heard derision, I heard a soft cheer, a gentle yet forceful YES.  So once more, I went into the breach, facing my twin in the mirror and said, “NO MORE!” And as my voice faded, I heard yours supplement, “I will be your guiding force” and I immediately thought of a line from a song, “There are some things in my life I’ll never understand, but they become the force that makes me who I am.”

Strange as it may seem, you are one of those; a force in my life.  And I owe you a heartfelt apology for making you evil, for making you the bad guy, for placing all my blame, my inability to shoulder my own burden, and my shame all onto you.  When I made the effort – as I continue to make the effort – you are there, helping me stay true.  Your spot in the kitchen is a deterrent to the siren call of sugar, of fat-laden glories, and since your invention by DaVinci, I’m willing to bet you’ve helped thousands in the same way; rewarding us with decreasing numbers and increasing self-confidence as we stand upon your weighty countenance.  And if I am wrong, then rest assured you have indeed helped me; I no longer fear or blame you, I make smarter choices and most important, I am gaining self-confidence – and that’s a gain I cheer for!

So I shall offer the only words I know will suffice.  Thank you, dear friend – thank you.

————————–

(C) jp 4-17-12

*Lyric from Melissa Etheridge’s “The Different”

 

Day 9 – Prompt: Be Someone Else

Write as if you were someone else – real or imagined.

——————————————–

Even the Dead Sing

 

Odin be praised,

I have found the here and now, the crux, the roots

and I utter a charm, in search of welcome.

 

All-Father, sip of my devotion

from the many chalices left

strewn upon far away fields.

In glory and song and joyful lust,

we fought, a host of men until

only I was standing. 

 

And then,

I looked for the Tree, the Well, the Door…

 

I wandered far amid the snowy plains

devoid of growth, of life

until I found Your beacon, Your holly tree

with leaves obscenely verdant,     pulsing

among the land shrouded in snow,     silence…

Then I cast my spear skyward,

crying out in ragged, fervent voice a dedication.

 

What god received my thrust, I do not know,

but lo, Alfadr, blood fell from the sky!

Fell in fulsome showers

like roses, like lightning, like gemstones

of ruby, carnelian and garnet spilling from a mighty fist.

 

Twas then I saw the one-eyed raven,

a spot of glossy black

hidden ‘mongst the dark green branches,

its avid eye, red-rimmed and ever-piercing,

judging my soul, found my secret…

 

For I        I…

am a woman,

yes…                  I roar, WOMAN!

 

And I have worshiped you

since, as a mere jente-barn,

I watched my brothers learn the warrior’s dance,

their spears flashed like fishes.

Oh how I longed to caress the bright silver!

 

For many seasons, I have cavorted in battle,

sung amongst slaughter and watched smoke rise,

lightly towards Your hall.      I whisper another charm.

 

                                                             Am I worthy?

 

 I beg you, Open the door to Your hall, Odin

and let me stay with those who have fed You already,

let me bang mead-cups with my brother-warriors

and sing raucous odes to Your honor,

for even the dead sing!

Let me spin tales of gruesome combat, of fell skirmishes

and of argent spears tipped in the finest claret.

 

 My heart, stilled in these frozen lands,

will beat in fearsome joy to be einherjar, at Your side.

And I shall be happy, forever in Your presence.

—————-

(c) jp 4-9-12

(jente-barn loosely means girl-child in Norweigan)

(einherjar – those that have died in battle and are brought to Valhalla by valkyries.)