poetry

Pounce

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Playful is dangerous
without consequences
Consent looms over us
Words can be spoken
play is enough of a invitation
To say

You make me want to crowd you
Push you up against the wall
Pin your wrist against your struggles
Taste your mouth in fierce possession
Take all that your playfulness promises
Burn us both with passion

Which you said you don’t want
Yet you play and play
I am not made of stone
Eventually, something will give

Note: I’ll say something, be blunt.  Consent is far too important to me.  But she pushes and pushes.  I can’t tell if she wants me to use force or if she is waiting to say “aha!  Gotcha! You’re just like the rest.  It’s tiring and it hurts. 

Substitution

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I am uneasy.
I can feel the blood coursing through my veins.
My muscles twitching in time to the beat.
Ache spreading out.
Circulation not quite cut off.
Dizzy and reckless.
Falling out of the edge of consciousness
Floating but aware as the drumbeat holds me steady
Sensation from outside
Fevered heat
Slowly melding in
Then a suddenness of pain
Almost shocking to wakefulness
But receding into the background
Replaced by eagerness
Anticipations building
Unbearable
Again! Nerve endings crying for more
Again! Pain turning to the muddle of both it and pleasure
Mixing until all is lost to rut and ruin

Just the Opposite

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I’m tired now.
Sick now
Having drunk midnight wine
I find myself back in the daylight
A memory or a dream
Either have left their mark.
You see it coming but the on rushing train
Is as much exhilaration as danger.
It slams into
Breaking down well worn edges.
Fracture points of the past
I awake now, blinded by the sun
Aching and staggered.
Should have been content, should have been simple.
Let time do its work.
But never content
A roll of the dice
A razor balanced on its edge

On writing poetry and sex

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When I want to write a poem but can’t seem to find the key to start, I begin to feel a yearning for the release of writing. It is almost lust. Very much akin to desire to touch and be desired and to lose ourselves in our bodies. Those moans of pleasure and need, giving over to mindless rut. Until payoff and, for me, emptiness. In sex, when I make the destination instead of the journey the goal, I feel empty, cored out after. When I write, I feel empty after but somehow hopeful and lighter. It’s not poetry but at least it’s something. Writing a piece like this leaves me both satiated and hungry for something more. It’s not what I wanted but it’s what was available. But the poem is what I want. Like having vanilla sex but wanting complexity. Or wanting to hear your voice set in orgasm and never quite getting you there. Disappointing, somewhat enjoyable and also, not enough.

Losing sleep

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Never knowin where this is all going
just broken
sifting sand looking for a emerald
that’s too general
not looking for money
it’s ephemeral
this life is not perfect
but some people make it worth it
friends and family
they just want the best for me

they don’t understand what that is though
I’m getting to the point where I don’t know
just looking for that spark that moment
when light shines and its all made clear
it’s misleading
mind knows the truth then I start thinking
let grief and fear cloud my feelings
I’m just sinking
waves got me drowning
ocean pulls me under
and makes me wonder if this peaceful sleep is the last thing I’ll choose
but I’ll never go quietly, out like a bang not a whimper
I’ll never be nearer

this hollow maze guides me back to choices made for me
heart that’s full to bursting
alleviate the pressure
fantasy never quite resolving to reality
words are both my truth and my victim
light myself on fire to light your way home to me
but talking to an empty room
it all just ends so soon
endings take care of themselves
but beginnings and middles can last forever
if we work at it
and if it ends
transform to bring me back to you
or break free from your cage and find me no longer in dreams but in the real
woken up to reality which makes sleep a enemy
not wanting to take a step further away from you
even as dreams pull me under

Unfolding

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In the quiet heartbeat
In the deeps
There is doubt

In the space between breathes
In the silence
Fear gives its council

Slipping inward
Gasping for air
The maelstrom calms

In the quiet heartbeat
In the deeps
There is resolve

In the space between breathes
In the silence
I awaken

Reflected star

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A candle flickers to life
Rasping the spark
Kind words a scourge
No balm to the furies within
Drinking midnight wine
Alone in my bed
Straps that held me down now hold me up
Consenting nonconsent
Strange the last flares of thought
Slipping into oblivion.

Without words

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Fingertips lightly across soft skin
lips brushing against neck
knowing looks whispering softly
The everpresent sensuality of you

The Blade’s Remorse

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Hurts flash frozen
Chemical assistance interceding
The blade slips in
All pains receding
Still bleeding but unfeeling
A smile plastered on my face

Blood keeps flowing
And I unknowing
It’s all just building
Walls are breaking
But I’m still smiling
Though the grimace sets in

The ice is melting
And depths are beckoning
My paths are ending
Smile cracking and
Falling away

To burn

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Worlds rise in my dreams
But each morning, on waking
the day begins anew
Ready to be burned or sown
The worlds will rise regardless, colored by my actions, but they will rise
On a day I wake alive, everything can change
But it won’t.  At the point of choosing I will choose the darker path.
Every time I’ve chosen the bright path,  I’ve ended up burned.
Tell the truth, lose the life you enjoy
Tell a lie,  gain a business
Sacrifice to save a life, lose your heart
In reverse, gain peace
Into darkness and out the other side, back in the light,  I stand back at the edge
To burn or to sow