Poems

When I Came With You (Revisited)

It was here one night
among white blossoms and junipers
that we lay touching
while the rest of the world
snored in their small beds

We breathed frost words to breezes on branches
breathing deeply in the deep woods
with no earthly destination
hidden behind the pulse of dawn
throbbing on a trigger’s touch

You were delicate incense I lit alone

In silence
my fingers found the sweep of stars on bare skin—
a house-warmth murmur of Christmas gold when you breathed

You were a bird
whose only cry came in color in the company of starlight
whistling up the violets
in a garden wilderness of dawn’s yellow daylight
flowering into streaming pinks
and fleshed with rose petals when I came with you

Photo Credit:
 Meireles Neto

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Poems

Car Hysteria (Seduction Revisited)

Earlier today
shopkeepers seduced pot-bellied old men
with sleek
fast
brand-new cars
that rubbed and kissed their trousers
and guaranteed to stop lonesomeness

Erstwhile minds backpedaled on leather seats
where stale memories surfaced and breathed new air
striking deals in brown cubicles
under the breath of fresh coffee

What she feared most
kicked and scratched
and wanted to grow big enough to crawl
from the backseat of a yellow Pantera
and seduce her all over again
while her husband and she waited
for his father to sign the lease
as wordy as Shakespeare but lacking any color

She stayed away from the thing of her past
that once bit her crotch for the taste of her sex

Some memories are the turmoil
of a soul knotted like hair in vomit
where forlornness and tumultuousness sting

Photo Credits:
 Tiko Giorgadze
 Matt Glm

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LolaCandi, Stories

Time For Adventure

Last night, while looking at the sky on a cloudless night, the young woman saw an expanse of stars and constellations. She had seen stars before. But she had never paid attention to how many there were. The more she looked into the depth and scope of the sky, there seemed no limit to the number of brilliant, celestial objects there.

With a shiver, she felt like a child discovering something new and grand in her life.

To a child, discoveries come every day. When did she stop being a child?

She pondered why she had stopped looking to discover new things. She was an adult living a busy adult life. She had spent years developing skills and garnering diplomas and titles so she could acquire a job that allowed her to live adequately. There was no time to spend discovering something new every day. Her life did not allow it.

The life she had chosen did not allow her to live like a child exploring the world around her.

“Can’t pay the bills if I’m off exploring,” she said.

But what about grants? she pondered.

“Those are for researchers and scientists. I’m just an executive accountant.”

She poured herself a glass of wine and returned to looking at the stars. She recognized the big and little dippers, but not the other constellations.

“Need to read up on stars,” she said before retiring for the night.

And last night she dreamed adventure. She was home. She was at work. She was with friends and family at places she knew and places that were unfamiliar and unreal, especially when she visited the moon and a new bank and loan office there.

Her alarm clock took her from her dreams and she awoke feeling sad that her adventures were over.

As she stumbled from bed and past her library of books on the way to her shower, she remembered a quote attributed to the French novelist, Jean Giraudoux. “Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out of the heart of darkness comes the light.”

And in that instant, she sensed the light of last night and knew that adventures are always around her, no matter whether asleep or awake. She just needed to give them their own time in her busy life.

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Poems, This Blue Pen

Our Differences

You are full brazen;
Your swollen tan lies crisp on sunbaked sand;
You call attention to my snug rounded smooth firm thighs,
But you take my breasts in hand instead.

Seductive anticipation,
You promise me the taste of fried chicken skin;
And so my mouth waters all woman—
Course and raspy pudding under foot.

But I am short on your mind,
I am the shadow of a soporiferous color;
You set me aside for a long look at naked dancing girls—
Their bold vees fit well for the Valencia republic.

Your lamentations bay to the one who will take your grasp;
Your espousals become the smell of arid nicotine;
You promise motherhood to girls offering views of their paunches,
But your oaths tumble over ecstasy stains on fingers rolling dry leaves.

We go our separate ways:
I to a pretty face with unpainted lips.
I make no promises;
I am only hungry to know the heart.

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