Yearning

Summery springs make it hardest. The thought of you fills my mind, my tongue screams to taste you. It hurts to want what can’t be mine, to watch you be another’s pleasure, to remember when all of you was part of me. It huts to be without.

It’s natural—
once sunkissed,
skin will yearn for heat
under the caresses
of the moon.

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the (not so) wee notes…
– Poetry is living’s and feeling’s lovechild, words that feed on (almost) everything the poet is and does. I shared the heart bit above (that sounds like a cool name for the 2nd part of the poem) on a Crohn’s disease forum. We were talking about all the foods we miss the most, when someone said, “It’s not so bad. Everything can be replaced with something else that’s almost just as good.”

My thoughts, you wonder? Well, in my case that assessment is incorrect when it comes to most foods. I haven’t been able to find something to truly replace coffee, fried foods, cheese, or my beloved yogurt. In fact, this bit of deep, deep, deep poetry was inspired by my having to eat dairy free yogurt. It’s not that yogurt made with coconut milk is a horror, but the one made with whole milk is so much yummier *wails in wild despair*.

I’m sharing it today, as background for my reply to an Instagram follower who asked, “Where does your relationship poetry come from?” It comes from everywhere: personal interactions, reactions to my environment, of course, from my yogurt yearnings.

– Linked to Poets United ~ Poetry Pantry 345

parchment – half of a tea bag (passion flower tea)
background – recycled paper
yellow/orange/red rose petal (looks like a flame, doesn’t it?)
red thread (and my tenderly wild touch)

High on Spring Blues

I wrote this poem a few years ago, on the first spring after my little brother flew out of his flesh and bones. I remember thinking that loss alters the way most of us relate to everything… even the changes of the season.   

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There’s birdsong on my page…
words I planted in midnight soil
are blooming memories of you.

Louder than death and time,
your soul sings to me of life:

“Dance your sobs
into undying laughter,”

I hear you chant,

“let the joy lift your heart
(high on Spring Blues)
and stitch our eternal tale
on the ventricular walls
of my forever home.”

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Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.

Glass Emptied of Clouds

My glass was half full, but
I was proud of its contents,
excited about possibilities…

“Oh, the life I can bring to fill
my empty half,” I used to say.

Then you came,
bringing your thoughts
into my days.

“Empty your glass,” you said,
“I have a fill of wonders.”

I allowed the emptying…

…and you filled my glass
with clouds
that looked like heavenly dreams
falling like cool expectations
against the flush of my cheeks.

I closed my eyes,
and waited for wonders…
that weren’t meant to be.

Now,
with eyes open
and opened again,
I see
huge nothings
filling the space that is you.
And I grin…
as I gather the pieces
of my glass emptied of clouds,

of clouds that seeped into dirt
and were boiled clean by the sun,
in promise of better rains…

Beaming
under a cloudless sky,
I am
fixing my glass,
prettying its cracks,
naming the breaks,
proud of my work,
excited about possibilities

I will build true…

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the wee notes…
– I wrote this poem a few years ago, after a break up. Some of my friends worried about me because I was “acting too calmed for comfort”. The poem was my way to appease their qualms. I wanted to let them know that getting out of the relationship I was in was a good thing, even a great thing. Breaking up is painful while it’s happening (endings hurt) but the future is always so good at the art of offering new possibilities to be taken.

I’m reposting it for a friend, whose relationship just ended. To her, I say, “Right now the world is all tears and screams and fury that whisper bloody fantasies that include smashing bones we used to love (or still love, even if they no longer deserve it), but this will pass. Time will help mend cracks… You will reclaim your Self.”

– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.