Shivers and Wants

She told us that “it may be time for some goodbyes—some important part of [our]selves may have to be left behind in 2017 or perhaps there is cause for a pruning of old, dead weight to make way for new growth and opportunities which lie ahead. Very few of us can say goodbye without regret or some measure of pain…” Kerry is quite correct, methinks. So, when she asked for poems that fed on these ideas, I wrote a tanka (inspired by a story I’m working on):
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“Shivers and Wants” 

When your voice is on my spine, logic becomes a storm of shivers and wants. But storms aren’t a good home for love. And lust feeds no one forever.

I’ll ready my heart
for winter, I’ll cleanse my mind—
thinking of you hurts.
My pen still scribbles your name,
but we’ll learn to write goodbye.

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– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Hedgewitch’s Friday 55, and Poets United.

When Memory Digs

“To respect the dignity of a relationship also implies accepting the end when it comes. Except in my mind, except in my dreams, where the aftertaste of her still lingers.” ~ André Brink

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I remember
when your words were wanted
summery caresses on my skin…
Then came the fall,
and your touch turned into ice
that burned

like winter on my tender bits.

When memory digs
deep into my heart, I scream,
“It wasn’t real love!” but…
that bloody muscle remembers,
it knows love will be
anything it wants
to be—

love is ice and fire,
desire that flames
or melts (anything
it wants

to be).

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– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

A Shriveled Blossom

“To want and not to have, sent all up her body a hardness, a hollowness, a strain. And then to want and not to have—to want and want—how that wrung the heart, and wrung it again and again!” ~ Virginia Woolf

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I am longing
for days when we were
not a shriveled blossom
shrouded by sun-
light and death.

Has the wind whispered
secrets my pen can’t keep?
We miss you, my ink
and me.

When my ink misses you
most, I wish for words
to write you out
of my veins.

Last night, I ate kiwi
coated in passion fruit juice,
pecans and memory—

every bite tasted of ashes.

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the wee notes…
– Marian, at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, gave us 30 themes and invited us to write a poem about one (or several) of them. I wanted Cake, but I ended up dancing with Romance…
– Linked to Poets United, Poetry Pantry 380.

the visual poetry