Eyes Open and Wants Exposed

We started in the mud,
after rekindling Beltane fires snuffed by everyday rain,
the Maypole still wet.

We invited flesh and spirit to have their way with us.

“This only comes once a year,” I said to me then.
But that me (all covered in mud for May Day,
eyes closed and opened wants) she forgot,
she forgot everything that didn’t come
with him in it.

Thoughts of him are all over me now, always…
his words on my hips, always, always
him…

in the evening, on the dining-room table… him.

When reason is smashed to pieces
and lust is
neurosis dominated by love… him,
that is all I see—

his mind…
in
me.

This year, if rain won’t caress my Beltane fires, I will
spill wine in the dirt to make a bed of mud. To have him
all over me (eyes open and wants exposed), that is all
I want to see—

in the evening, on the dining-room table… him,
always him, neurosis dominated by love… him,

his words…
his mind…
in me.

 

borrowed from Trancetral

 

expanded from this slighted mad-looking acrostic blackout poem
(you can read a bit more about the blackout itself here).

 

– linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

 

What Do You Feel When You See My Shorts?

Someone told me that the reason she doesn’t care for haiku, senryū, and micro writings in general is “because they are not long enough to make [her] feel anything.” I was… surprised. I mean, I can’t imagine someone feeling nothing after reading, “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

I decided to run my own wee experiment. I shared a blackout poem—the heart of the first of today’s poem bits—then, I asked my Instagram friends to tell me what they felt after reading it, what the 5 words brought to mind. Their responses were illuminating. So, of course, I wanted to do something similar here. After you drink in the wee bits below tell me what comes to mind. What, if anything, do they make you feel?

 

imagine, my heart,
but do not pretend to feel—
hollow love’s nothing

 

freedom is twisted
around limbs flayed by winter,
waiting to be freed

 

wilting blooms
sparkle their brightest
at sunset

 

the wee notes…
– the six-word story at the end of the first paragraph has been attributed to Hemingway, but no one is completely sure if he was the first to write it.
– for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.
– yes, the title made me giggle, too.