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.

Silenced Fires

I’m with her from moonrise to sunset, from lost to not yet found—listening, plotting, feeling every word and world that darkens the ink in her veins. When July reaches its lustiest, when leaves are green and birds gaudy, when she craves the cooling touch of water and dirt, I fill her head and hips with burning tales, and I wait… for her fingers to spell my wilds real. We sing much out of the heat, before the chill chants of change.

Autumn dressed
the lake reddish gold,
silenced fires.
In her heart, summer-
crafted stories fade.

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– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

Become the Uncanny

I know the darkness dancing in my gaze, how the rained-on-muddy-brown that fills my eyes is drunk on midnight and secrets. I glance at your face and feel… the need to invite your soul-tellers to look inside my heart. Can you see what blooms in there? The parts of me (growing deep-deep-deep), the pieces that mirror the bits you (almost) never show to the world? I see you, know you… because strange takes time to find itself. I searched for you and found you because the world is broken, slightly rotten… and I can’t fix it alone.

I’m using my weird
to kick impossible’s butt—
hope is exotic.
Let’s become the uncanny
change that makes happy the norm.

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– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.