My Sweet Night-Mare

Living is ink and want and him… a stitched story that has never been, a knowing smile that leaves logic and metaphors ashamed of being as unreal as words never felt. We kiss in books, on grass, in libraries, in crafted dreams… full of romances written with sharp teeth and (once upon a lie) sharper truths.

Scribble me
yours, for 13 whiles.
I will be
monster and hero,
for your tale in me.

Living is ink and want and her… She reads me real in her sleep, names me sweet Night-Mare, drinker of reason, all hers, in the wicked pools of our dark.

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the wee notes…
– In myth, Mares are terrible creatures, bringers of nightmares that drive dreamers insane with terror. The succubus and incubus (female and male spirits that seduce dreamers) sound a lot like mares, don’t they? In this bit of tanka-prose, I wanted to explore what might happen if a mare and the librarian (obviously) he meant to torment end up finding common ground.
– Written for the Beautiful Freaks Fest 2017, and for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Literary Excursions with Kerry ~ Metafiction.
– If you haven’t entered my stitched poetry giveaway, follow the link to do so… commenting on this poem gives you 1 entry, if you’ve entered the giveaway.

 

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 hurts 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)