"My mistress' eyes are nothing…"
But at 55, the should’s should not be gripping me as they do in tortuous roads to re-realization that giving to get something is not giving, and thoughtful consideration of my intentions—a mere pause or micro-meditation–relieves me and everyone I touch of unfulfilled obligations and responsibilities to me and those who depend on me.
Giving with expectation, without right to give away what belongs to another–time, energy, and money–is not proper giving. It is merely exchange or thievery.
She has slept away her first five days here, awakening only to fret, face swallowed up in full furrowed brows, swollen eyes and shrivelled spirit, grieving inconsolably over something lost, something she fears is lost anyways. She cries. Fifty-five years old, weathered, burnished skin adding ten years to her face, she was picked up for drugs or prostitution; I do not remember which. She once told me in between spurts of awakened anguish over her dogs. All I remember is the agonized tears and the dogs…read more
“My dogs, my dogs, what’s going to happen to them?”
I burn with desire to help, call someone, but I know I cannot. Impossible, even if I could locate her husband.
She was arrested nearing her apartment, where her five dogs live and sometimes her estranged husband. She suffers thinking about the fate of her dogs. All she wants to do is contact her husband to make sure he looks after the dogs. She has no one else. Otherwise, they will die or get taken away. Each time she awakens, she bawls and repeats her anguish, fretting so hard and patterned like worried fingers on rosary beads. Exhausted, she falls back to sleep.
Hard to catch my breath, like the moon sliced thinly
slivered to eighths, and thirds and halves tonight,
bitten, smothered, and bloodied, but largely ignored.
Has the moon absorbed ALL the air for its survival?
I gasp. And the battle rages outside the shop window,
the moon wrestling for light, struggling in the shadow.
Crescent beam rests on the palm frond near defeated,
gasping for a second wind before a last laser sabre stab.
And then–fade to dust, blackened sky longing, airless.
“Oh black night, I rest inside you, my Jonah, forgotten,
caged bones’ anonymity, unheard, unseen–un-re(a)d.”
Flustered, mind agape, silently wide-eyed,
I know not what sits behind her eyes.
She, a squirrel up a date palm, looking for acorns,
and I, a logical storm looking for a landing, apace,
we dance the squares of the place, tiled and tidy,
a touch of mildewed madness escaping. We spin.
She hides, a cushion pin stuck in the grimy wall.
Magenta stew toppled around her meaty face, her,
I stare across the room at only silhouette;
flat ribbon plastic words float to her
cordon her off like a crime scene
in the corner, dark, smoldering
punk in a steamy seamless-ness,
drunken porridge, we two–a corruption,
an oil leak of foul forethought.
She takes me home–her home–
a wondrous oak tree, reaching
branching, bleeding out the red roots.
We shuck seeds, plant acorns, see what grows.
Link to the Amazon page is now available here.
A piece I fleshed out from a sketch I posted earlier on this blog, this personal essay on The Mindful Word was published yesterday. I hope you enjoy it.
The act of suddenly ceasing all communication with someone the subject is dating, but no longer wishes to date. This is done in hopes that the ghostee will just “get the hint” and leave the subject alone, as opposed to the subject simply telling them he/she is no longer interested. Ghosting is…(read more here)
So here it is….
19,751 words.
List Price: $19.75
We are Some Poets. We hail from all over the globe, brought together by the love of words and art. We are 33 poets, writers, and creators whose words come from personal places, and originate in every emotion. Our anthology is one from the heart, and should be enjoyed with a cup of hot coffee and an open mind.
Publication Date:
Sep 24 2015
ISBN/EAN13:
1517403472 / 9781517403478
Page Count:
270
Binding Type:
US Trade Paper
Trim Size:
8.5″ x 11″
Language:
English
Color:
Black and White
Related Categories:
Poetry / General
Available on CreateSpace.com right now and Amazon next week.
I am naked.
Free of the fabric of culture
Bare before the truth
Bereft of reason
Alone in the dark
Stripped of sense
unclad
buck
Unmasked
au naturel
exposed
buff
unsheathed
naked
justice disrobed
a nude silhouette
unclothed of any pretenses
raw meat undressed
skin adorned
birthday suited
cloth shorn
unthreaded
inborn
open
unhidden
skin sight
discovered
transparent
vulnerable
unearthed
denuded
naked
I am.
Yep, it’s been a work in progress for several months. What started as a fun sort of idea tossed around by members of a splinter group from last April’s Poetry Marathon, developed into a full fledged complete work of passion of …you guessed it, some poets. I am proud to call myself one of those poets.
This collection of Poetry Marathon survivors’ poetry is not only an ecclectic mix of perspectives and styles but also a visually stunning display of photography and art talent. My humble contributions to the published work have appeared here on this blog, but the poems’ textures change just a little when dressed up in a professional compilation nested among so many other talents.
My gratitude cannot be measured for the work of the editors and all who brainstormed to get the thing off the floor and out the door. It’s no mean feat to get 50 some odd creative types to agree and collaborate with a single aim. There were casualties on the way. But those who persevered deserve to see their accomplishment come to fruition.
Look us up on Amazon. More specific links (and shameless plugs) to come. 🙂
Peace,
The Gaze
In the gaze of the other 