Unapologetic
Today Marianne’s jeans fit tight. Reflected on the bedroom mirror Her rounded face announces A waxing moon Her swollen figure rising waters Plump transmutation of phases Compels time for curves Unapologetic Aphrodite above Smiles like cotton candy Remembering the soft babble Of Marianne’s natal baby talk A young brook in her throat When Taurus in the horizon Oceans will wash over generous Convex skin to be embellished In foamy fur From thighs to hips Up the buxom breast Around a venusian belly Still shy Marianne seems vexed But the moon asks for a day or two That she might be heard Through the curved shadows Of a summer night When her light summons Girl almost a woman Close the bedroom door Liberate Aphrodites thighs Under the moon’s plea Let her breasts down free When tides are playful And your imperious belly Full of promise Will claim her power Unapologetic.
Home Element
His hands should feel like home Familiar as fresh morning coffee Otherwise I couldn’t even imagine Steaming cups terrenal Espresso lust and mocha, Dribbling down the corners of our lips. And if our grounds were too alien I’d lose my way to such skin Because when a calm moons linger silent In his stoic eyes constricted His old beam permeates my phantom clouds Troubled from vapors Imprisoned in my mind. We may be two versions of the same As he reaches New heat ignites prudent blue Pink and orange Loosened soil from his grainy palms Tells familiar truth forgotten. And at the highest of life’s overwhelm With gracious hands humid After another grinding afternoon I can still tell He’s not all water He is more of earth So I lean on his chest and feel the evidence. A heart beating sturdy inside firm walls My hands lay on them assured Remembering things elusive. That home can stand amongst phantoms Unsettled Clouded And even then He holds me.
Prayer
I need Grace from the universe Miracles Strength under my feet Electric breath pushing upward. A new gift from the whole of it A token A pass Gateway to abundance Incoming tide on my barren bank. River of heaven I look up and plead from under Drench my porous faith Where broken stone invaded naive pebbles. Nourish me Ripple in organic microcosms Bustling of minerals pervade the dryness, My skin to awaken This body to engage. Retreat and leave me after Glistening in radiant sheen Almost vacant Drenched in grace Crisp. And know me Under the roar of rivers My voice lost asunder In currents gone wild That these hands would not ask If this soul didn’t need.
Circles
Four generations and then came you To close the gap between Our all encompassing tug of war Womanly passions and duties strung along Over the decades. Our many missions to stay worthy Thrown into the blender of time, But you might be able to snap open the corset Holding us in stunted breath, Waiting. Let us inhale then Little passions calling to curiosities, Endless exploration, Sun and Moon over coffee Reflected. You may have to finish The melding of our four prides, Into one throbbing sword Settled in the cool autumn. And looking down on us Double glass windows Extreme patriots, Wuthering flags, Tradition, But dangerous ladies, We’ll hang colored beads instead, At the very entrance. Then you, Tanned cinnamon, Poignant cloves, Molasses, Riverdance on the radio Striding double speed The country roads we took generations ago. Already you stoke a fire Walking the line dignified, Already you stay silent And pick up a moment from thin ether, Too young to be a victim Of time run out. You may be the one to close it, The last of the circle And make our names all yours. We’ll give them to you gladly It is you who carries us through.
Treading
Lately roots awaken from slumber Memories disperse whispers past Silent picture of her in a blue dress Running the fields like a promise. Autumn matter releases And in the spring floats in seedlings Like her spirit of stone and brook Her fields Loves I did not yearn And yet we correspond As does love when it reaches far Giving no reason for lengths of time. Lately her past is a promise The possibility of all I carry forth That won’t be lost Real butter on toast each morning Steaming coffee and real cream Her life enough to build my own When in the early winter I reach for the knitted blanket Still stowed with the linen since we were kids. Roots awoken keep spreading The ground roots unbeknownst to my treading feet Sheltered in old hikers boots When and where many pasts come to meet.