Stars

I remember putting stars on your ceiling
One afternoon. And we lay there in bed
That night looking at our very own cosmos
Twinkling in your dark bedroom

Later, we went outside and
Lay on the grass
Our backs moist with spring dew
And we looked at the stars
The real stars
And held hands
And cried
Because you were leaving
To follow your dreams
So far away
That I could not follow

You were my dream
But I wasn't yours
And because of that
I had to let go
It was as if
I never had you
In the first place

In an instant you were gone
And I lay there on the wet grass
And watched your plane fly
Overhead

And I cried and I laughed
And I wanted to be with you
But this could never be
As you followed your dreams
And left me behind

Poetry Assignment: Tattoo

Tiger

"Do you like it?"
"I guess."
"It's cool."
"Is it?"
"Yeah, it is."
"Why?"
"'Cause it's a tiger."
"It is?"
"Hell yes, it's a tiger."
"Ok, if you say so."
"What do you mean?"
"If you say it's a tiger
it's a tiger."
"Damn right it is."
"Whatever you say, Steph."
"Fuck you, Daphnie."
"Thanks, Steph."
"Aren't you getting one?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Chicken?"
"No, it's not for me."
"You're chicken."
"No, I'm not chicken."
"Yes you are. You are."
"I wasn't chicken when
we got our labias pierced."

All the while the needle
Buzzed, the ink flowed,
And the artist wiped away
The blood. The tiger,
For that's what it was,
Emerged from her shoulder.
Like Michelangelo and
His blocks of marble
Carving away what shouldn't
Be there, the tattoo
Artist revealed what was
Already hiding just
Beneath her skin.

Poetry Assignment: Phone Book

Not for the easily offended... You have been warned!

Room Service
for cb

I strolled down the hallway
with Ed's wife Sara, her eyes
askance

Together but not together
scatterings of early room
service litter the hallway
bits of old food cling
to chipped hotel china
my stomach rolled

Into the room, silent
undressed under dim
fluorescent light
that cast a pallor over
Sara's pale skin

Sara, her 110 pounds naked
bent in half before me
"Do it!"
I hit her ass with my hand,
hard. And again. And again.

"Hit me!" she screamed
"Harder, you fuck!"
hands clench ankles,
her tight body bent double,
tits dangling from her
chest, swaying gently,
her bare ass flushed
with blows already
delivered.

From the desk, I grab
a phone book in both hands
and wind up for another shot at
that perfect, round ass. The
sound of contact
paper on flesh
echos off the
dingy walls.

Anonymous paintings by
anonymous painters
gaze down impassively
while we dance
our potent ritual.
"Fucking pussy! I said HARDER!".
Smile,
swing,
contact.
"Oh God, YES! YES!
Fuck YES!"

Casting the paper weapon aside I
rammed my stiff cock into her as
far as it would go.

I catch sight of the phone book
laying open on the floor
to the restaurant section.
it's pages a subtle, erotic V

Moving rhythmically
in and out
in and out
in and out
the smell of our sex swirled
around us, cloying, intoxicating,
breathing harder
and harder
and harder

"How about Chinese?"
She moans a vague agreement.
My body shudders as I come hard
inside her.

"Kung Pao Chicken," she gasps.
"Spicy."

Poetry Assignment: Cathedral

I had a lot of trouble with this one.

Cathedral

The young monk stands in the nave
Staring up towards the ceiling so far far away
A flicker of gold and images of saints
Gaze down, indifferent, upon him
The perfumed air of the cathedral
Rich and layered with the centuries
A simple brown robe cloaks his thin frame
Plain and unadorned, stark contrast
To the ornate building where he stands.
Casting gaze downward, past the
Multi-hued rose high on the wall
to the high altar and the crucifix of gold.
Moving silently aside, he crosses himself
And kneels to pray. Quietly murmuring
His meditations cracked open by a
Shrill, harsh outburst from behind.
"Oh honey, look, he's prayin'! Take a picture!"
"You betcha', babe, that's a keeper!"
The young monk closes his eyes and
Prays for patience to endure what he's
Come to detest. God Damn Tourists.

Ten Random iPod Tracks

Following on from BaronessHeather's iPod randomness assignment, here are my 10 random iPod tracks. Be aware that I have a 60GB iPod which is almost full so there's a lot of stuff to pick from...

1. Leri Son Salita tutta sola in segreto alla Missione - Madame Butterfly
2. Orion - Stormwatch - Jethro Tull
3. Cantata "Christum wir sollen loben schon" BWV 121 - Bach Christmas Cantata - English Baroque Orchestra
4. Queen of Las Vegas - Nude on the Moon - The B52s
5. Enigma Variations - VI - Elgar: The Enigma Variations
6. Waiting in Vain - Songs of Freedom - Bob Marley
7. Relax - Tuxicity - Richard Cheese
8. Waiting for a Girl like You - Four - Foreigner
9. Chain Lightning - Citizen Steely Dan - Steely Dan
10. Boogie Blues - old 78 record - Gene Krupa & His Orchestra

Poetry Assignment: Salsa

Untitled

They danced in the snow
Coats cast aside
Mummy wraps
Nearly naked in
Mother's disapproval
A violent steamy salsa
Spinning and twirling
Amidst the falling flakes
Fast turning to steam
At skin's desperate contact
So hot, hot beyond measure
A passion intertwined
Snow and heat
Music spilling
From an open car
Beat and rhythm
Their eyes locked
In the heat of the dance
Cacophonous laughter
Echos in the street
When finally, finally, finally
They find each other

Poetry Assignment: Baseball

Here is a link to another baseball poem which I kind of like better than this one, but since it's from before, I couldn't use it again...


Winter Park

The empty cathedral stands silent
But for the whispers of the stands
Where sun worshipers roast like brats
In the hazy, hot summer sun.
But that day is not today, not today.

Now the ground is cold, so cold.
From beneath a cracked bench
Tucked way back in the dugout
A baseball peeks out, a shy small
Mouse on a frosty winter's day.

Forlorn but not quite forgotten little ball
Recalls the days of the sun and the grass
The swing of the bat, the joy of the sound
As contact is made. The roar of the crowd,
Silenced for now, but old ball knows it will be back.

The wind whistles through empty flagpoles,
Their banners long ago removed.
Rope and cable tap out a rhythm without rhythm.
The bleachers below slumber soundly beneath
Snow and ice, waiting, dreaming of sunshine days.

The sun hangs so low at mid-day
Shadows stretch deep into the outfield.
A snow thick and lustrous carpets
The field where birds peck and poke,
Wandering in search of old popcorn.

One day, one day the field will awaken
The sun will rise higher and brighter than now
The bleachers will fill with the sun seeking
Throng. But today, on this cold day
The park slumbers, waiting for then.

Poetry Assignment: Sleep

Today's poetry assignment was sleep. When I think sleep, I think dreams....

Sleep

Awakend from a fitful sleep
A dream on the edge of memory
Three dryads recalled
And a remembrance of
Strange happenings felt.

Lying in bed wondering
What had happened
In a place so near to hand
Yet so very far away

Closing my eyes and
Seeing their faces
Fleeting as the memory
Of a memory of a myth.

Moments stretch to years
Dreams unbidden yet
Longingly desired
Three dryads danced
Just for me, just for me.