rainy day women

rainy day women
fall into their own baths
standing bare chested below the heavens,
used to their own waterfalls,
they are unafraid of inevitable sickness
they taste the leaves on their tongues
and press their toes into the fertile soil
sticking their lashes behind the sheets of life dripping before them

today i sat in the rain next to the azaleas
created long buckets with my hair
swished the water in my mouth
let it creep into those places only you know
i prayed for you
fell faster than the rain

dear poet

why has the wind stopped singing?
it seems your voice has been drowned by your old tears,
your palette cut by your sharp tongue,
your fingers cramped by their own tired dance

why has the world lost color?
the tide has washed back all that was taken before
faded and scratched amongst the decaying ground
there is no music, no language, no beauty in remnants of the mind

why has the body fallen still?
your bones whittle down with the ticking of each second
your skin sinks into the lost springs of a tired bed
welcome home poet, this is your cavern
this is your escape from the desperate truths of ink wells
this is the disconnect from your life

Flamenco

My last night in Spain I went to a flamenco show in a dark corner bar and was beyond impressed with the three people on the stage...

Vocalist
His voice is whiskey washed
Veins erupting from his strained throat
Smell of his breath stains the air in a smoky note trailing

He shuts his eyes, pains of his soul reaching through the creases of his lids
His song forced from the body rocking beneath it
Sweat beads glistening from his gray collar now shrouded in black

Guitarist
He glides his fingers along the bars
Flying fingers jerking between the strings
Looping teeth chatter against the polished wood

He gives his heart in the deep tones, his soul in the high ones
Tear drops rain into the room as he pushes them against the instrument

Dancer
She twirls between notes with fury
Batting along the staffs with her arms
Each stomp sending marches of protest along wooden panels
Clapping her hands to rid them of her blue blooded veins

Her skirt sends waves into the crowd
And cloud my eyes in a red ruffled chaos
She turns, fast and dramatic

Drops her head to the falling cry of the distant voice behind her
Blinks hard and heavy as she drinks in the room
Candle glint of wine rolling down her cheek
Falling into the tiers of the lace
She stops dancing, presses her body into the ground
Picks a tear from her face, claps her hands one last time
Before the candle blows out

Number One

This is the first poem of the summer, I wrote it last night while unpacking and thinking of the friends I left at Rutgers...

There are moments when you become aware that you are living

He sits back in his chair, peers over at me
Thick smoke rings trailing from his smile
Spiraling into my curls as I walk by
His fingers flicker along the sides of the glass in contemplation
Pulls me closer as I grasp tufts of his hair to pick out

Smooth lyrics sing and we all fall in tune with the music
Street lights illuminating notes on the nighttime breeze outside
He tickles the small of my back
Fingertips pulsing along to the beat while someone hugs me
Unraveling hiccupped stories into my ears

I unfold my tongue and breathe
Coughing up giggles while I sway my head
There is a laughter settled into the room, rising and falling every infinite second
Sweet tastes of wine and brandy numbing our teeth
And our words free and easy behind the green lit door

Only tears are from laughing too hard
Only frowns are from sarcastic jokes
Even truth feels the numb of the brandy behind that door
Even love floats easy between smoke rings

Project 111

So, we've decided to do something new, and I have pledged to myself (and signed a contract with Ian Khadan, lol) that I will follow through in writing one poem each day for one hundred and eleven days and I will be posting them here (along with anything else I feel fits in between). It begins May 16th and ends September 3rd, I hope you enjoy it...