Moved to allpoetry.com

Moved to allpoetry.com

Line up my broken bones
over a floor of frost-bitten marble
so that you may brand their ice
with the bruises
of your lips.

Sink your teeth into the river
that floats through
the blueness of my veins,
and lands as a stranger
in the velvet of your mouth.

Let my wavering sigh
travel down
the treacherous nape
of your strained neck,
as you trace
the freckled porcelain
of my skin
-to map
the city of my dreams-

-in this ghost town of powdery breaths,
you will *****
the tallest
the greatest
of all monuments.

So hear my plea and
immerse my vision
in the echoes of
your uttered promise as
the tearing muscles
of my desperate heart
reach to grasp
your empty words.

A world map puzzle rearranged,
haven for the lost,
home to those too strange
to the outcasts
to the insane,

Where hearts collide
and children of the sun thrive
because storms
can’t keep them
inside

because
here
they find the moon
in their skin
rain in a stranger’s eye
and know that they are kin

because
here
there are no borders
to separate our brains
we are all one
yet never the same

because
here
culture runs deeper than blood
in veins
in its palm this world
where spirits roam
and dreams grow


-kisses
drawn
upon nurtured souls.

"If some people like your painting, fine.
If some don't, well, there's the door.

Take your work seriously
But don't take yourself seriously

Paint for yourself
Enjoy yourself"

I was watching a show on PBS today
"The Beauty of Oil Painting" with Gary & Kathwren Jenkins

Gary said this and I marveled at how much this echoed the attitude we should cultivate when writing poetry.

A silkworm made my purse so fine,
yet a tiny fly has ruined my wine.