Good girls don’t— uncross their legs at whim, look you in the eye and say no, raise their voices, ignore breadcrumbs when they’re hungry for a sit down seven course white gloved three star Michelin meal, frown when pissed, cry when frustrated, hasta la vista when attacked.
Cricket choirs halt— a train rumbles through, metal on metal, freight cars blurring.
The sound permeated a childhood cocoon of sleepovers— the guest room with the flowery cotton sheets, fragrant carved rose soaps for everyday use, a yellow tiled kitchen with ruffled curtains that framed the Atlantic, freshly baked cake cooling on the sunshine striped table, meatballs in sauce bubbling on the stove, newspaper pages turning, boats sailing past, all encompassing hugs, sun kissed skin and warmth that only came from four arms, two hearts and so much love, both with a long trail of ancestors hailing from a city nestled in the Southern Italian charm of Basilicata.
You weren’t diminutive in your sparking. Your flames lit matchsticks within me one by one. Each flare blazed uncontrolled. Charred scars and splinters ignited in my stratosphere. It was a pleasure to be burned. ~Pamela Rossow
This poem was inspired by the photograph below of a person who happens to be an artist, dreamer, photographer, blogger, motivator and friend. Her self-photo has a golden quality to it and this poem is the result. Now check our her blog at Dangerous Linda. Go on, skeddadle.
she was not content to live in
as pearls do hidden
away until their luminescent
she was light so much so that
could not surround her
one flaxen glance and it blazed
she bathed in brilliance arms wide to
the ritual cascade golden rivulets of
honey and shining flecks of
she even dreamt in goldenrod while
of harvest trailed her heart’s flights
keeping the dark at
What he couldn’t say in
words he said with his
lips, hovering over her heart
pounding out rhythms in
E C D E F E C.
He skimmed near closed
eyelids that dreamt in liquid blue-
he and she bathed in midnight,
feeling their way along pebbled shores,
staying far from the warmth and false
security of sandbars, away from the
blue black where they once treaded
ice water, going under when swells
broke over them.
He toyed near ears
open, waiting for
exhalations of loving
breath filled with abandon,
He searched her intently,
diving then coming up for
air, thinking he’d find the
solace he sought, believing
she secreted away his
talisman somewhere in her
deep curves and gentle
illumination, that she held an
amulet to heal his blue black.
He realized too late she did not
hide the magical powers he
sought to soothe him, to bind
the darkness that plagued
him, bruised him, tormented him.
He pulled away seeking, travelling
past the pebbled beach’s gleam and
sandbars warm till he caught a wave,
riding the blue black till he became no
more than a dark spot on the horizon.
she leaned into
wondering if the
faint sounds were
his hands smoothing
maybe it was just the
rustling of her gown
against the sheets-
she couldn’t sleep or
tremble away the
brush of the unknown
vacant rooms once
occupied no dog barks
at passers-by from slatted
fences no hydrangeas spill over
borders onto sidewalks his stairway
doesn’t creak memories of silent visitors
treading paths long ago to and fro his attic
forgotten cluttered with shadowy recesses and
memories tucked away in ancient trunks with roses
crumbled given and received as love bloomed precious
lockets house faded photos once fingered by wrinkled hands
digging climbing her feet grazed pink cotton
candy dipped into aqua oceans she flew up
climbing high above “what’s for dinner”
and “due to insufficient funds” she
soared backward into squishy
lake bottoms netting bass
she breezed forward
past “invoices are
in reverse finding
herself planted firmly
in childhood green she knelt
down “ready, set, HIKE” toes
in the air again propelling towards
treetops skimming feet boisterous breath
not wanting magic memory motion to just stop
her face was
a poem or many
maybe more like
prose nouns clung
to her eyelashes verbs
wet her lips articles tickled
her nose metaphors grazed her
neck exciting the stanzas lurking
behind her ears while off-rhymes
tangled themselves in her hair framing
what lay beneath her anthology’s surface
“The naive judgment of the dreamer on waking assumes that the dream – even if it does not come from another world – has at all events transported the dreamer into another world.” The Interpretation of Dreams ~By Sigmund Freud
You tried to take away my wish fulfillment. You dissected it bit by bit until it became broken into pieces of quantitative analysis, sterile bits of soul laid bare upon your theoretical frameworks.
I allowed you to strip me, leaving my subconscious naked, the entire time believing in your precepts, trusting in your self-professed science, becoming a hypothetical experiment.
How could you have known anything of my candy colored absurdities, my twilight bathed inspirations, my laurel hopes, my Amazon desires? You did not speak my dream language. Your muteness sliced my emotions with surgical precision.
If only you had cared to know something of my autumnal eyes, my emerald amulet, my perpetual shores, my beating waves, my cerulean depths. You did not feel my swells. Your resolute bias steeled cool.
she was all
in no cheating
she had to play
her hand win
or lose life was a
series of five cards
kings and deuces
she refused to quit
because there was
no repeat royal
flushes or full
houses she picked
up her cards and
waited for the flop
she was all
in no cheating
green and gleaming it falls tumbling from its leafy place secreted away from grasping hands and biting mouths green and gleaming it falls with every bounce a marring bruise as downward it hurls towards earth a final jarring bump then rolling stop the view from down to up is far but not so distant that creamy yellow blossoms go unnoticed fragrant beauties yet untainted by the ravages of avarice and voracity
washing over me
and flooding my being a
welcomed liquid embrace
a cocoon enveloping my
eyes nose ears a blurring of
senses floating me crosscurrent
from the estuary to that spot of
freckled sunlight glinting off
limpid waters where leafy canopies
in mirrored reflections tease rippling
the place where You I first sprung
I’m excited to introduce a blogger friend whose poetry I have admired for some time. She agreed to guest post and share an original poem from her collection. She is an talented artist who weaves beautiful imagery and creativity into her poetry. She writes about relationships, nature, love, lost loves, and the bottom line? She moves me! Check out her site at glittering soot on her eyelashes and show her some love!
i flow in gold rivulets alike a slowly setting sun, skin tingling, lost in blistering air of the never tomorrows and never agains. we gulp it down, unwillingly, laughing, saline waters still trapped in alveoli aftertaste of sea spray on the lips and i remember all that you were and all that you weren’t.
I beg to differ.
Only gently fingered.
At worst, maybe-
It’s surely not my fault
the box lacked the little, white slip
that’s supposed to accompany them.
It’s not like they’re all smushed-
just the ones that taste like drunken pina coladas,
tangy, orange creamsicles,
and tart, cherry cordials.
Only two, creamy caramels in the bunch,
can you believe it?
Have some, really-
I don’t mind.
Take them to work then.
Throw them where?
his soles ran many miles
wherever the Westerlies
blew across soft earth
skidding gravel rough
asphalt he was losing
traction treads worn
laces frayed in need of a
park bench a tree stump
a rock anywhere his shoes
could pause rest be still
yet his sneakers had a
mind of their own so
onward they sprinted
she was of plain constitution plainness masked by strength and determination bold blunt as a bloodied two-edged sword overused in battle conduct steered by virtue but stained by the dishonor of her chosen profession she sailed calm turquoise waters other times fought black-blue waves unstoppable on a quest her principles would not let her abandon her treasure pulse core she strove to find what was estranged from her only weakness was her susceptibility to violent affection she reasoned her life of danger on the high seas was akin to melting emotion she carried on scanning the windswept waves for that object she must steal back
you me an original GFI less Vidal Sassoon plunged into a filled claw foot tub hot wires no tripped circuits just voltaic juiced electricityintensity measured in amperes possible lethal malfunctions yet chances taken because resistors fail when up against passionate inductors
she stood a child amidst waving grasses a cupped butterweed flower in her hands slowly she closed her eyes letting the azure mist of the skies drench her soul gently she began to pluck each petal a flaxen butterfly fluttering to the ground descending in a graceful dance he loves me he loves me not he loves me he loves me. . . she paused eyes closed
splintered wood smoothed by numerous visitors seat for a watcher who rests under night’s velvet throw round waning gibbous glows above shadowy water unfolding as metallic waves lick the shore harmonious order murmurs serenity aligns my universe pervades thoughts quiets the humming of my mind
You stand gripping your
letter of marque yellowed waving Congress stamped close to me too near me. Your mahogany eyes telling me you have the right to take from me what is mine what was mine.
Only papers are needed legitimate piracy you utter legs planted arms crossed gaze firm unwavering close to me too near me. The plank shudders. Diverted eyes I raise.
How am I to get back what you stole from me? The beating pulsing piece of me that pumps crimson through my channels and life through my waterways? A split second your tawny eyes flicker. Concern or pity? I cannot tell.
Your stance remains unreadable. Emboldened I ask once more. The plank bounces. How am I to get back what you stole from me? You stand close to me too near me. You stare silently into my sunglow eyes.
That’s how I roll Home. Spoon- ing cream of chicken over Sweet Toma- toes barefoot. Fort Piercing castle walls. Sun rise, Ray- Bans liver and peas. On- line bank account and letters stamped upside down, side- ways to the right. Jetta course marking miles, yesterday- today, tomorrow. Dolphins, salty air, c- weed. Moon rise, life guard stand or love’s seat. Pamelarossow@yahoo.com peppered with 772. Dork in sun dress whacking golf balls steering cart off course. July Bourne-nursing Qatar, Albuquerque, Afghanistan. NM anchoring hot air balloon fire works to one boy’s soul. Boxers smiling high and tight. Sweetest Thing making fajitas singing- country, cabins in fall. Hawaiian Tropical nights, crimson roses, Ferrero Roche making It’s A Wonderful Life. Lime wiring me to rolled tooth paste tubes. Gargettos far from Bland- ing spicing up summer heat, igniting passion, burning remember- ances, blue and black.
Today is one of those beautiful, fall SoFlo days that causes me to spout poetry like October by Frost or To Autumn by Keats. Every since I was a small girl, I was enthralled by the autumn sea breezes turned windy that mussed my hair and toyed with my dress’s hem.
As an adult, when I see the wind blustering through the arecas, the first thought skipping through my mind is whether or not my allergies are going to attack my sinuses and mess with my lungs. But then, memory, that all important muse, prods me into romanticizing fall like I did when I was a child and I am under autumn’s spell once more (armed with Clarinex).
So I can relive those milkweed moments from years ago when I spotted the pods opening and the tiny seedlings with fluff rising like nature’s balloons into the air. I can celebrate the first periwinkle morning glory that graces the fence. I can feel connected to that little blonde haired girl obsessed with growing things, stooping down to get a closer view of the green acorns, rubbing sage between her fingers and smelling it’s savory perfume–I can just be.
full frontal no sidelong peep or half obscured glance that strains my eyes want you close centered no mirrored reflection or portrait on the wall just a clear view bold strong blue my eyes riveted won’t turn away futile to resist you finger my soul call me I will come and never leave your salty embrace
bleak winter days take it out of the
freezer lay it on the counter to
thaw icicled moment frostbitten
tucked away years ago behind Green
Giant sweet peas and vacuum
sealed chicken breasts a memory frozen
solid melting pooling tiny rivulets
dripping onto tiled floor a remembrance
room temperature growing hotter
reach out touch feel its warmth the
grainy velvet beneath entwined feet
late afternoon fading sunlight
splintering rough blistered boards
salty air cooling orange creamsicle
sun slipping down on her black-blue
bed sea’s musings reaching for
her shore gentle music soothing two
needy engulfed in a white mineral laced
embrace repelling shadows flitting
flirting near lovers spotted out in opaque
depths far from turquoise shallows
discreet distance nestles between
hands no longer touching not groping
scorched pull back grab aluminum
foil oven mitts wrap it toss
it back into the frigid depths