affordable me.

"thirtypoemsinthirtydays"

 

 

 

In 64

on the same morning that the fish-flies

stuck themselves to the cooler, painted side of the gas station

I was conflicted.

 

Wanting to, at once, pull the sparkle, glitter gown of

Diana Ross over her hips to see what color panty girdle

a skinnny woman wore/

 

or instead, to be her, half bent and googoo eyed defining. This

is a poem about time. About how it passes thru the thinnest

of human filters. About how touch and delight

 

is carried under the tongue as a prostitute does seamen. What

i'm asking is are women real people? Are they something of

which an affirmation can be made?

 

That I tried to hold its hand across linoleum Sahara's. Stick

colored magnets of the night to; notes of a dead child,

reminders to wash my head at least once a week with

 

the Prell green solution of affirmation and ginger. Did I French kiss

the fridge goodnight thinking that a thing

cooler at the top, warmer where the gasses crisp

 

at the bottom, might in fact be you? 2012 and I am still conflicted.

Not for trees maintaining the earth or angles/ not for the

love that tears thru you like the sword of some medieval priestess

 

but the ghost in the empty house next door who keeps the light on

just in case other drunken ghosts might find their way thru the

darkness.

Reviews

[Rosalind Gale]

For me to read your poems at the same time has receive such wonderful compliments and love from you, well it just makes me so darn happy and appreciated, and a little humble (just a little, no need to go super-modest) All lines woven with guile, craft, and daring imagery - and at the same time, I hear the heart of you. Thank you for being all the world in one place, all the feelings under the sun. You my friend are out there on your own. Much love,
Rosie
-xxx-

[W.k.kortas]

What the folks here before me have said--fine writers and perceptive reviewers all--has focused on both the universality and scope of the piece as well as its intimacy, and doing both is, frankly, pure damn magic. The combination that others have grasped is the most fulsome praise, and I have nothing to add to it but my gratitude that you continue to do so.

[escherflight]

well there is a lot in this. It's very gregarious, flitting from one huge theme to another: time, women, death, ghosts, conflict etc. I enjoyed reading it and felt a tad vulnerable as I didn't understand it all. Just for the record, women are real, yes, but so different to men that we can never fully communicate, try as we might.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

or what color panty girdle a diva wore....although back in '64 she hadn't quite gotten there yet.

i love the French Kissing the fridge, cooler at the top...nice intimation there of how some carry themselves in such a seductive way, but when we open that top door to their minds, to their emotions, it is like opening a freezer.

and those ghosts are still trying to find their way through the darkness.

always something so different and startling from you.

jacob

[Frieda P]

Wow what great imagery, you had me at Diana's Ross's panty girdle and it just got better....drunken ghosts, what a great finish, most enjoyable read.

[Tree]

I like how you say. "...this is a poem about time." Then you proceed to show us, with imagery so crisp and palpable you can feel with your hand, taste, with your lips. The other question you posed that grappled my imagination, was when you wrote: "..are women real people?" Of course not, I said, to my self. They are goddesses and anti-goddesses, and we construct and deconstruct, then construct again. Not just daily, but by the hour, sometimes, by the minute. But then I started on your poem again, and then I understood.
This poem Was about time; about ghosts, about memory. And how they/ She. has never left...

This was moving, D. deeply felt.


Diego Paz

[J.P. Bristow]

Wow you paint such amazing images....I am becoming a fangirl. Seriously the feminist in me wrestles with my cleavage...the conductress or the concubine....... The Delilah to my dairymaid....but all agree this was art.