A single story has many sides it’s presentation in curves where the hip drops to meet a pair of eyes where a mind ripens on the vine for a would be lover
am I an apple blush today or a violent bouquet of violets?
it’s a roll of interpretative dice how I roll out of bed from under what sky line I tear my rain to cover the grass my prints in frost or leaving a seared earth behind; and I’ll be damned they always follow is there no fear than for the animal prime on his hunt no shame no humility under a harlot’s parasol a virgin’s aura?
“you think all men are animals, driven by the urge to f**k?” what a question to ask of the chained maiden of your friend no? I admire his chutzpa though, you know a man who doesn’t dance around the lies or back up from the truth of what he is “yes, I do.” is my answer simplistic, contrived is his “well, I’m not like that” a prevarication or is it just that he doesn’t know himself am I crushing with my “yes you are, you just control it better than most” leaving him there to mull through his own story which has many sides
somedays I ask the animal in the mirror “why are you so cruel, why dash their misbeliefs in themselves?” but the answer is always pressed back into my throat by another plaything’s insistence the believe in love
my story is cruel every side a fragmented diamond sharp and unforgiving in its beautiful phases
when you dream into me something else than I am you’re only lying to yourself; as a well cultivated geisha thing I can fit any lie but the outcome is never pretty
'from under what sky line
I tear my rain
to cover the grass
my prints in frost
or leaving a seared earth behind;'
your brilliance echoes in these lines, so many gems that appeal to me in this, your imagery is unexpected and engaging and i think this is the true strength of your writing, the unique, timeless edge, the natural ability to bring words to life. sometimes the truth isn't what we'd like but without honesty and truth how can we face the world?
My, my my... I sense soul-searching. But whose soul is my dovely searching? Herself? Or ours? I think we are about as complicated as we make ourselves out to be. Some things about us are universal and bond us together and some things are unique to each individual. Some things are a result of our environment and association and some things are chromosomal. Some things are simple truths of life and living as seen by the repetition of history and some things seem to be ever complicated to discern because we haven't learned from them yet. And the journey to that sense of self, that inevitable truth of humanity is what's truly complex. But who could tell a journey the way you do? Tuck it in silk folds and flap its triangular wings in a way that leaves us in awe? ...No one but you!
you have to have a lot of 'history' to push these words up out of the mist...i put my ear down close to the ground so i can feel the vibration, and touch you
again your philosophy of honor as soul , like a Freudian complex your the mother of those heart breakers, that line up to get a piece of your way, of your verbal sway, a rhythm of the kundalini snake shedding a layer of thin skin to be enlightened by change...amazing stuff
I love it when your mature work offers the fascinating glimpse into your reality--real or imagined, it's always fearless, and that's the part I love.
But, while you're editing, clarify this critical piece for us ("the" = "they"?):
"but the answer is always pressed
back into my throat
by another plaything’s
insistence the believe in love"
First off, I started this piece not enjoying it. I didn't like the opening at all and almost left without reading the rest, (First two lines just too cliche for me or maybe I just started it in a bad mood.) I am glad I did not. It turned out to be a very enjoyable read with a power-punch ending:
"as a well cultivated geisha thing
I can fit any lie
but the outcome
is never pretty"
That whole last stanza was astounding in all, but the last half of it just sticks with you in a good way. Kind of forces you into thinking about it for awhile. On the re-read I would still say to get rid of the second line: "many sides to a story," I don't think it adds that much to the poem esp. since it only echoes the opening line.
Thank you for posting it though, I'm very glad to have read it.
captivating introspective love ramble
projecting vulnerability
with caution and a Derringer
What is or was or never was
or what may be new revealing
that could be startlingly underplayed
or overplayed, maybe no relation
it is what it is in a glimmer
Patience, don't peak around the corner
knowing for certain what you'll see
on another note, does anyone have the rules
for what is acceptable when writing a poem.
Are personas acceptable, I hope
Can't they be informative about the part played
Persona Grata for me