Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

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you might understand this lament, this ache inside, this emptiness, this void. or you might not. why is it unusual? it's just me. take my hand & lead me to that sickle moon where i last left you to wonder about life and "hold to soul. hold. hold." yes! hold. doesn't dance take you there too? deep inside your core where the ache begins and it's so sad but you don't want to leave. and strangely the piano does that too...so achingly beautiful. these words have been straining to come out. i can. play. i can't play. (no words come) control this silly cake eating fairy who yearns for clouds on her tongue. who screams. pierce my dreams. hold your tongue. hold! it's not always polite to talk. these little looks she gives me, the fairy inside. like delicate accusing feet's pitter patter. like rain on window panes. rain rain...the grass is dying. dye my hair. i don't want to but grey is not cool & newborn hair refusing to lie flat is not polite either. in fact it's like cellulite on thighs & orange peel in eyes. it burns. close my i. why is it okay for others to just be? (but not for me) & how does it look so damn easy? stop! breathe. begin with this, these words. reveal. release. let them fly. sometimes i hate pathetic swimming in my poems. so fucking tragic. so drowning queen. too fragile & too impolite. stop. breathe. allow to be me. shiny & warm. no visitor counter. comment if you like. or not. & i want to play with you but. it's just...the days are too short and sometimes the connection between my brain and my hands, my brain and my tongue, my brain and my life, fails. miserably. pathetically. impolitely. and instead of saying this is about dancing and cake, but it's not, this is about emotions and yearnings, i write poems crying wolf to the moon. so...you might understand this. or you might not. either way, i'll sit down and shut up now.

***
ps. this flowed from my "moon dance" poem and if it seems a litte angry at times, it's not directed at any of you. thanks for reading.

Thanks for writing.

The Mingo wrote:

,... ya know there are writers & creators & reporters & revealers. The greatest of these are those who reveal, things about themselves, about the world around them, about the people in it.

You reveal
you are vulnerable
Poetry is a risky business I think.
Not for sissies

thanks again for writing.

crying wolf to the moon
the sun itself waits
the silent
in
offerings the moon
calls
beckons and
....

what thoughts we must sometimes ride
in order to reach another place that promises
those things that bring such comfort that even
those cannot be believed anymore than where
we got on the train to escape the now that
consumed us like bitter butter over burned toast

thx for your honesty, mj... i hope it helped.

in fact it's like cellulite on thighs & orange peel in eyes.

I liked this part. I'm not quite sure how an orange peel fits 'in' eyes but what the hell.

beautiful decay-steam/stream, smilegrl!!!!!!! hola again!!!!!!!!

I love the way you shine.
fantastic read
H

thank you for each individual reply. they all warm my heart so very much. i almost forgot how great it is to have a poet family.

right now i'm trying to break a semi writers block by playing with words, images, associations until i get something resembling a poem. anything. yes, there are much of me in these words, but sometimes i run a little with it and it's not necessarily what i meant to say when i started out. (or maybe it is )

thanks jack ("poetry is not for sissies"...yes indeed. *hug*), sweetwater (opportunities and time...yes, i know), cecil (you read deep my friend), yejun (when you pinch a piece of orange peel between your fingers you sometimes get sprayed in the eye...and it burns like hell!!! ), walt (please remind me), arcadia (decay stream...yes! thank you for reading it like that, beautiful woman) & miss hester (last but not least ...i want to sit ON a picnic table with you and eat watermelon and talk talk talk. or just sit. whatever comes naturally. thank you...)