mow mow mow the lawn

[creativesoul]

gently the razors edge cuts the grass
my roomate is still furious for various reasons
my friend jerome is mowing the lawn
by the tepee, by the sweat lodge
by the table and chairs and defunct swimming pool
near where all the secrets are revealed of the heart and soul
judgements are not allowed back here
near the greenway of portland
where ivy strangles trees on a hillside
and i wait for another ridiculous response from what seemed like a creative surge at one time
now looks like patriarchial gibberish
if my needs could look nice and gain your approval i would not be here
struggling with typewritter keys and broken thoughts tattered like a cloth woven by small feeble hands that my grandmother wiped kitchen counters with and wore a house frau like apron to bake christmas cookies and tea.
once i stood in her shadows in awe and in love
now i stand aglow with her fire and sadness pressing me onward where she could not go
i left her once with a choice where she would like me arranged in a floral vase
on her dining room table or onward seeking what i needed
she told me go and find what makes you happy
i did
but found she needed my care later
i did what i could
now i have another elderly lady that trusts me to care for her
my lovers mother
she is blind
but somehow i know she sees me
the wisteria flows over and archway sweetening the air
the grass is being cut
there are many things i could share with her
my roomate will alwyas disapprove of the way i speak
what i want ;what i do
she will always want something i cannot give her
jerome takes his shirt off
sweat and comments
the disdain of a woman that has had cobwebs on her pussy for justa little too long
ah to be a whore... the best of this is of corse over payment for services rendered
i have often thought of opening a bordello
the joys of sex cannot be forfilled in an oppressive enviroment
love gives and takes and allows for the experiences of life to engulf and penetrate that which is sacred and beautiful and non conforming
something that no one can ever steal from me
passion writes the best poetry

[hester_prynne]

This really could be a few different poems CS. The line "I did" would be where the first one ended. I mean, I glided gloriusly to that line, but it seemed to veer off a little steep after that, as if it were a new piece altogther, and a good one too! Just different That first part up though the line "i did" is divine.
You could split up the last half into two more. Regardless, it's good writing, I mean, I love to read you
H

[Arcadia]

there are a lot of places to go
and at the same time
no need to go anywhere...
the past, the great scape
when present it´s felt non-dramatic
& passion is someone else´s bussiness

I really like the text, in let´s call it, a challenging way..!
First thought: a big HEY, AND REALLY WHAT ABOUT YOU ?. ( I mean YOU).
Then, García´s song "Yendo de la cama al living".
And at the end I realized that I won´t need to take care of an ancient woman in the future (maybe only myself!) and that it´s quite probably I have to take care of an old man (which it sounds easier at first sight!). But wait... I have aunts and cousins and friends... (auch!)

saludos,