Updated Mar 31, 2017 (Okay, April 1 – but no Aprils Fool’s Joke) I have spent March composing and formating my Chasing Tiger Chapbook. It’s a longer process than I anticipated since I want to include approx 40 Tiger poems … and I have about 450 of them in the past two years. Had hoped to have it done by my March 23rd reading at Salem Poetry Project. Nope. Still formatting. But.. AVAILABLE SOON! Notify me here if you wish to pre-order your copy.
Updated August 12, 2016 Soundcloud has “lost” my audio files this morning. I am rebuilding them and attaching the audio link to each poem as I go along. Those poems that have an audio of my reading will have their title highlighted as a hyperlink. click on the hyperlink and a separate tab will open to the Soundcloud reading.
This collection are my love poems … especially unrequited love. This romantic collection takes it’s name from a nickname I gave someone I love – Tiger. It also touches some on the trauma of abuse and how it shapes a heart; i have had to be a tigress to be brave enough to love. A deeper level of the meaning – Tigers are an endangered species, we must now take special efforts to preserve it – this is a great metaphor for love itself.
Note – these poems re not all about my Tiger. I think I had my first official boyfriend at age 4 (Donny – same age, lived four houses down). I admit it – I love men! … Men can be fun. I love men loving me! I can be fun. (See my erotica “Bits Of Cyn”) . However – I have been in love with him for about 27 years now. But I have had other loves that have impacted me as well. Such as my dear husband – Arrin. I composed The Waiting Room collection while dealing the grief of his death.
Still … chasing Tiger seems a big part of my identity not only as a poet, but how I respond as a human. Treat people as precious; they always are!
Chasing Tiger poems come to me often. If you wish to peek at my drafts, please sign up for my e-mail list.
My very first poem, though simplistic, was very indicative of the future of my life …
- Tigereyes or Lover (audio available)
- following fish (audio available)
- Solitary Crossword (audio & video available)
- prowling (audio available)
- A Cat Has No Master (audio available)
- Simile (audio available)
- Downwards or Mid-Winter Moment (audio available)
- The Heart (audio available)
- Bookseller I (audio available)
- Please Read (audio available)
- Monday’s Dream (erotica)
What is it that makes me tremble
when you’re around or call my name
like a primitive pheromone
that speeds quick to my brain;
causing it to weaken,
skin to tingle, heart rapidly beat,
only to be sated when
we mingle ‘pon the rumpled sheet.
i said goodbye to my sanity today
i could not keep it and still love you
for following you was never a rational thing.
so i keep stowing away on ships
talking to the silent fish
and leaving a blood trail for them to follow
to drain my heart overboard daily
i must drink the sea to replenish it,
one can get used to a mouth of salt.
and one can get used to the unbalanced
waves, the lighted and slippery prow,
laughing into a storm.
one can get used to a face of water
a diet of biscuits, shivering
with wind and sail. insanity
is not a voyage i am scared of.
i fear instead staying on the shore
and forgetting you.
I’m sitting at my desk
& feeling your absence,
the sharp edge of it so inured
it just feels like a constant pressure;
thinking of tigers and stones
& green and blue
& crosswords sitting solitary all day
& a porch with one occupant.
I don’t often sit on my porch;
too often downtown keeping distracted,
keeping busy – keeping myself
closer to you (like tuesdays).
I’m sitting at my desk –
hoping it’s a distance
we both can take comfort in –
a worn green worry stone in hand,
my fingers feeling my chest,
I think of tigers – my tiger –
and I am desolate and silent, the sharp
edge of it the color of Tuesdays;
I want to rage out,
pound your chest, deny your edict,
break down your stone resolve –
convince you to let me
sit tuesdays on your porch
with you, watch your tiger eyes
your hands fill out the crossword –
let me feel your presence.
again at your perimeter.
not your fence, no,
i’m too high on pheromones
for that, i’m in the thrall of a rut,
and you’re lights are on, a cruelty
to my denial. i paced your facade,
stepping on grass
so my boot heels will not give
me away. you’re still awake- it is late,
why are you still awake. i willed you
to “go to bed!”, turn off the lights –
if you do, i could not intrude!
i would have to walk away,
defeated but not rejected. slink
again to home and my cold bed
and wait for dawn’s pale light.
but your lights are on! and vibrating
under my skin is your active pulse.
only these planks of wood and glass
separating yet again!
the only effort needed would be to mount
those hard spare steps and, head lowered,
knock like a pilgrim. and you – you, of course.
you being forgiving, you undoing
the locks and gathering me.
gathering me for on the way to your door,
i have been born, torn, and with every step
pieces of me have been shed, stripped.
A Cat has No Master
You cannot claim me,
a cat has no master.
My attention will be given to you
on my terms and whims.
Accept my affection if you will;
love is love when freely given,
I can be generous with it.
but do not stay me when I go.
I will eat your food, but continue to hunt;
like any creature not overly domesticated,
I need to rely only on myself for survival
and take no one for granted.
Sea glass cannot send instant messages
of how it misses you and still loves you;
there’s all the things that it is not,
no digits flexible to press the buttons,
no voice to send through the air.
It has been broken, ground down by the waves:
no longer shiny and transparent,
no longer a vessel for your lips.
Sea glass, through prized and collected by some,
no longer can reflect sunlight;
it has been dulled, though some say softened;
it has been tossed, though some say polished.
It can no longer be gathered in your arms;
it is too hard to sleep with.
In truth, it is no longer a useful object;
good only for adding to potpourri
or sitting on a shelf to remember a once-sunny day;
but still … sea glass misses you and still loves you.
It’s just too hard to say.
Thomas, at night you
Haunt my memory;
On the frozen, still
A chance meeting
Sealed our fates.
In passion, my love was conceived.
Two cold years have passed. Denial
Is not sweet. I am unsuccessful in
Loving others and unsuccessful in not
Life, grant me the
Opportunity again; the memory
Vexes my heart. I can not hide its
Echoing veracity inside much longer.
You are my heart, my life, my
One great love. Thomas, if only you
Understood how much I need you.
the heart is not only capable
of loving many,
but is also meant to,
and by choice.
Monogamy, to me,
seems a very unnatural
I don’t believe in “soul-mates”.
I have experienced the
and in his arms, surrendered
my heart and body.
From his loins
our child conceived;
our two souls
in one heart.
An afterword: In his defense, my Tiger turned out to not be my son’s father. in my defense, I wrote this before I found that out. The revealation meant several poems had to be revised.
Perhaps I am a child
who loves you;
that is okay.
I have often admired children
for they love so purely
and without hesitation.
Children see things as they
really are, they
ignore that which
It is something that
adults have forgotten.
Find this poem in my over-18 “Bits of Cyn“. It’s preety explicit erotica, so it is housed there …