the void
my muscles are heavy with need.
i whisper into the void
still too quiet for you to avoid
all i want is for you
to walk into my poem
let to swirl and whirl around you
perhaps sneak into your ear
work its way into your subconscious
then one day you will start to randomly
think about me
and love
then connect the two
and with a thundering shout
you will run back to me
your muscles heavy with need.
Ariel
earth
let me plant my feet deep and send out roots
let me grow yellow-green leaves this spring
and soak up the warming sun
we are living in this liminal time
before humans burn our mother up
let me disavow them, step away
and nuzzle back into the earth
be her child once again.
Ariel
last six words
You say you’re a bear but I think a boar
a cowboy looking to collar “a filly”
using a bit of flair.
Dude,
women don’t care how many greenbacks
you pull; this isn’t The Wild West.
they want self-determination and respect.
Ariel
draft
Why I’m Still Living
1: I would do anything to spend
time with my witty son. Even endure
sickness and a body of pain.
to hear his voice laugh and tease
give him two rooms, one for sleeping, one for waking
I live to see him stride across the local stage
and I must live to protect him from the snake who attacks without warning,
I must ensure his survival
2: and of course there are my furry cats
3: siblings
4: there is art. and bubbles. trees. grass. daffodils. lilacs. plums. soft fabrics. hot baths. scented candles. there is electricity. piped water. toilets and toilet paper. phones, computers and internet. instant communication. mail that comes. i have purple sheets and blankets. pillows. scented candles. wood fire. a curved couch. money. food. poet friends. art friends, music friends. theater friends. movies. a pool.
last: there’s an infinitesimal chance
you may show up at my door
(you remember where that is)
and give in to your desire.
Ariel
draft
panic
there are invisible bugs crawling on my skin
phantom boa constrictor around chest
my mind in a thousand dank caves all at once
how can I find myself
my hands slither over each other like a clutch of worms
my hair falls, trying to shield my eyes from seeing, well, everything
my arms reach out, come back empty
how can I live like this
Ariel
draft
haunted
You’re either a poet or a poem.
I’m a poet
and you my poem.
you hunt my hours.
the ticking of the clock is your breaths,
they echo in my heavy breast.
your hunting whispers to me
a seductive heavy exhale.
oh, merman, you murmur a hunting siren
the ocean amplifies it until it is a foghorn
and the only safe shore is the rocks
your hunting are waves that drown me
then raises me to air and words.
I am a fish and you a monger
I am a poet and you my fish
I am your poem and you are hunting.
Ariel
draft
The Devil And Me
(after Ira Wolf)
I’m not a superhero, though I wish to be.
It’s weird when you wake up to The Others just under that first layer of skinand they are claw, clawing to get out, and you hope that your skin is metal like Colossus to keep them from escaping and adamantium bones to keep them from breaking you inside. But you know you’re no superhero, just a child grown who had to raise herself. Certainly not a Jean Gray. Well, maybe a weather witch. For you make the gray clouds roll in and you hear the thunder roll with all the voices in it shouting over each other. Or maybe it’s the fighting fiddles. The flavor of blood-stained brimstone on the tongue.
And you can’t think.
My mother thought me lost to The Devil. Evil she must purge.
I know what it’s like to be dead.
You know part of it is in your genes. The ones you got from Her mother. But then if I was stuck on an isolated Arkansas farm, I would give in to the voices too, embrace them, escape with them to run away from the fields and crops. At least I think that was her origin story. I think anyone would go mad with the isolation of a farm.
I was lost yesterday, today I ground (grind?) myself with music. Hope the fiddles make sense and hope the devils work with me. I hope to walk through everything, phase, merge. Run away to the forest. It a Pac NW thing. Find a river running red as whiskey. Talk to plants like Poison Ivy. Dance with two left feet around a campfire. Wrap the devils in my webs.
I’m no superhero. I’m no villain either.
Ariel
draft
form, anti-form
breeze sends white
blossoms drifting down
like winter.
the sky is
blue, clouds let in the sun. yet
cats huddle inside.
with a hot mug to sip from
i long for summer’s warmth,
to lay in the sun and let it bake me.
live wearing as few layers
as possible.
Ariel
draft
middle
passion month
and the pink moon
is halved in the ink of it.
my honey breast is going places
looking for its north star,
hoping against hope it never moves.
this spring rhythm; again it shimmies
through my skin like a creature
emerging from thawed hibernation;
i wake, i breathe, i write.
i long for your embrace
the silliness of it, like minor falls
and major lifts.
Ariel
draft
essential angel
a gentle love of a familiar, ache
after him almost another day.
a drunk, who hungers
between blaze and ground,
soak there your heart –
an imagined bouquet
kept sacred between a season of snow
& winter, a lesser nature of air.
oh beautiful woman, he inspires
a freeze of river, whispers during night.
Ariel
Draft
Nine wounds of Frida
from The Wounded Deer by Frida Kalho
Was she the woodland creature
or the fallen branch we overlook
Same difference,
she was lost among the trees
And could only follow the water line
back towards herself,
horns and all.
Ariel
draft
fuck up better
on a day like today, when you fuck up
even before you wake up
you hope to at least fall forward
and miss getting it in the face
on a day when the morning alarms
weren't loud enough to rouse
you tell yourself that you are human
and this is likely fixable, with hat in hand
and so you go to take it on the chin
confess that it was all your fault
and "what can I do to rectify this?"
needs to fall from your mouth
often and repeatedly.
Ariel
Sept 17th’s prompt is “come, you masters of war ” Continue reading “Sept 17 prompt & poem”
Sept 16th’s prompt is “the apocalypse started six years ago, nobody noticed ” Continue reading “Sept 16 prompt & poem”
Sept 15th’s prompt is “That is a terrible, horrible, incredibly foolish idea – let’s do it” Continue reading “Sept 15 prompt & poem”
Sept 14th’s prompt is “Phoenix ” Continue reading “Sept 14 prompt & poem”
Sept 9th’s prompt is “how to follow your dream” Continue reading “Sept 9 prompt & event”
Aug 22nd’s prompt is “this was perplexing; he never had someone fail to die before” Continue reading “Aug 22 prompt”
Aug 20th’s prompt is “a hitman did not kill you because you were to “change the world”; they’re back to check your progress “ Continue reading “Aug 20 prompt”
Been waylaid a bit with pain. Which means my touch has been toxic to e-devices the past few Continue reading “Aug 15 – 18 prompts”
Prompts …
Monday’s, Sunday Aug 13th prompt was “whatever happens, whoever comes knocking – I’ve been here for at least an hour” … Continue reading “Aug 13 & 14 prompts”
This past year I have had the privilege to have some of my poetry included into Amalie Rush Hill’s Social Justice poetry anthology. I submitted quite a few a poems a year ago May … Accepted, I was one of 26 poets included Continue reading “Aug 12 prompt & poem”
Last night was a Moments Before Midnight reading at the Book Bin in Corvallis Oregon, I rode down with congenial publisher, Bob Hill, and his lovely wife (and MBM editor, the poet Amalie Rush Hill. It was a lovely evening, even though Continue reading “Aug 9, 10 & 11 prompts”
Day 2 of cleaning the rugs … Yes, it’s still in process. I thought I had both clean when evening fell; the rinse water seemed to flow clean, but now it appears Continue reading “Aug 8 prompts”
It’s a hot day today – and I was looking for a way to play with water while still being productive-ish. (I’ve been on a bit of a cleaning kick). So I pulled the two large rugs onto saw-horses and I have been washing them today. Goal achieved Continue reading “Aug 7 prompts”
nwpoetariel
Ariel, Pacific NW poet 