Revisiting
Now thoughts of you are rare,
a distraction not afforded me.
Life has gotten too perilous
when you are near,
too much a luxury.
Is this how love begins to end?
I am too busy keeping all the lights on,
it demands too much attention;
they fade as I stop thinking of you.
Thoughts of you began to be
forgot, how my heart rapidly beat.
Beloved, is this how? It ends.
And the fire is going, roaring,
tinged with the taste of sour gone sweet.
I have aged
to hunt tigers, to pursue you.
Ariel
Revisiting
Now thoughts of you are rare,
a distraction not afforded me.
Life has gotten too perilous
when you are near,
too much a luxury.
Is this how love begins to end?
I am too busy keeping all the lights on,
it demands too much attention;
they fade as I stop thinking of you.
Thoughts of you began to be
forgot, how my heart rapidly beat.
Beloved, is this how? It ends.
And the fire is going, roaring,
tinged with the taste of sour gone sweet.
I have aged
to hunt tigers, to pursue you.
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
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
stained glass
weighted down base, rippling.
tall art novoeu stalk
holds up a reverse tulip.
multi-colored glass formed
into a bell, lilies thin as skin.
protecting the delicate light
bulb. when it’s on it, it glows,
sending vibrant rainbows everywhere.
wooden chair sits three feet from the television.
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
encounter, never should have been
Someone introduced my computer to McAfee
and McAfee moved right in
rearranging files and moving in new furniture
Did they not know I had already 86'ed that guy
that guy with the cutoff vest and roaring Harley
he punches out walls, brings in trash everywhere.
Now I must start the eviction process
go to court and see the sheriff's deputy.
This will not end well.
Ariel
optimistic
the sky is gray
and outside January cold
yet it is the start of April
daffodils braved the artic weather
will the tulips also show their faces
will the primroses open
the sun approaches closer and closer
parts those deary curtains to the side
(who hung them anyways)
reaches down and caresses the fruit trees
spring is coming, is coming I say
brush aside the dried leaves still there
let the stalks grow tall.
Ariel
I am doing National Poetry Writing Month and April Poem-A-Day challenges again this year. I’m going to catch up here over the next few days. I’m behind because my ‘puter got a virus and I have had to rebuild it. I think it is all good, now.
Keep in mind that all poems posted in my blog tend to be drafts, especially during a month like April or November.
Let’s start with “cage”.
a cage
this heaving
this skin and bones
trapped as if
a tornado in my gut
gelatinous organs
an ocean,
churning in a storm
tossing me and burying me
a freezing grave
poisonous salt water
burning through my lungs
a time
of nonexistence
wishing death
stripped
of all I am, trapped
a second stretched to week
too weak
my head, my limbs
this virus
a cedar
chopped down
drying out
sap too thick to flow
bark lets go of trunk
and falls
to pests and pestilence
to be eaten
consumed by microbes
a window
to death
a curser
a bird after hitting the pane
falling, my wings akimbo
broken bones shiver
but hold their frame
a sword
with a weak spot
keep me sheathed
use me and i will shatter
so I wait
in this cage
of skin and bone
organs gelatinous
until a call
a flute
to rise again
and I am reborn
on the shore
able to fly.
Ariel
Day 30 of National Poetry Writing Month. Continue reading “Apr 30 NaPoWriMo Day 30/30”
Day 29 of National Poetry Writing Month. Continue reading “Apr 29 NaPoWriMo Day 29/30”
Day 26 of National Poetry Writing Month. Continue reading “Apr 26 NaPoWriMo Day 26/30”
Day 25 of National Poetry Writing Month. Continue reading “Apr 25 NaPoWriMo Day 25/30”
Day 24 of National Poetry Writing Month. Continue reading “Apr 24 NaPoWriMo Day 24/30”
Day 23 of National Poetry Writing Month. Continue reading “Apr 23 NaPoWriMo Day 23/30”
Day 22 of National Poetry Writing Month. Continue reading “Apr 22 NaPoWriMo Day 22/30”
Day 21 of National Poetry Writing Month. Continue reading “Apr 21 NaPoWriMo Day 21/30”
Day 20 of National Poetry Writing Month. Continue reading “Apr 20 NaPoWriMo Day 20/30”
Day 19 of National Poetry Writing Month. Continue reading “Apr 19 NaPoWriMo Day 19/30”
Day 18 of National Poetry Writing Month. Continue reading “Apr 18 NaPoWriMo Day 18/30”
Day 17 of National Poetry Writing Month. Continue reading “Apr 17 NaPoWriMo Day 17/30”
Day 16 of National Poetry Writing Month. Continue reading “Apr 16 NaPoWriMo Day 16/30”
nwpoetariel
Ariel, Pacific NW poet 