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Archive for the 'PSOetry' Category

Dear You ….

Thursday, November 24th, 2016

Happy Thanksgiving

Today Means Amen

by Sierra DeMulder

Dear you,
Whoever you are,
However you got here,
This is exactly where you are supposed to be.

This moment has waited its whole life for you,
This moment is your lover,
And you are a solider,
Come home baby, it’s over,
You don’t need to suffer anymore.

Dear you,
This moment is a surprise party,
You are both hiding in the dark,
And walking through the door,
This moment is a Hallelujah,
This moment is your permission slip,
To finally open that love letter,
You’ve been hiding from yourself,
The one you wrote when you were little,
When you still danced like a sparkler at dusk,
Do you remember the moment you realised they were watching,
When you became ashamed of how much light you were holding,
When you first learned how to un-love yourself.

Dear you,
The word today, means amen in every language.
Today, we made it,
Today, I’m gonna love you,
Today, the box cutter will rust in the garbage,
Today, the noose will forget how to hold you,
Today,
Today.

Dear you,
And I have always meant, you.
Nothing would be the same if you did not exist.

You, who were once as small as bouquet,
Who could sleep in the laughs of strangers,
Nothing would be the same if you did not exist.

You, who’s voice is someone’s favourite voice,
Someone’s favourite face to wake up to,
Nothing would be the same if you did not exist.

You, the teacher,
The starters gun,
The lantern in the night who offers not a way home,
But the courage to travel farther into the dark.

You, the lover,
Who worships the taste of her body,
Who is the largest tree ring in his heart,
Who does not let fear ration your love.

You, the friend,
The sacred chorus of ‘How can I help you?’
Who have felt more numb than holy,
More cracked than mosaic,
Who has known the tiles of a bathroom by heart,
Who has forgotten what makes you worth it.

You, the forgiven,
The forgiver,
Who belongs right here, in this moment.

You, this clump of cells,
This happy explosion that happened to start breathing,
And by the grace of whatever is up there,
You got here,
You made it, this whole way,
Through the nights that swallowed you whole,
The mornings that arrived in pieces,
The scabs, the gravel,
The doubt, the hurt,

The hurt, the hurt,
Is over today,
You made it,
You made it,
You made it,
Here.

where does it hurt?

Sunday, July 24th, 2016

what they did yesterday afternoon

by warsan shire

they set my aunts house on fire
i cried the way women on tv do
folding at the middle
like a five pound note.
i called the boy who use to love me
tried to ‘okay’ my voice
i said hello
he said warsan, what’s wrong, what’s happened?

i’ve been praying,
and these are what my prayers look like;
dear god
i come from two countries
one is thirsty
the other is on fire
both need water.

later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
and whispered
where does it hurt?

it answered
everywhere
everywhere
everywhere.

———————–

Read more about Ms. Shire at The New Yorker.

why you need Her

Thursday, June 16th, 2016

goddess poetry

 

 

 

 

Awareness

by John Austin

her gaze is so constant,
our every move
watched
with such affection,
a ceaseless vigil
without condition
or agenda,
silent,
patient,
unrelenting in her
embrace.

There is endless room in
the heart of this lover,
infinite space for whatever
foolishness we may
toss her way.

But she is also
crafty, this one-
a thieft who will steal away
everything we ever cherished,
all our beliefs,
all our ideas,
all our philosophies,
until nothing is left
but her shimmering
wakefulness,
this simple love
for what is.

————————

This poem was sent to me and I cannot seem to track down the poet. I think the poem speaks to what happens to a man when a woman truly mesmerizes and enchants him: he is transformed, cleansed, reborn. I’m not sure this is what the Mr. Austin was trying to say, but such is the nature of art, that whatever the artist’s intent, we experience it through our own prism.

And yes, “thieft” is a word. Who knew?

xo, Angela

 

Come. Sit. Heel. Stay.

Tuesday, May 24th, 2016

Come. Sit. Heel. Stay.

Sierra Demulder

When I took your virginity,
I did it carelessly, like a dog
left alone in a butcher shop.
I taught you the way adults love
(quick, dry, no eye contact.)

A year later, in the back of your car,
you showed me what you had learned,
what kind of man I had trained you to be.

There was nothing playful
in the way you hit, tenderizing meat.
Scraping at skin as if you were trying
to take back what you lost inside of me.

By the time you came on my back,
my nipples were chapped
and gnawed as bones. My legs raw,
newly butchered lambs.

—————————————————–

This woman, this Poetess-Goddess, has stolen my breath. I want to write like her someday, if and when I ever grow up. I’m simply and ecstatically overwhelmed by the brutal beauty of each weighted word. This particular poem is from The Bones Below, in which every single poem is a visceral blessing of the senses.

I WILL own every single book of her poems. Or I don’t think I could live.

(Thank you, Mr. Prince, for gifting me. I couldn’t be more pleased.)

Poetry to Swoon For

Monday, February 29th, 2016

sex

 

 

The Floating Poem, Unnumbered

By Adrienne Rich

Whatever happens with us, your body

will haunt mine — tender, delicate

your lovemaking, like the half-curled frond

of the fiddlehead fern in forests

just washed by sun. Your traveled, generous thighs

between which my whole face has come and come —

the innocence and wisdom of the place my tongue has found there —

the live, insatiate dance of your nipples in my mouth —

your touch on me, firm, protective, searching

me out, your strong tongue and slender fingers

reaching where I have been waiting years for you

in my rose-wet cave — whatever happens, this is.

———————————————————————

This poem was first published in 1971 in the collection Twenty One Love Poems, which is now so highly regarded (and evidently out of print) that it is being sold on Amazon for $125.

But I’m hooked. So what’s a girl to do? Well. I’ll buy it for myself, of course! I’ve also added a more reasonably-priced collection by Ms Rich to my gift list. Who is going to make me happy?