Posts Tagged ‘Women’

She had spent the summer
dissolving into a liquid
in the hopes that emergence
would produce a butterfly.
The process smelled ironically
of honey and the colorful
flowers house mothers
attempt to garden in the suburbs
unknowing that the harsh
New England climate
would claim them.
That summer her
eyes where black and orange
like a Monarch
fluttering. Her hair
seemed to lift on the delicate
wind of light footsteps –
down stairs,
around children,
and in the shower – I imagine.
She no longer depended
on women’s hosiery –
she had outgrown them
into full hips and
rounded smooth thighs.
That shredded cocoon
gave her the sun –
and with it the eye of man.
Now curiosity and licked lips.
Now desire and a timid hand.
Now pinning her wings to fresh linens.

Now a showcase in the sun
that man can boast to other men about.


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In the Waves

She was naked in the waves.
We all were.
Seas slightly parted
could only outline
our skin with the reflection
of the sun off the water.
Beaten and exhausted
from a swim we cough
coral and foam.
Every naked man
grabbing the beaten
woman next to him
to kiss to fondle.
I watch from the beach.
The writhing hands rising
one over the other
to rub against slippery flesh.
The entire seascape
was alive with waves of men
and woman.
Seaweeds and sand bind them,
until the tide
takes them back to where
they came.

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I awoke to realize
I had become
accidentally ordinary.
My bed, more of an estuary,
with satin blue blankets
was the size of my world.
Sure a quick exit
here or there
to brush my usually extraordinary
hair, to coax them down;
to order them.
Fraudulent extensions
like a full bookshelf
of poetry I haven’t read
and other pretensions
line a wall too clean, too new,
to belong in this world.
My door, more like a shore
or the open mouth of a sea
devours me whole
gray suit, blue tie, a strictly
business black coffee and
bran muffin soul.
I work to come home
and sleep again
with the wife I gave it all to.
Her ordinary body worth more
than the paintings and music
I once adored.
We sleep in a tide, that washes
over us to make smooth
stones. Nothing to mark us
as different, to make us hate
or misunderstand each other.
I awoke to realize
I was ordinary
and knowing it was Saturday
I kissed her and I went back to bed.

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Typical. The rolling green hills that folded into each other. The arcing pine trees. The clear blue sky with small cotton clouds in it were all typical. The clear reflective water was typical, the bumpless road was typical, and the idiot driver blathering about the beauty of it was typical. The rather regular and utterly predictable man thought himself rather sophisticated as he pontificated upon the infinite beauty of nature. Clay, on the other hand, had long risen above such pointless adoration and was desperately trying to change the topic.

“I hear the Maker’s Mark distillery is around these parts.” Clay inserted this as the driver had digressed from the wonderful beauty of the natural surroundings to what seemed to be the history of Kentucky erupting from such beauty.

“Yessir. Finest whiskey the world wide. Nothing compared to the natural spring water though.”

“Or a woman’s kiss…”

“Well that neither I suppose.” The drive got that look in his eye that Clay knew and loathed. The look reflected in those blank siphon eyes were always followed by something like the words that then came from the driver’s mouth. “What brings you to a place like this?”


“I don’t reckon too many businesses are like yours then.”

“That is certain.”

“You write, don’t you?”

“Occasionally. Are you a fan?”

“Oh no. I keep to reading the bible and perhaps the life of the saints.”

“I see.”

“Do you?”

“Excuse me?”

“See. You said ‘I see’.”

“Oh yes. I mean I understand.”

“Oh. Well I just reckoned that you were here for the seminar on God’s place in literature that is taking place down here in Gethsemani.”

“A seminar?”

“Oh yes. Authors from all over are coming to discuss the topic. They say Fr. Raphael is the best at drawing out the soul and then puttin’ it on paper.”

“I find ink works better than soul.”

“You’re the author not me.”

“But where would I be without a driver?”

“Nowheres… that’s where.”

“Exactly, now if you wouldn’t mind the process of getting to know someone is rather intense and I have writing to do before we reach Gethsemani.”

“I bet this beautiful nature will sure help.”

“I tend to keep my eye on the paper.”

“Yeah but it must be nice to draw inspiration from all this.”

“All what? Some ancient trees that strive only for height? Grass that exists only to be cut? Water trapped in a cycle of purification? This is all purposeless, meaningless stuff that you only admire out of ignorance. Its just big and complicated. There is nothing beautiful about it.”

“I reckon you’re right. But I hafta disagree with you.”

“If I am right, how can you disagree?”

“Thats easy. I just don’t agree.”

Clay’s mind tried to wrapped around the driver. It always offended him that others could be so simple. All this man wanted out of life was to drive and see nature. He aspired to no greatness, aimed at no virtue, and just sat and admired nature all day long. Though he didn’t harm a soul, his way of life still irked Clay for some unknown and secret reason… a secret even to himself.

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