i, Poetry

i, Woman pic 3

he took me to the point

of no return,

tore open my skirt,

ripped the panties

from my bodice

& dragged me

into the river deep

asking through a sensual man’s whir ~

 

                                         ‘how deep is your poetry?’

 

as spools of sodden moist

violated every center of my sanity

gripping the depth of my insanity,

utopia & euphoria

settled

in the holiest temple of my doom;

& there

did I occur to me

that poetry is in the eye

of the beholder

particularly

when I saw my legs

dangling over his bare shoulders;

but it was

in the harden thrusts

of his verses,

the orgasmic taunt

in his stanzas

had I realized the depth

of my own poetry

didn’t matter ~

 

orally

     anally

          vaginally

 

 

 

for I was Poetry

in itself

 

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Playing hooky at 115 Degrees

Nothing really to write about except for that I played hooky from work yesterday and went to see Jack the Giant Slayer and then snuck in to see OZ The Great and Powerful.  Bad. . .I know. . .But it’s done and over now.  So get over it already!

 

“Jack the Giant Slayer”. . .a breathless piece of work.  My fav character. . .two-headed giant.  Of course Ewen McGregor wasn’t bad either;)! 

 

“OZ The Great and Powerful”. . .a stunning piece of work.  My fav character. . .China Girl. 

 

The following poem was one of two poems nominated for a 2011 Pushcart Prize. . .Enjoy.

 

———-

 

 

115 Degrees

 

Beads of sweat

trickled down slow

between the perfumed citrus folds

of her beautiful round breasts

unbeknownst to the woman

innocently directing me to the nearest freeway

under a blazing sun of 115 degree weather;

and I almost envisioned myself on her

disguised as one of those perfect size atoms

of H2O evaporating into an open of a pore

uninvited, like rape after a date of kissing and no sex

only to proliferate in the end into a bead of virgin sweat.