Excuse Me While I Kiss This Guy

I’ve been resisting it.
Propriety and all…
damned propriety.
Damn it properly!
Because I’m done with it.

For propriety’s sake
I’ve denied myself
the most perfect lips
that curl into
the most devilish smile?
No, that’s done.

His hand wraps up mine –
the quickness of his breath
tells me he's done waiting too.

We permit each other
to still our tongues
from forming words
to put them to alternate uses.
No more excuses needed.

This poem was inspired by the prompt given over at Imaginary Gardens for Real Toads: What's My Line (Misheard Song Lyrics)

Two Micro Poems

How lucky to live 
in a place filled
with expressive trees.

A tart candied blossom
elevating a melting sweetness,
such are my love's kisses.

Song Choice: Itty Bitty Pretty One, covered by the Jackson 5

This post is part of Imaginary Garden's With Real Toads Tuesday Platform.

Also, if you'd like to inspire some more of my micro poetry and follow me on Facebook, feel free to suggest some of your favorite music to help inspire my month of micro poetry. Don't forget to check out Magaly Guerrero's Facebook page too, to suggest some of your favorite quotes.

Now We Are Sixteen and Thirteen

It’s sometimes unsettling
to look up or straight ahead,
when I was so used to crouching down.
It’s disorienting
to see a mustache of hair
instead one made of milk.
It’s bewildering
to see my favorite sweaters
skip out the door
on a straight haired version of myself.

I miss the days
when they thought the best thing in the world
was hearing me read to them in funny voices
while they dipped apples into peanut butter.
I miss the days
when all it took was me singing
about a frog’s aspirations or the loneliness of a unicorn
to soothe their hearts.

I love the curious young woman
who walks with me every afternoon,
and whose open heart and open mind
makes me smile and inspires me.
I love the earnest young man
who talks with me about video games and politics,
and whose depth of insight and empathy
makes me think and gives me hope.

I’ll look through their baby albums today,
then put them back on the shelf,
looking forward to good conversation at dinner.
I hope they clean up their dishes this time. 

Song Choice: Since the inspiration at Imaginary Gardens at Real Toads was based on Bittersweet Melodies by Feist, I'm going with that.

Wicked Little Grooves

I may be getting older, but I still love birthdays. I like the idea that I made it a whole other year going on some new adventures and taking on some new challenges. When I talked with my fellow April baby, Miss Magaly, about trying new things this upcoming year, we both realized we had talked about doing something collaborative before, but never had gotten around to it. So when she suggested it’d be fun to co-host a month long run of micro-poetry, I was thrilled to give it a go.

I also loved Magaly’s idea of making it a community effort. A birthday celebration ought to be as fun for the guests too, so I’d like to invite my readers to play along with me as well. You can help direct my flirtation with micro-poetry this month by suggesting song titles you think would inspire my Wicked Little Grooves on my Facebook page (I'm keeping the micro-poetry there to better organize my poetic efforts. I plan on being quite busy in April).

Also, for those of my readers who are visual artists, if you have a piece you’d like me to feature along with my poetry for Magaly's Dark Poetry for the Cruelest Month, please let me know. I’d like to let the world know what talented readers I have! As always, I will give full attribution to work you’ve created and include as many links as you’d like to the piece in question (a gallery of your works, your storefront where your works can be purchased, a Facebook page, etc.). As for my fellow word smiths, please consider joining Magaly's poem-palooza too. The attendees were all quite supportive of each other's efforts last year and it was a lot of fun to rise to the challenges meted out. 

I’m excited to see the suggestions I get. Remember, this is a co-hosted party; be sure to go to Magaly’s In Darker Words Facebook page and feed Magaly's muse with some of your favorite quotes, then follow it and her blog in April to see the finished products. You’ll be glad you did – the lady is a wicked awesome poet. Thanks for helping Magaly and I celebrate in grand style!

Song Choice:  The Trail We Blaze from Road to El Dorado

The First Magic

Music was the first magic I knew.
I was taught by my father
when he played a bit of Billy Joel or Elton John
on an old piano or keyboard,
or when he sang along to Stevie Wonder.

Later, I learned where to find the notes
on a piano and in my throat,
but I did it quietly and only by ear.
In my room I’d listen to sweeping crescendos
of guitars that wailed desires I had no name for yet,
and let lyrics pull me away like driftwood in a riptide.

When I found the courage to sing the notes out loud,
I understood the delight and delirium that comes
from creating a space for beauty, even if just for an instant.
I discovered the thrill and terror of weaving moods
that can transport a soul.

And although I make room for all the artful beauty I can,
I always return to the joy of notes well sounded,
and luxuriate in the depth of my response to them.
When I find the right song, the magic comes easily.

This song was created in response to the Prompt given over at A Dash of Sunny: Music

Not With a Bang, But With a Selfie

Roma Aeterna glows tonight from the light 
belched by hand held toys.   

The wisdom of the empire,
the artists’ strivings, the philosophers’ warnings,
are at the fingertips of both plebeians and patricians.

Though admittedly when the circus comes to the senate
it becomes difficult to distinguish sages from buffoons,
and harder still for stalwart stewards to make anyone care 
to take the time to note the differences.

Some are beginning to tremble, realizing no wall will help them,
because gilded Attila is already inside 
using an ochreous fist to become ringmaster.

Others ignore the smoke before the burning,
to snap a picture of themselves beside a dead gladiator,


In Darkness, Found

I remember how it was before,
being terrified of my dark.
I was sure hairy, multi-legged horrors lived there,
skittering and chittering mad thoughts
into my mind, already dizzy
with thoughts of my inadequacy.

I remember finding you,
doubting miracles such as you could be real.

I remember you going deep inside
where my dark lives,
kissing me,
naming each part you kissed
Your lips blessed
the most secret and darkest parts of me.
You did not force them into the light
but loved how they thrived where they were.

I remember beginning to heal,
not by disavowing or banishing the dark,
but embracing it as you embraced me.
I remember finding my faith,
in the darkness,
trading fear for pleasure,
forgetting what there was to be frightened of in the first place.

This poem marks a first for me as I combined 2 prompts to make this one Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads: The Paramour and A Dash of Sunny: Faith and Healing

Song of a Space Cadet

I take joy seriously.
A friend observed
my aspect is prone to comicalness.
Someone with less kind intent,
compared me to snow,
knowing full well I dislike cold.
I think I surprised her
with how quickly I am able
 to go to frostiness.

Laughter nourishes me.
Do you think I’d deny myself
when I am hungry,
just to suit another’s expectations?


Sometimes it takes work to find
a bit of laughter
that will keep me feeling well fed,
but any carnivore worth its teeth
understands that’s just part of the hunt.

So no, I’m not interested in being tethered down
by someone else’s idea of proper gravity.
I’m happy flying in my own orbit,
touching the rings of distant worlds,
and curling up in a star’s embrace. 

This poem was inspired by the prompt given at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads, Equinox Edition, where we had to work in three of the following words: 
gravity, friend, able, serious, hungry, touch, work, aspect, nourish (I got them all! Woot!)


I turn off paved road onto gravel, cruising down the one lane road until I reach the parking lot. Every season is a marvel to behold, but there is something magical about the early days of spring. The buds have just birthed green leaves, with spring beauties and trout lilies heralding the arrival of steadily warmer days. Five steps into the preserve, I breathe in the scent of the trees around me. Fifty steps in, the tense spot between my shoulder blades caused by too much time spent hunched over a screen loosens. Five hundred steps in, with the noise of the streets left far behind the chorus of insects and birds, immersed in a chapel of trees, the light in my eyes testifies to the contentment of my soul.

In the forest’s peace
I am cleansed of pollution
and baptized by green.

This poem was inspired by the prompt given over at A Dash of Sunny's Prompt Nights: When Besotted by Green


I remember being small,
and led to believe
reality and perfection came in twos.

Twos are easiest.
When everything is a binary,
there isn’t time wasted in questioning.

Yet my eyes are drawn to asymmetry
and the unexpected beauty of three.
Where two topples, three fortifies.

There’s a grace to three.
Stability wedded to balance wedded to form,
creates a sublime alchemy.

Three is the dance between souls,
and the stars that guide me when I am lost.
Three is home.

This poem was inspired by the prompt given over at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads: Kerry Says Let's Count With Our Fingers. Hop on over for more great poetry.

The S Word

I pride myself on being a relatively intelligent person, but know I can be a stubborn one as well. For some some time now I've been thinking it might be best to go on a s-s- *cough* schedule. *shudders* (OK one of my friends has been strongly hinting it might be a help and I've finally decided to listen).

I don't know why the idea of a schedule (ugh!) makes me cringe so. It may be a tiny bit of defiance left over from my teen years where I insisted I was clever enough to get everything I needed to get done in time (usually at the last minute) and still get A's. My youthful arrogance got a hard smack of reality once I hit college. Oh I still did well, as long as I kept some sort of system to organize things.

So fast forward to today. I have so many things I want to learn and do in this lifetime and it has become sadly apparent I can't do them all. I need to prioritize (*pouts*) and organize (*cries*). I love writing, but I need to keep "office hours" that stay more or less steady and mesh with my other responsibilities (work, being a mom, being a wife). Organization sounds overly confining and limiting, especially when talking about artistic endeavors, but it also is a pretty good way to make sure I have time to enjoy doing what it is I like doing. 

I started feeling better about this whole organizing business when I put down my writing hours for both prose and poetry (as one of the newest Toads in the Imaginary Garden, I'm stoked to regularly participate there and over in Dash of Sunny as well). I scheduled in some review time for my other interests (shimmy drills, Japanese tea ceremony postures,and doodling all get their quick bursts of review time as a reward for other hard work). While a lot of my daily spiritual practices are reflexive at this point, I set aside some time for some extra development of knowledge bases I was interested in exploring. I even managed to formalize the way I do chores a bit better.

Yay, doodle time! 

So yes, I'm still a little leery about the whole schedule thing, but I've promised myself that I can be flexible and adjust things as time goes on. I also plan on giving myself goof off days once a month just to know there'll be one day I can bum around and do nothing if I want to. I'm cautiously optimistic this will all work out and that far from being rained upon, the passions in my life will march on in an orderly parade, rather than bang into each other like angry moshers.