Sometimes there are five faces
of wow in our breath. You
never knew me. As a child,
howling under ice: still
I am two steps and running away,
never knowing moments of pleasure–
of us dying together so that we might
survive. Yet, what would I do
without you? Take away the moments
of love and anger: with no warning,
we are as fresh as Eden, crackling
green and whole, rising in one joyous
shout. Your light is pale:
the fantasy, my deliverance.
I am your ghost. Deliver me
from hiding and cold memories.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Cherry Pickens, Femdom poetry, Feminist poetry, KaTe, Kate Bush, Love and Anger, Poetry, poetry as a writing exercise, Running Up that Hill, What it takes to write, zen and writer's block, zen and writing
We have a Tuvan throat: two
voices in one mouth. Our tongues
twine to a cry, twist
to moan. Until morning,
when we wake up
and you are there:
we separate and go
our own ways until night.
Under cover, we find our voice.
Take the time to look around. There’s a full life in between every breath you take. It takes only an instant for a match to flare and gift you with sulfur; a moment for a brick to fall and crash and shatter; less than a second to realize that he’s not worth the trouble of one more breath.
Think. What does it feel like when you know you can’t take one more step with that bastard beside you? What does it smell like when you’re sitting with your best friend in a coffee shop, crying over burnt hot chocolate? Did you hear anything when the last nail was pounded into the coffin of your relationship?
Use your senses when you write. Readers need a sense of place. They want to know about how good that cheesecake tastes – thick and creamy, with a chocolate crust. They want to hear the slap, when you cross his cheek with your palm. Hell, they even want to know what victory – or defeat – smells like, if you can just figure out how to put it into words. Give your readers a sense of place and time.
They’ll thank you for it by buying your books.
Writing is an onerous task. It’s not easy. If it was as simple as folks believe, everyone would do it. The reason they don’t is because it’s hard.
And that makes you special.
You’ve got the guts to dig yourself like a pumpkin. Dig out your insides, and throw them – splat – onto a newspaper. And then, using your craft, you carve a face into the shell that’s left – a scream or smile for those that view your work.
Don’t forget to put a candle inside what’s left. Let your glow shine in the eyes of the reader.
Because you, my friend, are a writer. Hollow and screaming, you spill your insides for the pleasure of others.
between his eyes.
It’s quiet. Now, I can hear
myself think, and I realize
I should clean the gun
and put it away.