Portrait of Things

a handful of ocean

to replace the tears,

that stung razor cut aqueous humor

pressured by fluid on cheeks

and tasted at corners of mouth,

in her protective nest

among the rushes society grew,

her temptation an anchor

buried in water and weeds

souring by the day,

soiled tongue darkened by

language and apprehensive pain

of words that can hurt,

she had left him behind

the one who became a shadow,

yet her cleft had known his

two fingers

and tobacco kiss ,

rising up on tidal swell

she placed herself away

into the corner

until he had definitely gone,

the powder of air

would fall and settle,

and finding strength

climb from nest

onto another’s cotton shoulders

and exaggerate her heart

artist ; Isabelle Rolles

artist ; Isabelle Rolles

http://withrealtoads.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/sunday-mini-challenge-dolls-revisited.html

 

Hillside

translucent sheep

black face blotches stains

on hilltop landscape,

snow pulled over rain

and the old farmer

negotiates iced path,

eager forms shiver and huddle,

feed bag spills,

eyes seem without content

yet expressions aware

of eastern bite,

no other sounds

snow muffled nature

coating dry stone walls,

beneath wool they wait

moving agile on stick legs

through thickened drifts,

spring and lambs

a distance away,

reliant now

on human form

red land rover and flickering

headlights

Andy Magee farm

magpie tales statue stamp 185

 

CH537

Photograph by Chris Lawrence

Photograph by Chris Lawrence

her bow knew the sea,

foam beckoned on harbor wall 

sea curls stretched to horizon,

yet land restrained

docked for repair,

a boatsman’s pleasure

scraping hull

refreshing blue

his toughened hands

worked and manipulated,

she responded by gaining dignity,

freedom of wave

that sensation of roll awaits,

a new season of trawling

and lobster pots 

and her yearning ends

As the Infinite Monkey

alarm clock sounded

his/

fingers reached the ultimatum

her/

wrist strapped to bedpost

silk wounds of a conquered queen

 

last breath of air

from now closed window

his/

typewriter needed to speak

feel fingerpad clatter,

not betrayed with her

 

blank page,

paper pressed his own

rolled into machine,

carbon in place,

smudges

he left as memories

on her breast

 

typing/

words in a clatter

his way of expressing

now what was on pages

before

 

black shine reflected

an eager face

cool metal sat in case

 

he/

extracted thought

twisted them through cerebral tubes

squeezed  out of fingers

smearing machine

 

black gloss dulled

worn/

beaten by him

the other stirred

moving sheets

foot , ankle , white angular

showed

 

if a crow called she would not

hear

ink to letters

passed to page again and again

yearning to create

with a companion

 

he/

knew

as fifth page done,

close to exhaustion

passion being spent

on this machine,

ribbon stretched

key frottage

rubbing,

thumping,

pounding,

word penetration

lasting imprints,

more lasting than

her

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More Than Flesh Alone

being hungry is abnormal

having to steal bread

to feed a dry open mouth,

moisture limited

whiskey an old memory

as was those magnolia walls

rooms in house,

house now held by bank

who dangle tempting finance options

that could never work out,

once lavish clothes

thread thinned to paleness,

how long since he spoke

to her on cellular

a year or six,

not remembering,

as his own smell disgusted him,

forever was a point of departure

of a very short journey,

tearing stolen bread,

crumbs to tongue eyes closed

feel a source of nourishment

and a possibility of tomorrow

3wordwednesday

terra corpus, stella corpus

my body stands as an activist

mapped out to protest and endure

honesty shown in every drop of ink

tatooed cartography over flesh

intrinsic map of global configuration,

do not trace routes with that

accusing finger it’s irony stains

will ruin my contours and relief,

be it earth or beyond the

airless limits i reside

and listen to the voices beyond

and those that pray,

eyes behold what lies before

and i will not yield,

listen to me and live as i say

i am your journey

to that everlasting place

within that olive texture skin

my breasts will show milk

from which kindness is drawn

but kindness is not unlimited

it ends feudal and bitter,

take me into your homes

and i will protect fear turns

at my image,

and i will be here forever more

my body my life

never in stasis always a flux

a  themetapicture.com earth-map-tattoo

 

magpie tales statue stamp 185

Cauterized

water from the raw eye as it weeps

and deflects the spectrum,

no space in the retina

for other emotion,

bland skin

freckles intensified,

being close to the coast

and it’s relentless tides

abstract dunes,

naked and innate expression

stress brought on

she moved,

each impression on the surface

was not left for long

filled in she had no path,

emotion bent over anvil

forged by loss,

wind became rampant

stirring grasses

that whipped about delicate legs

isolating her innocence

this way,

beneath the flat clouded hat of sky,

rubbing those eyes

now tasted

with tincture of seaborne salt

this moment

came to bring on the rejuvenate

banner

sunday whirl

 

Natures Loins

draw trees across my eyes

so that the view is hidden,

excluding one of my senses,

yet we are carbon companions

draw , store and extract,

i wish to see between your leaves

unless i touch cannot,

we breathe and share the earth

yet i am not rooted

i vaguely wander

no path very certain,

beyond your leaves her home lies

another like me,

i have loved

whereas you know not how,

your bark skin sensitive

can crack and lift

exposing fleshy underneath,

do you have an awareness

beyond what we feel as humans,

needing to see her i press on,

you snatch at me

sharp twigged remarks that sting,

without each other

we would be nothing except desolation,

make her visible to me

so that i can be loved again,

instead of falling

and becoming part of earth

and you

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Breakfast Remedy

coffee gone acrid in the pot

poured into sink,

paper folded on table by

empty breakfast plates,

i popped a warm beer

sipped that instead

i am going to the racetrack

she bent in pale nightgown

you don’t belong there

thirty dollars in the pocket

closed door went to sharp

lit Rabbit out front,

it started first time

radio sparked with static

twisted dial found a station

(you do not belong there)

i should of responded i can

do what i like but avoided

the argument,

instead it became internal

an argument with myself,

music playing

[Kansas sang this is my beginning ]

maybe it was

(i love you)

i knew she did her face expressed

it all

[Tomorrow holds my hand  ]

would it really be there

conversation with her inside

me and radio increased

it irritated me that Kansas

had changed,

(don’t i make you happy)

yes you do very much

my head felt messed up

finding it hard to decipher

what was song , her or me

[Yesterday is dead and gone]

no i could not let it go

from when i first touched

her face 7 years ago

i knew

(don’t i make you happy)

she had been down and

i had been blind

[Buried in the sand ]

that was true i had placed

myself there avoiding what

[the vision stands before me ]

yes she was and i feel that

now,

i had dropped off the interstate

pulled over and wanted to

hit the steering wheel but pain

was not needed,

[and now there is nothing else ]

i hear you

i shouted at the radio,

sometimes a song can place a

reality in you,

tires bit into blacktop

turned about,

moments to return

parked at angle to sidewalk,

ran up the path to the door

opened quickly

dishes washed away

heard no radio

only her singing in the shower

shouldered open door

into steam hot mist

she startled as i took her in

my arms and held her

as if for the first time

of an eternity

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