Spikey Mouse Photography

Follow the link to see my wife’s Photography website award winning art you can own and desire “The first half of the 20th century belongs to Picasso, and the second half is about photography. They said digital…

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Hollie McNish -Embarrased

in packard skin

 

in packard skin reflected
mirrored in the sheen,
alone with only the desert
desolation filled her eyes,
taking gold braid lasso
began to be fluid
with rope,
legs damp under nylon cover
breasts swelled in warm lace,
remembering that match box town
that ignited under her touch,
dust rose,
she had claimed the sun
heat closed about skin,
a game without kisses
and dead flower grief,
heaven would know
of her crimes
the dead that where still afraid,
in a packard skin reflected
spice tainted tongue
needed moisture,
as lasso swirled in frenzy,
acrid fragrance of death
chose to pursue
waiting and smiling,
mushroom column
elevated behind her
it to
reflected in a packard skin

Alejandro Jodorowsky – Dancing Poems (in English and Spanish)

The senses continually give what they receive / The world is modeled according to the way you think.
Kind act pleasing perfume / glass of water poured unmanned / pure liquid is like the soul / created by the thirst of another benefit.
The reality is embodied illusion / Birds sing because we believe in them / produce the melody between the two / eternity without them is not.
I speak from the darker / Site Lamp From the river / takes the magic of life is the encounter with the countless deaths.
Things are from the moment that we call our / discard them possess is / is in giving that you get.

Denise Levertov – A Dark Summer Day

denise levertov a dark summer day

17 , 17 syllable American Sentences

Following a dVerse incentive i try the American Sentence a flourish of lines at 4am this morning hope they go down ok

1: his nose punched flat lips split pouted looking for a fight every night

2: a can of schlitz sunset and low slung impala remedy for loss

3: obstinate kisses infect toothache jaw ache headache neurology needed

4: motel marinade coated and baked off counted dollars and returned to the street

5: diamond finger tug gold band reminder these kisses where illicit

6: sat hunched on the toilet hand working the memory that he had betrayed

7: winters pale counterpane gave no shelter for the rabbit from predatory air

8: reasons could be found on the diminishing length of yesterdays words

9: dial the number wait for tone he would not answer he is long gone

10: jazz piano raw as her voice began to crack it was no longer 1954

11: seek the stars and they will not shine anticipating the moment to surprise

12: guitar strings strangle all chances of finding reconciliation

13: two finger pressure shudder she releases a sigh he was erased

14: bellboy at end of marble hall hear titans whisper demise of poor

15: grandpa’s hand once so steady gone leaves remember tobacco smell

16: over ocean swathe she watches vessel under pirates color sail

17 : amity beach july bathers swim children play mayor falters shark prowls

Ferenc Juhasz – Birth Of A Foal

As May was opening the rosebuds,

elder and lilac beginning to bloom,

it was time for the mare to foal.

She’d rest herself, or hobble lazily

after the boy who sang as he led her

to pasture, wading through the meadowflowers.

They wandered back at dusk, bone-tired,

the moon perched on a blue shoulder of sky.

Then the mare lay down,

sweating and trembling, on her straw in the stable.

The drowsy, heavy-bellied cows

surrounded her, waiting, watching, snuffing.

Later, when even the hay slept

and the shaft of the Plough pointed South,

the foal was born. Hours the mare

spent licking the foal with its glue-blind eyes.

And the foal slept at her side,

a heap of feathers ripped from a bed.

Straw never spread as soft as this.

Milk or snow never slept like a foal.

Dawn bounced up in a bright red hat,

waved at the world and skipped away.

Up staggered the foal,

its hooves were jelly – knots of foam.

Then day sniffed with its blue nose

through the open stable window, and found them –

the foal nuzzling its mother,

velvet fumbling for her milk.

Then all the trees were talking at once,

chickens scrabbled in the yard,

like golden flowers

envy withered the last stars.

blood of the cucurbita

we are myth

we are legend,

behind fences we are found

bred and sacrificed on all hallows eve,

generations past

gutted and carved in celebration,

so misunderstood seen only as decoration

as human skulls on poles once where,

unlike my wild cousins in mexico

scattered over landscape and mountain,

they do not suffer the tampering

of our genetics

79 loci,

phenotypic slides for frankenstein,s scientist

altered , inbred,

not realizing our beauty

in shape and color

palmate leaves , long tendrils

unisexual flowers touched by gentle bee

curling about stamen

stroking with long legs

collecting pollen my yellow stain

peponapis body thrumming

resonant on my petals,

10,000 years of domestication

treated worse than dogs

compliant in nature as man knows best

our flesh substance forgotten

as gourd display incised and flensed

to amuse and terrify

projects of another’s nature

that is more disturbing and cruel

poetry, poem , fall