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The poet

Calls to me,
asks for candle light.

He is a slow murmur of Blake,
Baudelaire … Bukowski.
“Like a flower in the rain,”
my hand trembles,
wax falls on to my fingers.

I find him inside, old books
pressed against the wall.

He presses his mouth
to my stomach and forms
a sonnet. Touches
vowels to my lips
and drips
hard consonants
down my spine.
I feel the sting of a haiku
being tattooed across my hip.


Tonight when the moon is full,
I will stand barefoot in the snow
and recite the Morning Sonnet
to another who looks to the moon.




(still working on the middle - specifically the spine dripping thing as well as line breaks)
Violet - there's a stolen line in there for you ... can you guess which one

Cate,

This is very fine. I only read it once, going back to read it twice more. And afterwards, I'll go outside and look at the moon.

XO

Cate wrote:The poet

Calls to me,
asks for candle light.

He is a slow murmur of Blake,
Baudelaire … Bukowski.
“Like a flower in the rain,”
my hand trembles,
wax falls on to my fingers.

I find him inside, old books
pressed against the wall.

He presses his mouth
to my stomach and forms
a sonnet. Touches
vowels to my lips
and drips
hard consonants
down my spine.
I feel the sting of a haiku
being tattooed across my hip.


Tonight when the moon is full,
I will stand barefoot in the snow
and recite the Morning Sonnet
to another who looks to the moon.



(still working on the middle - specifically the spine dripping thing as well as line breaks)
Violet - there's a stolen line in there for you ... can you guess which one

.. well.. not sure which line.. but this section..

He presses his mouth
to my stomach and forms
a sonnet. Touches
vowels to my lips
and drips
hard consonants
down my spine.
I feel the sting of a haiku
being tattooed across my hip.

.. resonates, I think, with a section of a poem of mine [The knowing in these lines]:

your hand
caresses

letters

off the page (my

kiss
inside your palm)

our home is none,

all normalcy
is gone.


.. n'est pas?

OH.. this material reminds me of just the most beautiful Peter Greenaway film: The Pillow Book.. (it's been a long time since I've seen it.. need to re-watch it)..

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3VFeKbMqPiw
FULL SCREEN..

your hand
caresses

letters

off the page (my

kiss
inside your palm)

our home is none,

all normalcy
is gone.


.. n'est pas?

yes, I've always liked that piece of yours - it's very tactile which I like.
The poet that I was thinking of there is also very tactile in nature. He writes of mapping, painting the body, writing letters on a lover ...

That pillow book movie looks incredibly sensual - I loved the cook, the thief, his wife and her lover,

(btw - it was the Bukowski flower line ...)

edited to add which line was a shout out to V.

imaginary friend wrote: afterwards, I'll go outside and look at the moon.

XO

thank you Shelia, I love that!
You've made me feel quite good.

xx
cate

You know, I read this several weeks ago and just read it again. Must say, it makes me jealous.

I love your poem Cate.

"...and drips
hard consonants
down my spine."

Wow!
(very sexy too; or am I just a bad bad boy?)

Yes, as you say, keep working on it.
You really have something here, in my opinion.

Mat.

Cate wrote:
(btw - it was the Bukowski flower line ...)

edited to add which line was a shout out to V.

.. Cate.. I didn't see this add-on until yesterday.. I did recognize the Bukowski line from way back when, when we talked about that poem.. [you having brought it up].. It's a poem I think of a lot actually.. so casual seeming, yet so very erotic..

v. x

I feel the sting of a haiku
being tattooed across my hip.

yum, yum, yum

filling in space (I'll come back to edit ... I've been writing a bit lately eee so I might fill with some other stuff as well - I like tucked away spaces)

Outside
the air is stilled with cold,
even the sounds of traffic
have slowed to a crawl.

I can feel sleep overtaking me.
I want to stay awake,
I want to hear everything I can
but his voice soothes.
I fall asleep listening to him,
fall into dreams of bees and
little boys with rubber band guns

… I’m not sure that he sleeps
for when I wake he’s by the window,
watching me
a new poem in hand.

~~~

originally a response to a post that was removed ... I think that she simply stated that he didn't like the poem
Hello Quill Fish person and thank you for your honesty.
Here is a video that I think is oddly funny - but who can say http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTpUVAcvWfU

nonnymonster wrote:You know, I read this several weeks ago and just read it again. Must say, it makes me jealous.

Hello Nonny! It’s nice to see you.
No need to be jealous nobody actually tattooed me … once somebody wrote on me with a paper mate but it washed off in a couple days.

~~

mat james wrote: "...and drips
hard consonants
down my spine."

Wow!
(very sexy too; or am I just a bad bad boy?)

Thank you Mat,
Mat – you are indeed a bad bad boy (interesting how that extra bad seems … well, extra bad)

I actually go back and forth on that line. There’s a line between sensual and erotic and between erotic and something else entirely and I really wanted to stay on the sensual softer side with this.

~~

Violet wrote: .. Cate.. I didn't see this add-on until yesterday.. I did recognize the Bukowski line from way back when, when we talked about that poem.. [you having brought it up].. It's a poem I think of a lot actually.. so casual seeming, yet so very erotic..

Yes - it feels harsh but there is something warm and loving about it.

~~

Manna wrote:I feel the sting of a haiku
being tattooed across my hip.

yum, yum, yum

ouch!!!