the artist and the lover between two worlds
carefully folding cream into sugar
egg beaters scratch at ceramic corners
waddling ducks with patterned bows
ignore the separation of organic opposites
you brought me to the far western field
picnic basket hiding behind a mischevious smile.
here, you told me
you came to collect honey with your grandfather,
returning with buttercups for your mother's table.
we settle into the straw under an ancient oak
whose foliage provides a festive glimmer of midday defeat,
you falling into my many layers.
tier by tier you ripple through my flesh
lethargically pulling away knots and ruddy bark.
i sway to your breathless tongue, melting
into the greenery of this ancient roost where
earth connects to clouds; base with sublime.
a lazy dragonfly stops to sun itself on a rock,
a sparrow eyes it greedily from its snarled metallic perch.
you suggest we compliment eachother
burying your one o'clock shadow deeper into my breasts.
i wonder if the shiny fence burns little crooked feet,
if the ground moaned by its inhumane division.
in an act of bravery, a newly sprouted maple
intertwines itself between the barrier.
condemningly shaming itself equally, it will grow
to embrace its surroundings, enveloping bystanders.
that nature knows no premeditated direction
only sunlight stretches.
roots can overpower rocks,
undercut metal.
-----------------
so despite how that poem exemplifies 'retreatist' poetry, it really doesn't. norval morisseau's (sp?) painting really got me, and it made me think about the dichotomy of my own life... how i feel domesticality, and yet want to embrace it somewhere. but, where does that irrational fear come from, the fact that i don't want to be my mother, or i don't want to commit to society's ideal perception of the 1950's housewife. WTF! there's no happy median. Also, i've been stuck on this image of a tree growing into a metal fence, it's been haunting my dreams. but who the fuck cares about poetry. i wish i could mail happiness to my friends. a couple of them really need it. i, personally would like a mental vacation, with boarding passes to a night of decent sleep.
there's nothing like living in a bottle, nothing like ending it all for the world.
- "lived in bars" a song by cat power
she also has this other lyric "we kiss, but love too fast" - interesting shite eh chris?
egg beaters scratch at ceramic corners
waddling ducks with patterned bows
ignore the separation of organic opposites
you brought me to the far western field
picnic basket hiding behind a mischevious smile.
here, you told me
you came to collect honey with your grandfather,
returning with buttercups for your mother's table.
we settle into the straw under an ancient oak
whose foliage provides a festive glimmer of midday defeat,
you falling into my many layers.
tier by tier you ripple through my flesh
lethargically pulling away knots and ruddy bark.
i sway to your breathless tongue, melting
into the greenery of this ancient roost where
earth connects to clouds; base with sublime.
a lazy dragonfly stops to sun itself on a rock,
a sparrow eyes it greedily from its snarled metallic perch.
you suggest we compliment eachother
burying your one o'clock shadow deeper into my breasts.
i wonder if the shiny fence burns little crooked feet,
if the ground moaned by its inhumane division.
in an act of bravery, a newly sprouted maple
intertwines itself between the barrier.
condemningly shaming itself equally, it will grow
to embrace its surroundings, enveloping bystanders.
that nature knows no premeditated direction
only sunlight stretches.
roots can overpower rocks,
undercut metal.
-----------------
so despite how that poem exemplifies 'retreatist' poetry, it really doesn't. norval morisseau's (sp?) painting really got me, and it made me think about the dichotomy of my own life... how i feel domesticality, and yet want to embrace it somewhere. but, where does that irrational fear come from, the fact that i don't want to be my mother, or i don't want to commit to society's ideal perception of the 1950's housewife. WTF! there's no happy median. Also, i've been stuck on this image of a tree growing into a metal fence, it's been haunting my dreams. but who the fuck cares about poetry. i wish i could mail happiness to my friends. a couple of them really need it. i, personally would like a mental vacation, with boarding passes to a night of decent sleep.
there's nothing like living in a bottle, nothing like ending it all for the world.
- "lived in bars" a song by cat power
she also has this other lyric "we kiss, but love too fast" - interesting shite eh chris?