Poetry Slam Tuesdays: Aaaand, we're back!

Poetry Slam Tuesdays were going so well, and then I had to go slack off for the last two weeks. But don't worry, we're coming back with a bang. Today's featured poet is my favorite redhead, Miss Abby Hansen!

When I asked if she'd be interested in being a featured poet, I was a little worried she might respond with a big "HELL NO." Luckily Abby is a good sport, so she agreed. And I'm so glad she did!

She sent me a few possibilities, and although I liked all of them, I picked two for today's slam. The first one, "Fall Swiftly," is my favorite; the second, "Tuesday Poetry Slam," is, well ... I think you can figure that out on your own.

Read them after the jump! And make sure to check out Abby's blog for more. Thanks, Abbs, for letting me share!

Fall Swiftly

I weep for you, soft love,
weep as a daisy
after kind spring rain.
Patient shadows
grazing the fingertips of the willows
in sweet wait
for my own love's true heart.

If I was ever less than perfect,
forgive me.
But never did I turn from your light
of fall victim to the disease of lust.
You become a private wind
bound to the grass,
bound to the belly of the jay
as he soars over precious lands;
lands that mirror the beauty of your face
and the breathlessness of your soul.
Fall swiftly to me...
open arms in lover's kiss.
And you will save me
from all that is vicious here,
all that remains empty
and lacking the grace of your eyes,
two caramel orbs,
painted from my deep dreams.

You are the merry heart
singing me lightly into rest.
Would you be taciturn,
I would withdraw my soul
from your silent grasp
and surrender myself only to death.
But with faith you are joyous
and call me into your heaven.

Fall swiftly to me, kind love.
I will cloak you with desire
and cleanse your soul
with the passion and tranquility
of a thousand saints.
You will hold my last breath,
waiting for the finest of times
when my soul is swept
by a most feverish ocean;
pushed to a new birth
with you, my companion, at my side.
Fall swiftly to me
for your skies are littered
with the damp, gray clouds of doubt.
Fall swiftly to me, my dear.
Let love's blind sighs
wash you over and whittle your naked heart
so that it fits mine.

Fall swiftly to me.
Fall swiftly to me for without you,
I am quite lonesome.
And without your love
there are neither treasures nor joys
to be had in this world.

December 19, 2009

Tuesday Poetry Slam

Alison holds a Tuesday Poetry Slam
every week.
She asks me to participate.

First thought:
hell no.
Utter humiliation is sure to ensue.
I look through my work
and suddenly everything I've ever written
is shit; the really bad kind;
the kind crusting away on your windshield.

I can't do this.
I already know that
I'm a failure.
Now need to rub it in,
push down on the bruise.

After the brief flash of doom,
I rethink my first thought:
still hell no.

No, I won't be naked
and picked at; the scab
over the elbow.
No one wants the pain to spread;
everybody loves the laughter, the innocence.

And this cannot be decoded,
placed in the juicer,
the messages filtering out
to collect at the bottom of the bowl.
There is no movement here,
no force to battle with,
no ripple in sight.
It is only paper
riddled with silliness.
Yet I can't let it get away.

I can't let the rumor start
that I'm easy,
that I can take it off,
let the wax drip to the base
molding into puddles the shapes of continents
and U.S. states that you try to identify.
I must hold it in;
must become the soiled sponge
soaking up the fear,
getting fat with it.

No, I cannot be part of this.
My reputation is too rich
and when it disappears,
what shall I become then
but the lint growing on that old blanket
he brought back from Korea 20 years ago?
Or perhaps that forgotten stain on the carpet
lost in the corner of my old bedroom,
the one I blamed on my brother,
avoiding the beating?
No, I won't drift that far.
I will not succumb to the future butchery
of the woman I thought I was.

And it will come
without warning and without pity
if I am wishfull; foolish.
Oh yes, it will come.


Alison holds a Tuesday Poetry Slam
every week.
She asks me to participate.

First thought,
always the first thought:
hell no.

I ain't that stupid.

January 19, 2010