Archive for June 6th, 2011
Poetic License is posted on the first Monday of every month. As I have done since last September, there are eight poems below from poets who own their own blog. April was National Poetry Month and there are several great poems listed throughout my April posts. Please stop by there too for some inspiration. Enjoy these great works.
Caution for younger readers: The poem In My Own Little Corner: No Accessories contains coarse language.
by Iris Orpi
He is my mental lover
sitting across from me on the table
the perfect gentleman
stimulating my mind
with his talks of
politics and society
about human nature
tickling my senses with
his command of
movies and music
arts and children
trees and the full moon
making me crave and swoon
over his conversation
he does not even touch me
for the occasional
making me feel like
I’m a prize for princes
while he undresses me with his eyes
penetrating me with his gaze
impaling me through the heart
his voice and laughter
my pores are almost
ready to ooze out honey
he twirls me around
in a dance of thoughts
and makes me dizzy
just sitting here wondering
what he’s really thinking
he picks up my heart
like plucking a delicate orchid
opening my petals
one by one
as I reveal myself to his
like he really wants to know me
and his sincere and precise
always perfectly timed
make me feel like
he is slowly entering my soul
hitting that spot
making me quiver
this man is a pro
on mind sex
man, does he work it
and does he work me
until I am sweaty and wet
and ready and willing
for the next step
Am I Worth It
You’ve always come first in my life
I wear the rings but I’m not your wife
We’ve been playing house far too long
Year after year the same ol’ song
Our love has weakened can we make it strong
You did some things some hurtful things
I said some things some nasty things
You asked should you leave I said goodbye
Now I’m wondering if in your eyes am I worth another try
Am I worth it am I worth the fight
Do I still matter in your life
Is it wrong for me to think that it’s right for you to run back home
Or should we baby just leave it alone
A friend and a lover there’s never been another
To love me so good now you treat me so wrong
This love has weakened how can we make it strong
I’ll forget my pride and you do the same
Let’s both agree that were both the blame
Note To Self
by Kavya Rajagopalan
That the darkness
Can’t and won’t last forever.
The words said by those
Now removed from your present.
That are best laid to rest.
And hold on
To the hope
That you hold within.
The fact that
The future will sparkle.
Of what you want
And whatever you do,
Don’t lose hope.
by Cynthia Alejandra Ayala
She could not tell
From whence they came.
Swiftly they were
Blurry as the rain.
Frightening they seemed
For she could not tell
What was real
Or what was fake.
In her disillusioned mind
Was what it seemed
Things that might have happened
Or things that will
Played in her head
But never whole
Fragments they were
She could not tell
What they were
All she knew
Was that they
Words lost in the wind
She could not tell
What they were.
She saw them awake
She saw them in her dreams
But she hoped they would
And leave her in peace.
Visions of things
Of different times
Plagued her mind
As she slept
And as she stared
Into the sky.
by Kristine Mack
Hello, can’t you feel my heart drumming fast?
It seems like it was light-years away since we last talk
when it was but only a few hours ago.
Can one say that what one feels is true
When the mind stops and the heart start to beat fast?
Cliché, yes, I guess it is so, but how can you stop
Someone’s pop, in making you unconsciously smile?
My mind said stop, you will only get hurt
But heart won’t listen; she is just a headstrong girl
The pain maybe worth it someday, somehow
Even if I tried, cutting the connection
You just keep on creeping back
So tell me little bird, will he hurt me so
Just like someone did, years ago?
I look like a fool, a dumb piece of intellectual being
Waiting for your presence in a matter of seconds
Watching as minutes gone by, getting hopeless
Hoping and wishing, like a pauper waiting for her king
Tell me please when this madness will end
I do not want to live alone; I do not want to breathe the air
Without him, I am just an empty piece of shell.
Tired in my heart, deadweight in my soul
Been living an endless existence for half a century
Will this be the end of it? Will he be my other half?
I must be dreaming perhaps, he might not feel the way I feel
It would be like pricking this bubble I am living in
Wake me up to the harshness of life or let me be?
Hear my song, hear my cry or leave me forever alone.
by Lola Gentry and Candi Sweet
You are full brazen;
Your swollen tan lies crisp on sunbaked sand;
You call attention to my snug rounded smooth firm thighs,
But you take my breasts in hand instead.
You promise me the taste of fried chicken skin;
And so my mouth waters all woman—
Course and raspy pudding under foot.
But I am short on your mind,
I am the shadow of a soporiferous color;
You set me aside for a long look at naked dancing girls—
Their bold vees fit well for the Valencia republic.
Your lamentations bay to the one who will take your grasp;
Your espousals become the smell of arid nicotine;
You promise motherhood to girls offering views of their paunches,
But your oaths tumble over ecstasy stains on fingers rolling dry leaves.
We go our separate ways:
I to a pretty face with unpainted lips.
I make no promises;
I am only hungry to know the heart.
In My Own Little Corner: No Accessories
My race is not a purse, I can never place it down or shop for a new one.
My race is not a bag
I will never put it away, hoping it will come back into fashion
My race is not a clutch
and I refuse to lose it
…My ethnicity is not a pair of peep-toed pumps
and I will never remove it when my stroll becomes weary
My ethnicity is not mary-janes
and my blackness is not something I will break in
My ethnicity is not a fad, and there will be no questions of “what is the new black”
My culture is not a sweater and I could never hang it up with the slightest change of weather
My culture is not a pair of jeans
because year after year I will never grow out of it.
Fuck no, my culture is not a shirt. Honey, this will never fade
So open up your mind so you can see this today
Close your eyes then open them and view me as bare.
Delve beyond the fashion
No purse, no pumps, no pair of jeans.
See me as naked, see me as me.
My culture, my race, my ethnicity
For Better Or For Worse
by Alex K. S.
Sometimes we fall down.
All of us.
It’s in those times,
The times we’ve scraped our knees
And bitten through our lips,
That we see true character.
Character not only in ourselves,
But in those we rely on.
All Rights Reserved © by their respective authors. Tom Baker and his Morning Erection blog make no claims to any poetry other than his own.
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