pearls

Afterthought 1444—A Crossing, A Casting, A Calling

Posted in quatrain by maggie on 2016/11/30

We three will come as were sent
to bring out through our seeing

word inspired in visions meant
for our own each one's freeing.

We three brought along our dark
ghosts and demons tossing,

our magic here to make its mark
to break light on our crossing.

We three share a common breath
our life our love rewinding,

none harming past all death,
irrevocably binding.

We three join to voice moon's rise
for dancing sunlight's falling,

bardoi to holy exercise
in one the others' calling.

We three recreate the myth,
true poetry reciting —

Birth and Death and Beauty with
our song new legend writing.

We three times three serve its same
our blessed covenant lasting,

in our Muse's sacred name
according to our casting.

Advertisements

Afterthought 237—Haiku

Posted in haiku by maggie on 2015/06/16

New moon behind clouds
     checks out accident damage—
it hardly matters.


Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

1 comment

Afterthought 221—At My Desk

Posted in sonnet cycle by maggie on 2015/04/26

Before my light goes irreversibly dim
I wanted things arranged so you could find
your way around, since I, the undersigned,
yield you full access, subject to your whim —
books I hadn't time to even skim;
a sonnet cycle finished, set to bind
then send as promised; scraps I'll leave behind;
and if you meet my mentor, this for him. 

I gave up hopes I'd organize this mess
I'll leave things in — moleskines untranscribed,
stuff from doctors and bill collectors unfiled,
leftover dreams and visions uncompiled,
shots of my muse's whiskey left unimbibed.
Chaos, my most rigid thighs caress!


Afterthought 180—One Must Not

Posted in nothing special, terzanelle by maggie on 2015/04/14
 
          "One must never be angry about 
          how little they say is left." --Sara 
 
 
One must never be annoyed
over how little we've said gets left
behind to fill the void.
 
Nor must one be angered at the theft
of hours wasted, of tears spent
over how little we've said gets left.
 
Nor must one be puzzled how it went
down so quickly, with scarce a thought
of hours wasted, of tears spent.
 
Nor must one regret how we fought
to keep it alive long after it died,
down so quickly with scarce a thought.
 
Nor must one mourn our love's suicide.
One can only take pleasure hoping but
to keep it alive long after it died.
 
Our lights are out, our doors shut.
One must not recreate what's destroyed.
One can give and take pleasure hoping, but
one must not be annoyed.

Tagged with: , , ,

Afterthought 131—Complicity

Posted in nothing special by maggie on 2015/03/22

Quite well enough did you recall my name
   and clearly it recited with ill charm
for your accomplice to know, when he came,
   to whose child you wished him do most harm.

Afterthought 130—Eldritch

Posted in nothing special by maggie on 2015/03/22

"No," our mother cut short my brother's plea
to make the stop where for two bits we'd see
a live five-legged dog. The whole next hour
we got the lecture about how no authenticity
can be found advertized at so cheap a price
at some rundown farm in the middle of nowhere,
how that extra so-called leg was just a piece
of an old sock sewn on, how it couldn't stand
or walk or scratch its owner behind its ear.
And by the time we were leaving Georgia behind
I had learned two lessons that I have found
to serve me well ever since.  First, how much
is like that dog's extra limb was said to be.
And then, how a thing not so can still be known
by the needle and tread through which it's sewn.

Desultory dreams will make up for you being out
later than you said you would be back.  I doubt
we were both as drunk as I've been known to get
reminded how empty it can get here, nothing left
to stitch together into a new leg or extra arm.
Yeah, anyway we were the ones making our escape,
mother no longer swallowing liquor as an excuse
to risk abandoning her children to your abuse.
I can't help wondering the fuss that bitch made
when her five-legged son got so poorly displayed.

The numbers are wearing off the ruler I've placed
over fabric I'm cutting, as if they'd been erased.
Become nearly as useless as a forgotten friend
ridiculed as waste, shrugged off and abandoned.
I don't think I need a replacement, not just yet,
as long as its edge can be used to make the cut.

Seems I'm always getting told to remove free will
from the exhibit.  Like, "Just accept me as I am,
I had nothing to do with this fifth leg I sport,
and me biting at you isn't done out of any ill
except yours at fault not paying your just due
to let me be the fraud my mirror's calling you."

Our mother said we'd escaped you none too soon.
Our mother patiently taught us how the waning moon
is silent without its sun.  Our mother understood
about fire, about rocks and herbs, about blood.
Our mother taught at so cheap a price what's sold
will not last.  Eventually the seam wears thin
and the false will fall away, as if never there,
like a word one never learned to hear get said.
Our mother dies as if alive and lives as if dead.

Unfamiliar.  Unexpected.  Strange, even weird
enough to be photographed, that's an extra charge.
Things that shouldn't be, they should be revered
and thought of as meaning as they have appeared
to be.  If we pass up the temptation to diverge
from where we are, we never get to where we go,
so settle for pretending what's real as though.

Afterthought 117—Principled

Posted in nothing special by maggie on 2015/03/09

Oh.  What strange unexpected mystery
awaiting its creation as if nowhere but on your breath
and forgotten as quickly as a love that gave you no child
to carry you death after death after death.
    So, just one question: Does your father
    still tell you what and what not you're to see.

Ah, ah!  How this moment's magic moves
through word meant to hold its own, to stay
the night just long enough to whisper a forbidden name
to her own in the bed where her soul's mate lay.
    So, just one question, Does your father
    still keep you from your lives and loves?

Eh?  Exquisite metaphor!
The only real injury is that done to one's own self.
Which are the books taken with us when we go
and which the ones abandoned to their shelf?
    So, just one question: Does your father
    still come by to see how you are?
 

Afterthought 28—Gaslit

Posted in villanelle by maggie on 2014/12/19

Her I've meant no ill
— at her worst she did it for my best.
But if love can't touch her, what will?

Sorry, I've had my fill
of having my friendship second-guessed.
Her I've meant no ill.

I believe. She says I don't. Still …
— I'd give it a rest,
but if love can't touch her, what will?

My bruises? Scars? Gone nil.
Names she called me?  Surely cut in jest.
Her I've meant no ill.

She's my tomorrow's home, with no until
— my unsaid words expressed.
But if love can't touch her, what will?

Rather to kiss than kill:
even an abuser deserves being blessed.
Her I've meant no ill;
but if love can't touch her, what will?

Afterthought 27—Encomia

Posted in villanelle by maggie on 2014/12/18

No word or act you've done is meant for ill —
who tells else traps herself in her own lies.
To yours thrice flow your blessings, as you will.

Every promise made you will fulfill.
Who turns away your honor turns unwise —
no word or act you've done is meant for ill.

No miracle desired's outside your skill —
who mocks can't know the magic in your eyes.
To yours thrice flow your blessings, as you will.

Unfailing — whom you first loved is loved still —
who chooses else accepts false compromise.
No word or act you've done is meant for ill.

The life in you's impossible to kill —
who wishes not finds only empty skies.
To yours thrice flow your blessings, as you will.

Your word stands sure beyond the last until —
who won't accept you's gone before she dies.
No word or act you've done is meant for ill —
To yours thrice flow your blessings, as you will.
 
 

Afterthought 25—A Disengaging Limerick

Posted in limerick by maggie on 2014/12/16

A woman reproached her betrothed
saying, "Something I always have loathed
     is when I come home early
     catching you with some girlie,
I find neither one of you clothed."

Tagged with: , ,

Afterthought 15—When I Was Down

Posted in quatrain by maggie on 2014/11/28

				"You got a lotta nerve to say you are my friend
				When I was down, you just stood there grinning"
				— Dylan

		When I was down
		you just laughed off what I was down about
		When I was down
		you just kicked me out

		When I was down
		you just lied words we never said
		When I was down
		you just wished me cold dead

		When I was down
		you just shrugged like yeah what's the use
		When I was down
		you just cut me loose 

		When I was down
		you just turned against me two-faced
		When I was down
		you just called me waste

		When I was down
		you just said leave you the hell alone
		When I was down
		you just wanted me unknown 

		When I was down
		you just said you'd do it all over the same
		When I was down
		you just forgot my name

		When I was down
		you just washed your hands of my mess
		When I was down
		you just couldn't care less

		When I was down
		you just thought yourself of me well rid
		When I was down
		you just gunned after my kid

		When I was down
		you just cracked crude jokes of it
		When I was down
		you just quit

		When I was down
		you just were glad to call it our end
		When I was down
		you just moved on to your next friend

Overshadowing 70—Breakfast, As Usual

Posted in sonnet, sonnet cycle by maggie on 2014/05/02
 

How still you stand against the morning's move
into the bed I'd wanted you to rest
at least another hour against me pressed.
Or is that just a shadow, dreaming you've
left waking to its appetite to prove
the waste last night has made of my request
to break our kisses open? Look—I've dressed
to join your ritual sacrifice, my love. 
 
No cereal, no eggs, no orange juice,
no pancakes, bacon, hash browns, toast nor grits. 
Just coffee, black, brewed strong how you prefer
to have it done. Your breakfast is a truce
you make to keep what little peace best fits
what we might be with how we never were. 
 
Tagged with: , ,

An Hour Unwound

Posted in quatorzain by maggie on 2012/04/03
Casual Convo

Casual Convo
   
   "Et cetera."   "Et cetera?  The end
   is rarely that expected."   "Which is why
   one says so after."   "'Too late,' you imply?"
   "'Assume' is what, but since I'm still your friend
   in Facebook terms, we play nice, right?"   "Depend
   on it."   "I used to. I might even try
   to once again."   "Oh?"   "Yeah, or not."   "No lie,
   that's what makes it so easy to pretend."
      
   "'Whatever,' right?"   "'Whatever.' Choose your word.
   I'm not responsible."   "By that you mean
   you'll hold against me what you think gets heard
   or doesn't get that close."   "Don't make a scene."
   "A scene? A life was more what I'd preferred,
   as if one word made sense beyond this screen."
   

 
Just Visiting
Just Visiting
   
   As if one word made sense.   Beyond this screen
   perhaps.   Across that threshold yes.   As though
   one promise could have been accepted.   Oh
   inside those walls for sure.   No guards between
   the two of us of course there then.   Routine
   as a good morning kiss as if you know
   I pose no threat.   As though I choose to go
   or stay with no missteps to intervene.
   
   Like this were home.   Like you knew I'd been meant
   to be a part.   No stranger.   Family.
   Except I'm not.   You'll not know where I went
   tomorrow morning.   I won't ever see
   you waking.   This will mark the best extent
   my time with you might offer guarantee.
   

 
No Excuses
No Excuses
   
   My time with you might offer guarantee
   of nothing more than somewhat shared pretense
   by which I'm not thought worthy your defence
   so shrug it off or claim the fault's with me,
   whereas with my best acting I can't be
   near good enough to earn love's recompense.
   We're sorry we're not sorry.   In a sense,
   we're both and neither due apology.
   
   Would anything be different?   We can blame
   me all we want, and I could even do
   what you make like I should've.   All the same
   I'd owe you, right?   No chance of something new.
   Forgiveness has no meaning, no real aim
   when what I'm really bad at's loving you.
   

 
100% = X / X
100% = X / X
   
   When what I'm really bad at's loving you,
   the best I do just makes me all the worse
   the upside down and inside out reverse
   what you expect of me.   Sad déjà vu
   how we're divided by ourselves, into
   each other one on one, our mirror's curse
   as absolute as math.   I can't coerce
   more truth of it than what you think most true.
   
   And so we've nothing left.   Completely done.
   Undone's more like it.   No more to have shared,
   since giving all's the same as having none
   and we've already taken all we'd dared.
   Consider me love's void.   I'm not the one
   against whom all your loves should be compared.
   

 
Throwback Ancient History
Throwback Ancient History
   
   Against whom?   All your loves should be compared
   against which holy saint?   Upon whose best
   must all our worst improve?   Each passion's quest
   must measure up to whose high standard?   Spared
   no mercy by whose precedent?   Declared
   unworthy on whose sayso?   Second-guessed
   by whose presumptions?   By whose litmus test
   selected?   For whom confidences bared?
   
   It's over!   done with!   settled!   obsolete!
   irrelevant!   before our time!   old news!
   as dead as you'd desired!   deadweight!   deadbeat!
   deadwood!   dead end!   It's dead!   It's ended.   Choose
   to live our love in our own day, complete
   in our own moment, free of yester's views.
   

 
A girL's Monolith
A Girl's Monolith
   
   In our own moment free of yester's views
   secret braids of color bind a tight
   threesome together bathed in blinding light
   in our own dances hand in hand with who's
   lonesome enough embraced enough to lose
   love in life and life in love to write
   abandoned stillborn touches of goodnight
   dreams we'd scarred thick dark as one'd abuse
   open face into fierce firestorm to share
   reality intended opportune
   except will I go? can't he? where?
   you're seeing hearing cutting coming soon?
   over the bed made home to our affair -
   us three yet there beneath a rising moon.
   

 
Exoterica
Exoterica
   
   Us three:  Yet there beneath a rising moon
              inside another's shadow made to fit
              through hungry thighs, through open heaven split,
              yet have we not the voice of ancient rune
              within us?
                          Their own one:   What you impugn
              creates your only truth.   What you permit
              destroys your freedom.   What you've made of it
              will lose by midnight all you'd gained past noon.
   
   We never heard a word of it.   They hadn't let
   their silent moments break into our peace
   so they we three quite easily forget
   as we them can ignore.   So does love cease
   in voided lives born empty, breathless, yet
   their one must keep what we three can't release.
   

 
Rejection Accepted
Rejection Accepted
   
   Their one must keep.   What we three can't release
   their one must hold.   What we three won't adjourn
   their one must take.   What we would not unlearn
   they must pay homage to.   Too strict police
   to run their's street.   Not shamelessly caprice
   enough.   Not thought that much of.   Taciturn
   in tune.   What's too unwanted.   No concern
   for either our decline or their's increase.
   
   Discarded objects' shadows do impose,
   don't they, on territories newly claimed
   so need must be put down.   Rejected.   Those
   get left no chance of honor being named
   except to gauge what comes against what goes
   in terms of whose gets credit for whom's blamed.
   

 
Love's Occultation
Love's Occultation
   
   In terms of whose gets credit for whom's blamed
   our bed lies at the eye of the eclipse,
   with moonlight at her darkest in your hips
   on me left blinded by his circles flamed.
   
   For whom's intents whose purpose dies defamed,
   our dance composes swirls on glides in flips
   through open space.   Raw unveiled passion slips
   along deep crevices on satin framed.
   
   Oh wait.   No, my mistake.   That's just a cloud
   and one I should've known's not come as mine,
   yet looking up to you's as disallowed
   as much as if our orbits stood in line,
   so I'll fall to the shadows of the crowd
   without the silhouette of your design.
   

 
A Sapling's Sonnet
A Sapling's Sonnet
   
   Without the silhouette of your design
   extending through the dark across the lake
   to take his shore as yours, he'd never make
   your branches to his stormy skies incline.
   
   Without the potion of your root and vine
   imbuing wind and soil, he'd never wake
   beneath your canopy, but rather take
   his place beneath your quiet forest shrine.
   
   I see my way.   Both in and through.   And out.
   What's unknown grows to what we will believe
   as sure as oaks from smallest acorns sprout,
   tomorrow with today's past lives to weave.
   To weave.   Yes, that I'll also see about
   to give breath to all earth and sky conceive.
   

 
Spring's Offspring
Spring's Offspring
   
   To give breath to all earth and sky conceive,
   to bring light to all corners on the day,
   to spread peace to each word bold visions say,
   to reclaim hopes that fears and ignorance thieve,
   to comfort ghosts of all who cannot grieve,
   to reinvent all garbage and sewage and decay,
   to color in the drab and the dim and the gray,
   to make true love the promise all achieve,
   may she who turns her circle round to spring
   and he whose fertile seed mates true and sure
   fill we who dance and they of whom we sing
   with life reborn in innocence right pure
   to melt through bitter winter's icy sting,
   for death itself to offer certain cure.
   

 
Something Apotropaic
Something Apotropaic
   
   For death itself to offer certain cure
   against contagious love's dissembled smile
   so as with something sure to reconcile,
   one's resurrection can't be premature
   else one's again exposed to the allure
   and tempting eye and captivating wile
   at risk of falling victim to love's guile
   against which no believer can endure.
   
   Say, tell me where to find that silver charm
   you always wore around your neck?   Your heart
   is naked, open to harsh hurt and harm.
   You sacrificed it?   God, that wasn't smart.
   Let's look see if we've something to disarm
   the threat to life of love's capricious dart.
   

 
Friday, the 13th
Friday, the 13th
   
   The threat to life (of love's capricious dart,
   its poison proving meant's not good enough
   unless both think so) is (not up to snuff
   no matter how much sacrificed) to start
   (there was a job, there was a place) to chart
   a course (and all the other legal stuff
   required of him to immigrate) to tough
   it out together, then fall far apart.
   
   It kills a man.   Then kills him back to back
   again until the man's past all unknown
   and yet again until the man's lost track
   and even yet again damned to his own
   dark hell.   All voided out.   All lost.   All black.
   Unwanted.   Turned away from.   That alone.
   
...

For a Friend on the Eve of a Triumph

Posted in quatorzain by maggie on 2010/12/17
For a Friend on the Eve of a Triumph

A little credit. That's what some might cede
you, maybe even realize you're the same
who wrote your essay. "What'd she say her name
was? Wasn't she the one who...?" Some may read
enough of it to get you guaranteed
an extra hit or two from those who came
to get attention of their own. What fame
it has to offer isn't what you need.

And when the dust has settled back in place
and once again your poems lie still, come see
the changes I'll have made to mine, the base
I've started using, how they make their case
because of what you've done. Believe you me,
my words love yours like kisses to your face.

 
 
 

— written for Sara
upon word of the pending publication of her article,
A Numbers Theory of the Sestina and Similar Repeating Forms

Tagged with: , , ,

used to be

Posted in pantoum by maggie on 2009/10/23
used to be

i finally get it, excuse me for what all i'm not
when you do it so well, it's something to keep
you always had something special worth being got
when i do it my way, it's insulted as cheap

when you do it so well, it's something to keep
keep that i would, if it went better with mine
when i do it my way, it's insulted as cheap
used to be, yours and mine knew how to combine

keep that i would, if it went better with mine
when you do it so well, we know it as need
used to be, yours and mine knew how to combine
when i do it my way, it's thought of as greed

when you do it so well, we know it as need
need that i would, but i'd have to be there
when i do it my way, it's thought of as greed
used to be, yours and mine were hungry to share

need that i would, but i'd have to be there
when you do it so well, it's some exquisite word
used to be, yours and mine were hungry to share
when i do it my way, it's better off unheard

when you do it so well, it's some exquisite word
word i would dream, if i had the right head
when i do it my way, it's better off unheard
used to be, it went without being so unsaid

word i would dream, if i had the right head
when you do it so well, it's a perfect touch
used to be, it went without being so unsaid
when i do it my way, it's so nothing much

when you do it so well, it's a perfect touch
you always had something special worth being got
when i do it my way, it's so nothing much
i finally get it, excuse me for what all i'm not



Tagged with: , ,

Just Saying

Posted in quatorzain by maggie on 2009/10/17
Just Saying

I don't know what to do.  I've got no plan
so if this works out, it'll be dumb luck
and I'll step back and wonder what the fuck
then rearrange what happens, if I can,
to make it end somewhat how it began
as if behind the scenes a deal was struck
despite my aimless nonsense, and it stuck,
so never mind the way things really ran.
Since no god comes along to run the show,
I'm on my own, come fortune or regret.
No proper word is ever apropos —
at best I'll use the best words I can get.
Is this the way to put it?  I won't know
until I'm done, and that's not happened yet.


 
Just Saying Nothing
Is this the way to put it?  I won't know
until I'm done, and that's not happened yet
nor does my drift pose too serious a threat
no matter how much it appears as though
my poetry must sport a quid pro quo
to dress up its erratic silhouette,
some sacrifice to settle up my debt
for every scrap of nothing I still owe.
For what it's worth, there's nothing going on,
there never was nor will there ever be,
unless we count each hiccup, burp or yawn —
whatever, that's still all i guarantee.
What little faith I had is dead and gone
as though it never felt a part of me.


 
Just Saying Scratch
What little faith I had is dead and gone
as though it never felt a part of me . . .
no, worse than that, like leftover debris
discarded from the refuse of my spawn.
Trust gets me nowhere.  Every move's a con
prepackaged for a dream raised on TV
where everything's for sale and no one's free.
I tried.  My application got withdrawn.
It's said I need to let the reins relax,
just let the language speak, see through its eyes,
give up control, submit to random acts,
spread open to its improbable surprise.
OK then, let's play roulette with the facts:
give Tyche my pen, let's see what she'll devise.


 
Just Saying Whatever
OK then, let's play roulette with the facts:
give Tyche my pen, let's see what she'll devise
our hopes to dress in probable disguise
uneasy in each outcome choice impacts,
our doubt to carve out inauspicious tracks.
At any given moment, last goodbyes
capriciously kiss sins we'd most despise.
We do this to ourselves, these wild attacks.
When purposes are vain, when cause is null,
or when our reason justifies abuse,
let probability the credits cull
to meaning-challenged changes we produce.
Why waste your time on such a fickle trull?
Don't try to clean my act up.  It's no use.


 
Just Saying Shit
Why waste your time on such a fickle trull?
Don't try to clean my act up.  It's no use
expecting tight control of one so loose
or drilling sense into so thick a skull.
That quiet's just my eye, it's not a lull;
this pause was just my breath, don't call a truce;
et cetera.  I've got no good excuse —
whatever choice can sharpen chance can dull.
What more did you expect? that I might last?
One force alone can promise it won't quit
and even what that's got is going fast
with precious little left to call legit.
At most I've had an accidental past;
at best you were a pointless piece of it.


 
Just Saying Sorry
At most I've had an accidental past;
at best you were a pointless piece of it.
I'd give a damn, but I don't give a shit
which hit might miss me when the die are cast.
The pit of possibilities is vast
with millions more of us, as counterfeit,
like pearls as never likely to commit,
like moonlight at its darkest when harassed.
I know such words are not for me to say,
that first I'd have to be as sure as you
and maybe soon I will, but not today —
today I'm into what will get me through.
So let's just let what was lie where it lay
and flip the change that's left for something new.


 
Just Saying Goodbye
So let's just let what was lie where it lay
and flip the change that's left for something new
as though it matters what we choose to do.
We can't decide the ending nor the way,
but only whether we will pay to play.
There was a chance, that much I know is true,
but chances kill the love we feed them to
and in the end, you knew I wouldn't stay.
I'm told I need to find myself a man,
just settle down, be normal, earn a buck.
I'll take what comes, that's no less certain than
some shrinkwrapped system guaranteed to suck.
I don't know what to do.  I've got no plan
so if this works out, it'll be dumb luck.

Tagged with: , , ,

pearls

Posted in pearls by maggie on 2009/08/11

pearls will fall like all but brighter stars done in by yawning moonlight
pearls will chatter like chickadees calling dawn stray dogs barking back
pearls will find smudged horizons to splatter with lightning struck twice vacant
i scratch out circles at each arm i call them pearls them all pearls 

fencing freedom for                       work
folding vision up for                  bed
taking only one                    chance
dont broadcast                 it it wont sell what will help
dont point at              it it wont forget soon enough
dont laugh at it                it laughs back sneering

be good to               who will be mothers
be nice to who            will give their own
be true to who will        leave open
there will be more       to meet
there will not         look down
there will        make pearls

i will        have to terminate it
i       have to make it stop
close

what      went with red
sleep    again eat again be still again
dont make    fun of have some
thiis will   not be it
doesnt hurt not  where
not near not in any of the ways

exterminate it
make it go
away

there is a stone inside me
it call it a per call it a pearl
a black hard stone
a growth
it feeds on me
it keeps me up
it moves me far away
dont look at it not straight on
it will last when i cant
it will cry when i wont

wrong goess wrong
not some another way of seeing
not for an alternative take
not as worth turning into opinion
make it my mistake my wrong my sin
hten and it does my best truth and be wrong

sara watches my try to swallow
she stays awake to see that i dont
she has someone too looking in on me at random
i make her to tell me when it has turned its into too much
pearls

i need to terminate it make it quit
its claim on me its merciless control
constricting feeble breath through knotted howl
at what gets made with me as stupid bait
it has to end itself to pull its weight
its penalty its purpose rank and foul
out from the inside gnawed and swallowed whole
across cold skin my curse in bloodline writ
to sacrifice the one reward i'd prized
ironic how love plays out so such twist
this part of me most me unrealized
not ever taken out not ever kissed
not ever noticed never recognized
then i at liberty to not be missed

Tagged with: ,

Always Something You

Posted in terzanelle by maggie on 2009/07/24
Always Something You

Though every morning brings me dream anew,
tomorrow I'll be just as ever yours.
My waking word is always something you.

Though parts of me may still look like they're hers,
most all of that belongs to yesterday.
Tomorrow I'll be just as ever yours.

So much is better left where last it lay -
How brief, the time of those in whom we trust!
Most all of that belongs to yesterday,

to nightmares simmered in decay and rust
where love once laughed and played without remorse.
How brief, the time of those in whom we trust!

Though I myself am nothing more, of course,
there's one place I will always call my home
where once love laughed and played without remorse.

I'm only by myself, I'm not alone -
your heart will always be what I call home.
Though every morning brings me dream anew,
my waking word is always something you.

Tagged with: , , ,

– alone

Posted in nothing special by maggie on 2009/07/08
- alone

my eyes are now near swollen shut
i should keep them so
- alone

more exposed than they had me at the clinic
more exposed than when i was informed
- alone

walls and windows and faces accelerating away
until i realize it's me rushing from it all
- alone

who and how and when and what i will do
and how it will be done and who will go with me
- alone

i should try to eat, i need my strength
nothing wants to even make the attempt
- alone

not the biggest regret of this most regrettable day but
i do regret having told
- alone

in the deepest pit of my empty stomach
in the hole caved in where my heart used to be
- alone

fears and conflicts and desires and choices and considerations
and the one live shadow swallowing it all whole
- alone

the one day i needed it most
ached to know a quiet touch inside the torrent
- alone

smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack
smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack
- alone

it is what i have always been
why should this get to be any different?
- alone

i have no floor plan
i have no company
- alone

i have to stop
i have to do this myself
- alone

calm again
i know what has to happen
- alone

silent
invisible
- alone

Tagged with: , , ,

Carnal Continuum

Posted in triolet by maggie on 2009/06/24
Carnal Continuum

Gods' breathless exclamations tempt my tongue
to suck each drop of sweat hot off your lips.
As aching and hungry as your words get sung,
gods' breathless exclamations tempt my tongue.
Like smoke, your lover's whispered cries she's hung
in clouds across the skies between your hips.
Gods' breathless exclamations tempt my tongue
to suck each drop of sweat hot off your lips.

 
 
 
 
- one thread from a Triolet Scarf
Tagged with: , ,

sunday morning

Posted in sapphics by maggie on 2007/02/11
sunday morning

         - for l. always

Sunday morning lounging with no agenda, 
you behind me breathing across my shoulder, 
still off somewhere dreaming new songs and dances 
         softly emerging. 

Early sunlight waits at a frosty window. 
Just one ray breaks through for our cat's amusement. 
Dying embers settle in last night's fireplace 
         cozy as secrets. 

Feeling me awake you begin to snuggle 
closer, making sure that I'm really with you, 
asking what I'm thinking about this moment. 
         "Being together." 


Tagged with: , ,

For Keeps

Posted in sapphics by maggie on 2007/02/08

Wordless, lurking deep in your bedroom's shadows,
keeping every move under strict surveillance
fixed on opportunities, targets, tactics -
              passion's devices.

Played for keeps, this sport is no mere diversion
matching kiss for kiss like your bed's my chessboard,
sacrifices, gambits and traps conceiving
              mating positions.

Caught by your own strategies, captured victim!!
Want a rematch?  I'll let you make the first move.
Stakes?  The usual - loser submits to winner,
              winner takes loser.

Tagged with: , ,

Sleep Well, My Love

Posted in nothing special by maggie on 2007/02/07
Sleep Well, My Love

Sleep well, my love.  Sleep long into tomorrow.
May dreaming fill the changes in your night.
Don't lie awake.  Your work today was thorough,
creating time and home and life and light.
Fly far away.  My heart will be the arrow
to guide your visions to the farthest height.

Sleep well, my love.  My breast will be your pillow,
my arms and legs the bed where you may hide.
The fire's burned low, its last breaths soft and yellow.
The storm has passed; its clouds will soon divide.
Sleep well, my love.  My sleep is soon to follow
and when you wake, you'll find me at your side.

Tagged with: ,

Just By Breathing

Posted in sapphics by maggie on 2007/02/07
Just By Breathing

Let my words fall peacefully through their echoes
short of how this feels being close beside you,
leaving one mere sigh as my sole expression,
              sharing your singing.

Let my sighing rest, leaving only breathing.
Gently wake the virgin that sleeps inside me
dormant, silent, waiting for your soft touches
              giving me shivers.

Let my breaths lie still, let them cease entirely,
save for those I'm holding for your recapture,
helpless, trusting - You know the spell I want, love.
              Kill me with kisses!

Tagged with: , , ,

Local Brew

Posted in sapphics by maggie on 2007/02/07

Taste my lips.  You'll savor concocted potions,
Sweet delights your tongue finds intoxicating,
Spicy doses swirling inside like witchcraft,
              Lovers' elixir.

Drink until your will is as weak as water.
Swallow me like whiskey that heats your body
Close to boiling over with lust and leisure
              Drenched in my syrup.

Sauced to madness, craving my liquid magic,
Drown beneath the flood of excited passions.
Bar's still open, darling.  Are you still thirsty?
              Ask for a refill.

Tagged with: , ,

Smoldering

Posted in sapphics by maggie on 2007/02/06
Smoldering

How adored I am!  Does it take a thousand
nights? when only one is enough to conjure
universes blazing as though creating
              fire in your lover.

You adore me!  Pour on your fuel, your passion!
Dry incendiary lips crave ignition.
Heat my breath with dreams that we'll burn together
              scorched by our kisses.

Come, adore me, lover!  I'll dare extinguish
not a single flame of the thousand burning
even when consumed to my dying embers
              left on your heart's hearth.

Tagged with: , ,

Remote Control (Partial Draft)

Posted in nothing special by maggie on 2007/01/19

Remote Control (Partial Draft)(You know, I won't have time to get the fancy footwork
Off my neck this pass through, those old eschars
Painting their portraits of future stares
From the nervous clusters of younger girls
Who will keep their wary distances.)

"'Login window expired. Please try again.'"
This will earn me a bureaucratic shrug
Void of interest in relevant context
Outside which the girl confirms them:
{She needs to be here another day.

She needs her privilege taken away.}
Do I have anything left they must condemn?
(Our only older woman looks perplexed.)
Do I have anything left they can not drug?
"'Don't know where, don't know when.'"

{Go the path of least resistances.}
(Being kept as one of your precious pearls,
Being known as yours, not treated as theirs,
Sees me through each day behind these bars.)
Here you go: *pickled moonlight smirk*

They will do my nails for me again.
Down to blunt stubby stumps.
"'It ain't that in their hearts they're bad.'"
(Trust me, I will grow them back
Before I reach them out to yours
And lightly run them up your arm,
Then jump them from your shoulder
To your chin and ever so lightly
Pass them across your parted lips,
Ever so lightly until you bite hard
Wanting to know how sharp they had to be
To be regarded as so dangerous.)
Ooooo, but yeah can I be perfect!
I will show there where they missed,
File it down raw with my teeth
Before sliding against a tender gum
To demonstrate I still know how
To taste what my appetite wants.

Jean exits her room and takes a bow.
Judges creep in wielding instruments.
"'I have fallen far beneath.'"
But I know where Jean came here from.
It's daddy's fault, is that correct?
(Jesus Christ, just get me kissed
And I'll betray myself for free.)
{Open up, dear. Share it with us.}
Jean stands up and completely strips.
The young girls stare at how she's scarred.
<I can make it a whole lot colder.>
Yeah but I'm headed where it already might be.
Jean checks my eyes and calls them hers.
{Let us help, dear.  We mean you no harm.}
I will have no more.  I've just been had.
Freedom burns brightly just through that crack -
She knows where I'll go more than where I've been.
(My head hurts bad. My tired heart jumps.)


Look, come look, the short girl's bleeding.
She looks like a poem - distant, vapid.
"'There is no pain, you are receding.'"

Check out the screen, see what she's been reading:
Some recent scab, she keeps trying to scrape it.
Look, come look, the short girl's bleeding.

Screw your damn tubes, I don't need re-feeding.
It's my own body, you don't need to reshape it.
"'There is no pain, you are receding.'"

Her smile's rehearsed, her casual air's misleading.
Without our tourniquets, she won't make it.
Look, come look, the short girl's bleeding.

Let me find my own way of succeeding.
<Trust me, it won't kill you, we can take it.>
"'There is no pain, you are receding.'"

My progress my own doctors are impeding.
I look like a prisoner - clinical, naked.
Look, come look, the short girl's bleeding.
"'There is no pain, you are receding.'"


Everything's under control.  I'll be fine.
{Sign here please.}  No, that I decline.

It aches me to keep this smile in place.
<I can help you to leave no trace.>

{She wasn't fixed before.  She left too soon.}
The butterfly dies when you puncture her cocoon.

By night I make myself swallow pill after pill.
When day clocks in "'I sleep beneath the golden hill.'"

(My head hurts bad.)  There is no pain as such
As long as I do not look, but only touch.

They're only thoughts I'll have, not some disease,
Don't cure me of their voices.  {Sign here please.}

No really, I'll be fine.  I still know what's real
As such as long as I touch, but do not feel.

I'm given my morning meds in a small paper cup.
Thank you, bitch.  {I'll have to write you up.}

I've only one goal that's worthy to achieve.
<You know who I am.  I can help you leave.>


I want no help.  It will not last.
I want no attention.  I'm quite used to scorn.
I want no therapy.  I'm done with my past.
I want no pity.  There's nothing to mourn.
I want no applause.  I'm not here to perform.
I want no prayers.  I'll be fine in my hell.
I want no treatment.  Who's to say what's the norm?
(I want no one else.  Only you know me well.)


It's too late now.  They should leave me alone.
I can't be fixed and made as if I'm new.
Recovery?  I'll manage on my own
And with the love of friends who'll see me through.

(Thank you know who for me, he's rather kind.
<They'd give it second thoughts if he but knew.>
One word from him's worth all my drugs combined.
But all I need to work it out is you.)

Another day of black lies in my file,
Another nurse without a fucking clue,
Another line I write outside my style,
Another nightmare made to turn out true.

(Just you and you, please be at home inside.
Don't tell anybody else how much I tried.)


Once again good morning, girls, once again later on good night.
<They can't really hear you, darling.  They believe you are already dead.>
*Shrug*  Doesn't matter anyway.  I don't know how much more I'll fight.
They're off inspecting my passport and reserving me my own bed.
Only one of my thousands of voices might lose its pride.

But nothing new here, girls, just move your own little carts along.
Let them give you your lives back, I already have mine close.
I'm too beyond their redemption, I've done too much of their wrong.
You've still got enough your own lives left for them to diagnose.
Only one of my thousands of voices will have died.

I have to laugh and laugh, girls, but don't lose your straight face.
Where else in here can one such as I go to find some lasting fun?
Jean won't be gone from us long, we can save her seat and her place.
We say what's left.  "'It may be our words find nothing, find no one.'"
Only one of my thousands of voices needs to hide.

I am about to get me new eyes, girls, you go on seeing what you want.
<They can't really see you, darling.  They believe you're a dream.>
Next time I pass through a mirror, I won't be nearly so gaunt.
Next time I watch my mouth move, it will not be to scream.
Only one of my thousands of voices should be denied.

My shadows will move through our hallways, girls, pure background stuff.
{I'll have to write you up.}  Fuck it, do what it takes to be paid.
Now that I know I can love and be loved, I have known quite enough.
<They can't really love you, darling.  You can only get laid.>
Only one of my thousands of voices lipsyncs suicide.

I practice what I preach, girls, go and practice your own petty fad.
(You and you there, I won't stop either, I just want you to know.)
{I'll have to write you up.}  Bitch, I don't care who you think is mad.
<They can't really cure you, darling.  All you can do is to go.>
Only one of my thousands of voices makes it outside.

Just alert me when
The next prisoner exchange
Will be.

Weight of Love

Posted in something special by maggie on 2006/12/16
Weight of Love

I'm not given to opportunity
for breaking through to what I call home,
to what play the sun or the moon to me
-- I've made those things on my own.
So I won't lie and claim I ask, as such,
for such gifts as come from above.
But you, you're true, in the aim of your touch
from a heart with the weight of love.

I worry you might feel hostility
when my time here has come and gone.
But even if so, your words still will be
the moonlight that brings in dawn.
And your poetry will live on, my friend,
as I dream what you're writing of —
release, pure peace, a song with no end
from a heart with the weight of love.

Tagged with: , ,

[untitled response to a moonlight terzanelle]

Posted in triolet by maggie on 2006/12/08
untitled response to a moonlight terzanelle
 

A terzanelle! As rare as a true heart
gets all the love deserved, again and again
our rites circle our dreams as though to chart
a terzanelle! As rare as a true heart
finds each line imagined from the start,
still the day of your work here will long remain.
A terzanelle as rare as a true heart
gets all the love deserved, again and again.

Tagged with: , , ,

Sonnet 1

Posted in quatorzain, sonnet cycle by maggie on 2006/11/30
Sonnet 1

This wasn't how my work was meant to end:
a ragged string of sonnets unrevised,
like how my chance to stay out might depend
on how well I behave unsupervised.

At least I'll try my best along the way
to use their voice as if it were my own.
One never knows which words will get to stay
or like those lives which don't work out, get thrown.

So heat some coffee up and grab a chair.
Just don't take anything too seriously
and I won't either. Really, I don't care.

Mine won't seek your censure nor your praise.
It's just a game, means little more to me:
a hundred poems in just as many days.

Tagged with: , ,

Protected: Passage 182 — In Passing

Posted in terza rima by maggie on 2017/06/20

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Tagged with: ,

Enter your password to view comments.

Afterthought 1640—Last Fake Smile

Posted in nothing special, ovillejo by maggie on 2017/04/06

Shoveling out my secrets hard and fast
    just to last. 
Trapping time in words I bend and break
    just to fake. 
Taking me every ounce of guise and guile
    just to smile.
I’d not meant you to think me worth the while.

You’ve lost it, now you see it for what it’s not—
the part of me you knew as but afterthought.

        [Last. Fake. Smile.]

Tagged with:

Protected: Afterthought 1639—Saṃsāra Song

Posted in sonnet, sonnet cycle by maggie on 2017/04/06

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Tagged with: , ,

Enter your password to view comments.

Protected: Passage 181 — In Passing

Posted in terza rima by maggie on 2017/03/20

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Tagged with: ,

Enter your password to view comments.

Afterthought 1563—One Prevailing Opinion

Posted in clerihew by maggie on 2017/01/22

Tom Brady
throws like a lady.
He's rather over-inflated 
sans a ball under-rated. 

Tagged with: ,

Afterthought 1550—Minus One, Minus Another

Posted in nothing special by maggie on 2017/01/14

Time was known more by
what we didn't do
than by what we did.
It's the absent things we know,
minus one, minus another. 

We withheld pieces of ourselves,
expecting to do without.
We focused on the words not said,
leaving the others to catch up. 
We made love with the lights on,
ignoring the gods who call from dark.
All those tears we never had to cry,
minus one, minus another. 

We won't see everyone home,
we won't mark everything done,
we won't mention every casualty,
we won't spend every last cent.
Minus one, minus another,
minus one, minus another,
minus one, minus another,
we will be at our best 
with all we weren't. 

Protected: Afterthought 1547—Extenuating Shadows

Posted in couplet by maggie on 2017/01/13

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Tagged with: , ,

Enter your password to view comments.

Protected: Afterthought 1543—Sitnah’s Waters

Posted in blank verse by maggie on 2017/01/12

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Tagged with: , ,

Enter your password to view comments.

Protected: Afterthought 1542—Weekend Snowbird

Posted in nothing special by maggie on 2017/01/12

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Tagged with: , ,

Enter your password to view comments.