spilt

your one worry
like a musk scented
an entire lace handkerchief
and a room full
of my attention
dizzy when waved
the delicate cotton
gesture to graze your brow
of men and
affection i’ve only
begun

?

?

the dark settles in
dark
blue gray over everything
even white flowers look
the color of slate
a statue
gargoyle in suburbia
amidst quiet bed linens
folded still on one side
perseverates in
sentences without periods
periods without company
and guests only by invitation
to a night
wedding what
one does wear when everything
under urban evenings
and nights look blue
and gray

the sale of plums

the sale of plums

i found i lost my work with words and instead i drew
plums to lips in the market for sale calling out
orchards full of pretty and judgemental there
lips looking for lovers
and not husbands or wives

had it changed so much
were they not still grown in heated seasons
did women appreciate sophistication of scent
how it might smell like a husband freshly bathed
or his shoulder after he held a baby over it

questions instead on the source of the fruit
was not every tree nurtured the same
watered with perspiration of men who missed
their women in the work field

plums that fell from trees now not considered
in reality though soft spots are sign of accommodating tenderness
in the market when lips shopped for plums
i became nervous no wonder in the sale
and returned to the work of words

The Divorce

More a focus on visual arts this month. The Divorce is a recent painting, in acrylic.

(packed away)

is that the sound of violins
or the long strands of your hair
running long against the others
when you walk against
the wind in front of me
whilst i rustle at your heals
the ricochet of leaves stumbling
on eachother
golden after summer crisp now
gathering loosely at the edge
of a parking lot
the clutter of a symphony
packing up
instruments away and discussions of the performance
the lack of synchronicity
how autumn came early this year
sounding better in summer tones
warm echoes within wood
chambers carrying out a sound
even when it’s finished
i still hear your hair
the sound of violins
(packed away)

prodded and (labeled)

prodded and (labeled)

in trying to speak
delicate words to describe
pity and death of children born to
civilian slaughter          
i find none left      
but those heavy    and laden
with truth       i become
                    
the heavy word
the bearded word
the veiled word
the fundamentalist word
the Islamist word

the trapped and the terrorist
words         and woes of those
who would have you believe
“sympathizer” is synonymous
with sin

in sinning
in being flesh i find
we get angry
the heavy worded ones
react to lightly worded
“resolutions”
delicately spoken
to make the victim
a villain

the lost clothespins

the lost clothespins

the smell of the night
a flower opening in the dark
caught in your unpressed
dress of white
cotton and cream
running over saffron
and shoulders
fingers over a man’s shirt
mine pressed still
from work and after you
in field of dark
green and sky so big
you see the earth
curve and miss
it all focusing on your tossing
a man’s shirt
mine ruffle
and billow
fly like a flower caught in
your breath
and the smell of the day’s work
ending and play
mist from the grass
when you and i fall
tumble
flowers and shirts
showering on a clear sky
over us

brief

brief

you anticipate it
the smell of
each leaf single green
buffets of fragrance
in the dark of blue
spring and
summer coming
with the wind breathing
a message to each arm hair
and eye lash bat
you anticipate
expect it to pass
no smell of leaves
lasts that long in a breeze
under your nose
above your mouth
it slips past a taste to come
an unfinished season

its when you anticipate it
the brevity of brief moments
that you strengthen the smell of it
learn that lamentation of passing
flowers prevent the appreciation
of autumn come eventually

small words in the ground

small words in the ground

will i run out of words
this summer i wonder
if i start to think again
of

should i instead
place a passion on planting
small leaflets
paper vegetations
white flowering trees
and shrubs of chokecherries
thick as poems
respond to cultivated
affection and earth
stuck deep under a fingernail

should i instead attempt
a rooting of words
in her ears
watered well
bring her a phlox flower
plucked fresh from
smaller intentions
a white blossom and a request
for her hand
with growing a garden

Spring Cleaning

Thanks to my wonderful new cleaning staff, the hiatus on writing has been put away during a thorough and well needed spring cleaning.

I’ll be posting new pieces for the summer.


(Photo taken from Dead Fred Genealogy Photo Archive. www.deadfread.com)

supplication

supplication

on holy days
i thought devilish
thoughts of you
in petticoats playing
with the locks
in my heart and hair

you searched me
for secrets
i knew details to
yours

made by hand
and not simple
procreation

you were brown eyes
staring at me
i was in praise
of knowing you
intimately worshipping
God because He
allowed me
you

CRINOLINE COMFORT

CRINOLINE COMFORT

There was an absence of sun.
The night cold,
You spoke words
To melt me
In a bedroom study
I dripped wax.
Sealed a letter
Called it the end.

When you beckoned me
To crinoline sheets
You smiled because you
Knew you had won.
I smiled because
It made you happy.

I knew I lost.

A FULL BELLY

A FULL BELLY

boats
set sail friday
after prayer, for flying fish
spiced right
like you
and I under,
slicing tongues
till dinner
docked

MOSQUITO NET

MOSQUITO NET

my face
was an african bed
your eyes rested on

i folded mine

saw you with
my hands

knew you

did not move
as your seasons
changed

it was summer still
mosquitoes left
your body
burned
incense and your hair
shaded me

Reprisals

On a bit of a writing hiatus for a few weeks, I've been focusing on getting back to painting. The next few posts will likely be some of my older poems, however none which have already been posted. No sense being redundant. For those who check the links on this page, do check Karen's Food Blog, and in particular her recipe for Imam Baldi. Make sure you're seated when you do taste it however. No word of a lie, it is almost literally, to die for.

clippings

clippings

i watched for you
your crescent moons
thumbnails in the
dark
nights
before ramadan
you flew
with them
the backs of your
finger tips
grazing
hills and valleys

my face

now and then
you grew full
of me
not to be seen
mistaken often
for rings
of saturn
so far

i watched for you
then
your crescent moons
thumbnails
on my face
in the dark

Arabian Musk

ARABIAN MUSK

Years past
and today
I smelt your perfume
on another woman
passing me.

Like prayer
on Fridays
I wrote you letters.
This week the same.
Another
Unanswered.

You must have
smelt it
for the scent of longing
before you
read it with
fingers
smooth as paper.

I know you
kept a perfumed box
with my letters
week to week.

You must have kept
my heart within it,
As years past.
with my lips
still thirsty.

The Brother Site

More visual arts, such as this one, will be posted on my sibling site. See the link for A PHOTOGRAPH OF HOME or go to: http://raymondmariasphoto.blogspot.com

perimeter passed

perimeter passed

        the news on the radio
        tired voices
        us within a car
        and street lights fire
        flies      guiding the path
        out a city
        with one hand
        steering
        yours    the second
        layer over mine on a gear
        shifting     in our seats
        with each kilometer
        away from crowds
        alone with a highway and
        ideas
        of how to make time pass
slower     out here

The Meeting of Lines

the grass and the wind

the grass and the wind

the city like
its people a plain
field of tall grass
shoulder to shoulder
brushing lightly against
each other accidentally      because
of breezes and weather patterns
the occasional emotional
wavering we feel
when we bend
in front of faces
of others in the field
and streets

love their shades of green and
slight yellow in the fall
the lady bug on their backs

the wind changes
we waver
in our quick directions
most of us forgetting
that specific shade
of those we bent for
beat for
lost in the color of a field
blowing     accidentally
forgetting in the wind

through an open car window

through an open car window

   the wind ran his fingers
       through the long silken
         blades of grass
              and i        blew on your lashes
             waken you
          to the sun resting
       his head on the body
        of the plains
          the day falling
              asleep
                 at the setting of it all
                     eager i was
                        to show the night
                              the rising
                                  of your face

like air trapped in the weave of wool

like air trapped in the weave of wool

an eggshell governs
the movement of blood
within my body and skin surrounding
the lace of many
starched doilies crocheted
by my grandmother and her fingers
when i a child
was protected by larger hands

a grown man i guard
it all in fair isle sweaters
thick     buttoned for the look
of clumsy minded men
masculinity layered
in knits unnoticed
because they’re often washed
and worn mismatched
to give another impression
i’m larger and less
delicate     as emotionally uncomplicated
men must be
thick handed     headed
(soft and delicately hearted)
              (brittle and fragile)
when naked     without

brail

brail

                    your skin a papyrus
                    my tongue a quill
                    soft to write upon you
                    dipped in musk and
                    honey         scriptures of secret
                    thoughts and plans
                    to wrap you in a breath
                    sweetness and tailored
                    taffeta dresses to
                    conceal the fingerprints
                    i left on you
                    while reading

laundered

laundered

there is the smell of fresh laundry
trapped in hair
  like threads of my shirt
   a warm drape
    along my back I miss
     you here to tell me it’s there
      your nose
     where it traveled upward
    the lower part of my neck
   the basket by it and my shoulder
  hands chasing it
around a soft cotton covered sternum
and below
where my stomach
  sat a feeling of
   what it felt like to be fresh
     linens in your hand
      and loose
        terry towel threads brushed into the creases
          of palms

           every one of my hairs      threads
        on end
    on end

to forget

to forget

the drive’s become less
noticeable with the grass
brown      ing in a way
less enchanting than the trees
or you     watching
they blur in greens
speed now past them
in orange      attempts to forge…

you liked this drive
this highway quieter
now in this season
than when you’d switch stations
to have songs match
climate      anticipating seasons
and this one come

the crispness of cold
a passenger’s seat with only
the driver’s warm
by thoughts and       you
somewhere in a city
stationary looking
out a window colors turn

i drive faster by them
to forge…

to avoid remembering

Missing Keys

Missing Keys

The thing I remember most
About loving you was the email
Everyday a page
Sometimes twice
I’d think of what you looked like under your scarf
That beautiful black
I remembered when we were
Friends, mostly as children, and foolish young
Adults and grown men and women we are now

And I find           I think
Too much
Of you still and wonder if
You had kept those emails and read them
At your office in your hijab
Or at home where I like to think of you
At mine, without a barrier
Mysterious to other men
But not me with
The keys I’d stolen
for many years with each letter
pressed I left clues and now
I look for places to leave them for you
Keys and clues to remind
You of the things you read the most
When I for years
Had emailed you.

a lecture

a lecture

there are subtleties a man
must learn      to differentiate between
the values of a
society are pillars and
between those
truths and people unaware
their behavior     
greater constants than mathematics
only slighter
than affection          elusive as an atom
and noticed under
the microscope
of tender unnoticed     gestures like
      the removal of
      an eye lash
      from a cheek
      the blush in
      brown skin and moisture
      of lips when
      helping with the dishes
      drying
      the pretense of
      emotional distance and
      the sound of a swallow
      singing at the end
      of a sentence
      and this     gap

a pause in thought.

there’s a science to  be made
of this
a study of soft
hands and lips     
close       nights in a laboratory
of sheets      
askew with writing
and writhing to
make a sense of why we try to learn
love      what we already
inherently know

WHEN COLOR IMPLICATE

WHEN COLOR IMPLICATES FAITH OR HEDONISM

God save me
From the trials and tribulations
Of being hounded
By missionaries
Sniffing at my door,
Stopping me on streets.

They see my brown face,
And assume the heathen in me
Dancing naked around a fire,
With body paint
On colored breasts and buttocks
Shaking wildly to devil’s drums,
In red jungles
Of the backward Eastern world.

I like to tell them
How I miss the dancing.
They ask me,
“Come join us,
We can discuss Jesus;
He is forgiving of all sins.”
I say, “Only
If I can wear my loin cloth.”

among other things

among other things

two words
a breath
two more
a kiss
one     almost
and you withdraw
thinking     of other things

CEREMONY

CEREMONY

i sat to drink
a weak tea of mostly
warm water,
and sugar, I pulled from my lips
to serve you,
the rim wet,
still warm from me.

you warmed to the idea
of drinking from the same
wet cup
you put to your lips
like honey, you thought it tasted,
my saliva you sat to drink
beside me.

AUTUMN KNEW BETTER

AUTUMN KNEW BETTER

Let me drink you
Like cordial wines,
Forbidden like long
Walks alone
With the wind
Ushering leaves
To walk with us.
The clouds weep for us.

Bottle your musk
And let me burn it in
Your absence, like opiate incense
The smoke and smell
Of a coming harvest.

Red I am,
Falling from you
My mother love.
Breath heavily as you leave
So I may follow clouds
To where you are
And learn by watching
Seduction from Autumn,
Catch you in my breath
Steal you back
In the fog.

BAIN MARIE

BAIN MARIE

Air moist
Like it was
From your mouth
Warm like it was fresh
From your lungs
And wet
Like I was
From your womb
In your arms.

Drawn and trickled
Along my pores
They opened
To you
My secrets
Sedating me.
You discussed them
Intimately with friends
Over fondue.

You
Women knew
How to melt
A man in baths
Of subtle emotion
Like water
Clung to you.

You
Like dark chocolate
On ripe strawberries
Bittersweet and always
Addictive.

TEASING FRUIT

TEASING FRUIT

I read palms
With my tongue and  lips
Lust full
And think of you
When I make love to peaches
My mouth
Whispers sonnets
The scent of flowers and words
My tongue cannot find
On your lips
Save the bitterness of love and
Aspirin you hid beneath your tongue.

TANGO

TANGO

Far be it for me
To fall for your wiles
Without partaking
In longful looks
At your game of blushing
And lashes batting
At my heart.

I would not succumb
To lowered gazes
Without mocking modesty
By gazing at your heels
Striking tile,
Rattling beats
I missed with my heart.

I would not choose
The irony
Of me writing this
As I picture you turning
Into a lush
With my every glance
At you.

the tenacity of red

the tenacity of red skin

a press
of cherries with     each other
passed like honey
on lips laced
with the flesh of the red
dark and      tender
wine of fruits and ripened
skin and      sighs
pursed and played
so close to one another
drawn            by the scent of it
passed between them

cherries and lips
in a press

like feathers

like feathers

softly i               slipped
from your hands
into your words          
cotton brushed
into blankets          
i fell with you                    

accidentally tossed
you words               
that i                    
                    love          

the last morning

the last morning

you in a voice          
thin     in whispers
came when i in a state of      undress
had none but           thin      
cottons to shield me
from distances you were planning
on keeping
as the secrets we kept
this long     under cotton
sheets and whispers
in whispers you told me
i in skins      received them and
removed      
stretched it over arm
and neck     slid off the layer
deflated form of my bust once
the width      of two of your hands
spread across my chest
in previous times

this time     dropped over your shoulder
this skin      a memento
that i let you this close
under the layers     for the price
of your whispers

master of tongues breaths

master of tongues      breaths

i came to understand
the meaning of your breath and
the pronunciation and implications
of the dialect of your sighs
an unwritten one
i remember you
taught it to me        one escape
at a time

there was that one     waiting
in the tunnels
you tested me and timed
it well and thought it lost
in the thunder and rush
of the passing train i        noticed
more than the faces of pretty
women within it

this one was               anticipation
this one wished          the tunnels empty
empty so you could stand
closer by a set of inches     less appropriate
          teach me other sounds
by having      me
having them graze the top
of my back     move the locks
on the back of my head instead
of having to hide
the lessons and language
between quickly passing spaces
of subway cars

the shorter breaths

the shorter breaths

did i take them
from you
words and sighs
when i           that close
pulled them     inhaled your thoughts
lips     given back to you in gasps
your mouth barely catching
up with worry and
excitement     i wonder
     if i made it irregular
your breathing          your skin
responses      


     was it           uncomfortable
               or just new
this type of exchange of      air
               and adjectives
          i read on your
lips       moved to let it out
and i to catch
my mouth to give back to you
slowly          in kisses and breaths
and laden implications     
     sweet with promise     relief
you inhaled      
     i sighed     

the smell of several

          the smell of several days

i wanted to set myself          rest
on your pulse points
like a musk for days
on safari when your scent
became strong and mingled
with mine      and i
more subtle       diffuse
closer to the details of your imperfections

have you catch me after days
in a waft while removing
your shirt      and remembered me
pronounced from the days
you had placed me     delicately
let me behind your ears
and think twice      about bathing
just to have me on you
          one day     longer

we drove and

we drove and

the air passing over us
carried with it the scent of sun
struck skin and me     flushed
i      preferred the smell of faint flowers
shampoo that lingered in
your hair 2 days after being dried
by the wind from a car window
and           my nasal breath
so close after a night
on a cheap motel pillow we drove
some more to prolong the breaths
we lost in      conversation
          each other and the smell
     of soap that faded as our
     scents grew on each other
after each nights’ rest
               pressed together
in a car          the back seat
sleeping    the bed
of your back
and the smell of slowly     becoming familiar

the tenacity of red

the tenacity of red skin

a press
of cherries with     each other
passed like honey
on lips laced
with the flesh of the red
dark and      tender
wine of fruits and ripened
skin and      sighs
pursed and played
so close to one another
drawn            by the scent of it
passed between them

cherries and lips
in a press

the long way

the long way

over passes
and bridges
under        i went
with you driving winters
on waters frozen
wondered how you’d feel about
sharing a pillow
when we had two

dry highways
3 routes to a cabin
in a cold Manitoba
plated wagon you chose
the long way

for the scenery
that road found
a longer view
of your face

(wondering what you)

(wondering what you)

secret sounding
you gave me
what I
(wanted)
believed
were calcified
pearls
shucked from your
lungs and lips
on pillows
tongues
you rolled
them there
in beds
and blankets
bounding mine
with your plastic
knotted pearls
you hid
(from me)
in another

sleeping shirtless

sleeping shirtless

there it is again     
     the smell of smoke and
                         skin
you and i          pressed
sleeping in a bag
on a mountain in a fog

smelt your hair   for
last night   s  fire

comfort     pressed you
your warm back
     closer to my chest

you    sighed

               i wondered
                         what that meant

i did

i did

wish it were billie holiday  (‘s)
camembert voice
wish the song in my head was like violins      
smoothing it                
its over
and you      are not

broken twang     of a country song
you came and went           
        over it               over and again
              playing it    on your guitar
       plucking              at my petals

       one    at    a    time
   did you   or   didn’t you

wasn’t enough that i did

through wheat fields

through wheat fields

silence was your romance
you listened
to the grinding of the truck
the engine with a voice
the length of us
quiet with each other
silent with saskatchewan
on both sides
content with looking
out the wind     shield for hours     
listening
to me breath
now and then turning
to see if I was still
warm and          sleeping

got away with

got away with


they were      white
your lips
stunned
that I brought color
to cheeks and           black
to your eyes


they were closed
          you shaded them
when i did it

broke your sparse
nervous rambling with
               my breath

in the beginning...

New to the concept of a blog, I've decided, with much trepidation to post my poetry. On occasion, social commentary and photography.