Jasmine

The first breath in the morning,

and oh,

how that smile

which so seemed

jasmine

to a broken eye.

Myself, and the water above my head

singing of the only song

that was,

a face.

a rainfall monsoon spread to india today.

A girl was seen rushing up the street

soaking her dress,

and i thought

of myself

when,

dragged beneath the sea comb of the beach

my hair dragged and rippled up in knots

you were my first love

and now her eyes stare into mine

that girl,

tossed inside the waves of rain

whispered

“he is gone,

and a jasmine blossom

now drowns in the river”.

Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry

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Penelope At Sea

her mouth
gaping wide
over the side
of the sea

as they tossed
from the crash
and the softening knees.

and
afloat with sieves
she gapes
at her own state.

his kisses like missiles
all the while and
firing and
cr
ash
ing
on the
side
of
t
h
e shore an
d
the
bo
at,
her tongue so
wide as to hide the
missing song inside
and-
where?

where will you take me?

When, on the evening
will the pale crayfish
who are stalking the sea road
see a woman embracing her husband
like she has never seen him before?

Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry

Under the Foam

You, on the back porch,

smelling like soap.

I have been married to you for fourteen years.

I am all stain, all hush, all quiet and mussed.

I never hurt you

because I was faithful.

I held god’s hand through your pockets

Like a dreamer,

and I drifted like sand.

On the beach

your eyes will play a darting maneuver,

the fierce crashing against rocks  like the sea waves to shore

closing into a submissive

hush.

Like a sorcerer, the sea splits.

All too soon I’m watering up,

but your hands are suddenly closing

and for defense, you say

“What did I do?

What the hell did I do?”

Some smile!

Some Mistake!

Some Apology!

Some rough Explanation!

This feels like mud

This night feels like wind

against the stifling bed sheet,

and I’m dreaming of you

tasting the salt of you,

licking my lips to dive under the foam.

 

The lamp turns off

The lamp turns on.

Who are you?

 

DISCLAIMER-

I hope you like a busty woman

because that’s who I am.

The sides of my hips

grow to the edge of the blankets.

I am bloated with weeds,

with gross, sickly weeds.

At first, though, I was a garden-

touched, then untouched.

The first day that I met you, you were by the stables, laughing.

You were made of muscles,

then mouths,

then lastly eyes, filled with stern

competition.

“Might we duel? Me seeking you?

Seeking the sun? Seeking the old green devil?”

I wonder where you came from…

 

I bustle, and my new dress sparkles.

I bustle, and wear it till worn.

And the sequins fall like shards of glass (MAZAL TOV!)

And the sequins fly, sworn off like a swarm of bees

and I know that I am she, in the sunlit beach

smashing a seashell.

I thought I was laughing at our life,

or, what I thought it was.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry.

 

the Scorching Blue Sun

His love carried it’s way

through the waterside

and i found myself broken up on the sand

and looked to the edge of the water

that was nearing,

fearing that the sea moss was clearing

knowing he was never as endearing

as the sea moss that cradles my breath.

it is like a tangled up teal bed frame

that i cannot sleep on,

(but oh, so sweet!)

 

love carried it’s way

into an unshakable hurdle.

would i keep hold of the

balancing I had done

on one leg in the water

when seeing his gray body bloodied

through an invisible glass

that could not shatter?

It’s impossible,

when thought of mechanically

through metal.

 

“It’s all for the best”

i whisper

(smiling till my teeth grind)

 

We do not exchange farewell glances

even though that’s what i want to do

we just touch the scorching blue sun

with the tips of our bare fingertips,

like slippery wet crayfish not colliding

but swimming visibly close if seen from above.

 

the sea moss leaves me now,

in a huddle of whispers,

and i do not know where to go

and there is nothing here that breathes

and there is nothing here in sight

only dark penetrating trees.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry