In my Heart

I close my eyes and I am right
there all over again
Your moist skin
Your damp hair gliding across my body
Like waves of electric light
The smell of wild flowers
runs through my mind
I lick my lips and can still taste you
Sweet like warm peach ice cream
I feel myself getting wet as
my mind goes back
To that moment of ecstasy
Climbing higher than I’ve ever been
Staying there for as long as we like
Never wanting to come down
Always further inside
As deep as it gets
Living, breathing, loving inside of me
We become one
Merged in electric fire
Out of control
Yet, we are caged in different worlds
Worlds that will never let us be
Only in those stolen moments
We are truly free

~Amanda Rose~

Only I can stop myself

Gravity keep me here tonight, quiet,
stalking my own heart,
awaiting the next move.
I feel a hole beginning,
from the inside out,
no one could ever
know my secret –
like the heavy bones
I walk around knowing,
a private burden,
though I cope just fine.

- Juliana Bures

Nymous

I keep trying to write these words,
to make them beautiful and poetic.

I’m trying to hide within the metaphor
or behind the guise of simile,
to create a tale of the hollow
withered aching soul
that is dying of a broken heart.

I want to create the illusion that
this is a story or a poem, or some
other work of fiction.

I want you to read it and find the pain in the tale, in the misery of the longing.

I want you to appreciate the commitment of the dedication
that this weary soul has laid forth
for the one whose heart it desires.

I want your compassion and empathy
to pour themselves over the bleeding wounds of this character I have described.

I want to see your heart melt for the subject and the storyline as I unfold
this tale for you.

I want you to lose yourself in the magic of the words I use and the emotions I can conjure.

I want to see your tears fall for the simple fact that this, in reality, could happen to anyone.

I want to move you and touch you
and tear at the strings of your heart
with a story so powerful that you
know it must be true.

I want you to fall to your knees in utter frustration for the way that this story will end.

I want you to scream ultimately how unfair this all is and how justice must
be served.

I want to leave you spent, exhausted by the depth and intensity of the experience you have just survived.

I want you to be exposed so that I can reach into the deepest part of your heart and touch you from within.

I want you laid bare before me.

I want you to hear my story.

Andrea Fitzpatrick 4-2-04

POETRY : POAMS : POETS

POETRY : POAMS : POETS

POETRY : POAMS : POETS

POETRY : POAMS : POETS

Links of interest

• Creative Prose
• Out of the Blue Poetry/Music
• Lizard Lounge Poerty Jam
• Poesy

To submit your poetry click here

Featured Poet of the Month
Prema Bangera
[click here]

Amazon Rose
(a tribute to Audre Lorde)

We remember the wisdom and compassion
of one of the greatest black feminist writers,
our amazon rose
the immortal Audre Lorde.
She bonded in Sapphic love
with other brilliant "home girls"
including June Jordan and Pat Parker,
to heal a chaotic world.
She helped expose
the satanic doublethink
behind the double oppression
of racism and sexism.
She spoke out
against foul legacies of bloodshed
when she shattered a crippling myth
that was once mistaken for "protection"
by informing us
"Your silence will not protect you".
She washed away our scorching despair
with "nurturing rain"
and gave us a voice
to rescue us from a living grave.
Her spirit still inspires us today
when we crusade against injustice and noble lies
such as the "war on terror"
or whatever godforsaken noun
they teach us to demonize.
She implores us to go after the insurgency
of Anglo-Saxon patriarchy
because wife-beating belts
and white-racist lynch nooses
are the real weapons of mass destruction!
Even though she was cruelly struck down
by a 9/11-type ailment called breast cancer,
her compassionate power of transformation
will always guide us.
In the fight against injustice, I say
"Praise Audre Lorde and pass the ammunition!"

March 10, 2007 by Chris Robbins

but I am a woman

if i were a cloud
i would float unconcerned
puffy pink parsimonious
content to be where i am

you could watch me
from behind
from on top
from the side
analyzing how i form
how i deform

you could go through me
stay in me
stay away from me

you could do all that
and much more
teach your children i'm a blessing
despise me when i'm black and charged

i would still be floating
parsimonious

puffy

pink

Beatriz Gonzalez-Flecha

When angst and sorrow squeeze the delicate heart, and joy seems tiny off against the horizon, a girl's delicate, suffocated heart can be restored by a mere chuckle, an ecstatic taste, and a loving look, A moment of creation, shared. A luscious taste, a luscious treat, Feeling luscious again, in her own skin.

-Anonymous

thin walnut lines dress her face,
tiny hairs linger in the deep crevices
like mars seen from the mountains
of vienna, the blue hills. you visit,
you draw, you creep into the tombs
looking at the masculine breasts,
long male torso next to a pope

thick lips on icons

full bodied cups of wine, your reed pen
drips sienna, even the madonna
taken from your rib opening the start

paper patina tacked on a blue halo
trying to fit everyday into a sketch

we return last night's video
after watching your gray ceiling pain
pointing a finger at God

irene koronas
cambridge, ma

Strong

I ran-
weighed down by the bullet proof vest
growing
on my chest,
blocking the words you shot at me,
your tongue on fire like a bullet-
No-
an arsenal of ammunition.
Fatal, you see,
because you can shoot without ever letting go
of what kills me.
I ran, my back turned
like a coward
to your face,
to your mind,
but there comes a time
when you leave or you die
and it doesn't matter who is or ever was
a coward.

By,
Jess Dugan

POETRY : POAMS : POETS

POETRY : POAMS : POETS

POETRY : POAMS : POETS
For Her....
** This was inspired by a Jennifer Matthews concert at Sally OBrien's August 27, 2005

For her
it is as
simple
as breath--
as stark,
as plain,
as death
or rain.

There is
no distance--
the music
flows
in waves
from her black
tangled hair
drops in
sweaty tears
from her brow-
lingers,
smiles in
the creases
of her face,
shudders
from her chest.

Above--
it
trills and flutters,
an exotic-plumaged bird
aloft--
and then
the voice crescendos
to some
deep nocturnal dream,
far below--

and I wonder
how it came,
and where
will it go?

Doug Holder

I can't breathe.
No I mean literally
I can't breathe
The flannel traps
The dead air
and dead thoughts
Which eerily awaken with this
Flickering flashlight
Like Frankenstein's freakish folly
What have I created?
What has created me?
A mind numbed by
happy little pills
A robotic giant in the ring.

A gasp for air under glowing blankets
Which from the outside
Might look like my
Glow-In-The-Dark
Keychain
To guide someone
To find me
An opal under cold water
Burns
With unnerving intensity
Water fuels its fire
What then will rekindle mine?

Caroline Thompson

TRUTH

Within the safe confines of an angels wings

and the soft white light of the truth

I have come here to lay down my soul.

I have come with desire, passion, and faith

and stand naked in the glow of your smile.

The letting go, as I have told you before,

is the hardest thing for me to do.

To open my heart completely without hesitation,

without fear of regret or remorse.

Without fear that I will fall to the ground

and be left where I lay.

Already I have stumbled before you, tripped and fallen,

and as I knelt at your feet your hand was outstretched

lifting me to once again stand beside you.

You have stood waiting with open hands

catching every word that falls from my lips,

placing them in a little box for safe keeping.

And when the time comes to bring them out

you cradle them gently in your arms until they can stand on their own.

You have held my bleeding heart so close to your own

that you filled my lungs with air.

And as I lay starving, you have crumbled the bread in your hands

and placed it gently to my lips.

You have opened your heart as well, to me,

in the ultimate display of trust and grace

and this is where we have found our stride.

This is where we begin walking forward.

To me, you are exactly who you claim to be…

To me, this is truth.

Andrea Fitzpatrick 2-22-04

THE SAUNA HAS A WAY

This warm abyss awaits
enclosed privacy, little diary
you’re mine for the taking
cedar walls that ache
to hold my naked spirit
and all the daughters who join me
renew the passion
release the fear
souls of the easily lost
finding a span of sanity.

Yes, I am one of the naked women
joined by the same
desperate need to hold
on to something
to take, instead of give
to feel, and give up thinking
breathing in the wood, deeper
feeling beads of sweat pour
from my skin
believing in a prayer,
a silent wish
we laugh as we reveal old secrets
massaging in rose oil
and relaxing in
the moments of silence.

Deborah M. Priestly