A Poet's Fortune

I feel like an avocado.

add pepper,

I burn.

singe the mucus lining throat,

scald tunnel, to acid bubble burp,

exhale,

blaze fire with every breath,

torch the prideful pointed fingers,

the barren point at end,

hollow like cleared oyster shell,

chuck it back to the sea,

see what the waves will do

when provoked.

I am an avocado.

I float.

ride the surge of tide

that compels me forward

and hopes to silence

hollow threats with light green

smooth, no salt,

just red heat on pink end.

taste me, round pit

of reason and balance,

gain perspective,

shift

your weight under heated curve,

bumpy ride to smooth core,

round fist

when thrown.

I want to melt sadness
Into golden ink.
Let the letters carry weight on chest,
Let forever manifest between pale blue line and red boundary.

NaPoWriMo Day 2:  In honor of what women are considered to be, here is my day two poem—

 A Lump of Coal

To the Breath:

subtle inhale

and exasperated exhale

carrying the broken middle finger

of love’s expectations,

you don’t have to be good.

Use that severed finger as your favorite dildo,

because letting your cunt swallow

all that you can’t handle,

is best.

She’s a professional.

So breathe

heavy when you reach g-spot cliff

and spongy tissue.

Breathe light when all fluids

have left and you let the physical

expectation of sex

slip through hair lined lips

onto sheets.

Breathe in the scent

of the dearly departed,

rotting bodies of lovers

slain by intolerance.

Breathe out renewed sense of self,

understand that no one

will ever call you

bitch, lady, slut, dyke, whore again

without your permission.

you don’t have to be perfect.

every inch of skin

sun, earth, moon touches is

enough to castrate thousands of

sleeping bigots that relentlessly attempt

to limit the definition of

Womyn.

NaPoWriMo Day 1: Welcome to National Poetry Writing Month!  On the first day I sat with two of my favorite poets, Shae Savoy and Finn Cottom, and we wrote about pepper and love.  Both of which can arrest a human being in the blink of an eye. Here is my poem for Day 1—

Prompt: Straight Pepper Diet

Cayenne.

Fiery flaked pepper

granules scrub vein.

light vessels.  renew the cells,

tell the body:

we are born.

out of the cracked skull

came blood, then the breaking,

elbow to bone,

forerunners split hard casing,

push out the young.

tell the gods:

we are coming home.

singe the skin of sole

and submerge ourselves in what water

we bore as fluid for future,

swallow diamonds whole,

let the precious of past disappear,

call forth coal.

The heat from our bodies

will press our frames into precision,

shape us after destiny,

tell the story of where we’ve been,

see the tale of where we’re going.

In response to Baths “Lovely Bloodflow”

To the blood flow:

we bleed after twenty eight days of building,

unsuture uturus and release,

crimson ceremony shaking life

to limbic sanctuary.

un-suture uterus and release,

bend into moon’s bidding.

to: limbic sanctuary,

those of our unborn in you are buried.

bend into moon’s bidding,

subtle pull coaxing fluid,

ready our limbs for future inhabitants

those of our unborn for you are buried.

subtle pull coaxing fluid,

crimson ceremony shaking life,

ready, our limbs, for future inhabitants

we bleed, after twenty eight days of building.

——————————

I guess my soul sits

in between breath and her lips,

mint colored cloud coaxed

from chest, released.

in between breath and her lips

are the dying,

from chest released

bleeding.

are the dying

a product of soul-less feats?

bleeding

innocent victims from teeth.

a product of soul-less feats,

mint colored cloud coaxed

innocent victims from teeth,

my soul’s seat, I guess.

I’ve been avoiding talking about this clip, but I can’t. So, I wrote a presona poem in the form of a villanelle in response to the type of hatred we call art.

Four Cornered Infinity

I never offered you a salve, never even looked back,

mouth pulled into sinister humor, a smirk,

It’s funny how hatred wasn’t as urgent

when I left your jaw cracked

and unconscious innocence split on cement.

I never offered you a salve, never even looked back.

My brother watched as handcuffs bound

my arms and took me behind bars,

it’s funny how hatred isn’t so urgent.

when the skin you’re in is melanin-less,

buoyed temperament because I taught a Nigger placement.

I never offered you a salve, never even looked back.

Superiority weighs in, tucks itself behind

the four cornered infinity etched into skin,

it’s funny how hatred is urgent.

I am god.

heeled boot at the back of your neck.

I’ll never offer you a salve, I’ll never look back.

It’s funny how hatred is never urgent.

warsanshire:

girl is so good at loving
everybody (but herself).

girl is so good at hating
no one (but herself).

of course you want to be loved.
everyone does.

but if your body is a home that even you refuse to live in, why would anyone else ask to move in?

(just temporary tenants where your thighs touch under your summer dress)

sweetheart, whatever you are running away from, we can all smell.

(via shiftingself)

artoftransliness:

NamelessQueer talks about being a trans queer person of color. He also has a couple of videos in spanish for those of you who are spanish speakers. 

Excerpt from [Lesbianism: an Act of Resistance by Cheryl Clarke]

Found in the book by Cherríe Moraga, and Gloria Anzaldúa: This Bridge Called My Back: Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color. Watertown, MA: Persephone, 1981.

(via pambana)

March is here and I’ve updated my calendar! 

Along with the promise of Spring, March brings new open mics and tons of opportunities to ponder the wonders of Seattle poetry!

OH…and me of course!! LOL! 

See you at the microphone!