Words of a Woman
Pink cheeked Downward grin. Coy Trying not to give in.
Whispering to my heart… Thank you
She always knew it was you Had never said In so many words
When being needs no forcing And
ever-changes its course.
I give In at the seams The ones you
stitched in my side I blow open wide I give to be given and gave the forgave
Let’s eat our childhood Drink pink lemonade
Let go and let you Leave it And be
What are we doing? Doing are we?
We’ve cycled some energy, fucked up
our lungs We’ve taken the steps, climbed all the rungs We’ve shot in the darkand hit the bulls eye We’ve learned to keep living after we died We lose all
the words until the surge and then its monsoon sings And what a glorious sound
is she. A novel novel Hung on a hook Where will it lead? I’ll boldly look.
As your noon comes sweeping My moon
comes sleeping To bed… I must make haste…
But first… a song… or three or You
And me Unmade memories Held in the keep Submarine careening shaping their way
Soon to surface and share us a day.
Tara, Venus, Diana & Sara: Names from a Man
The feminine figurine
No matter what
Always looks cute in a scooter
Upon riding a motorcycle
She becomes a sexual goddess
Leaving one bewildered
And hopelessly aroused!
And should she lead you to forbidden passages
Count yer lucky stars
And be good to the jinx
For if there’s any light in a tunnel or at the end of it, be certain, for it’s a woman
Of fanatic mothers
Batty aunties and more
Makes it all worth caring, bearing and sharing
Whatever it is
From minted cardamom lemonized tea served gingerly with generous doses of honey
To opening their doors to yer late night drunken frenzy
Giving ye shelter
To delicious meals
And urgent cash-ins
Besides the patient ear
The inquiring tongue
And other things that we'll never understand but marvel at ‘cos they are women
At the incredulous daring display of these curvaceous feminine figurines
Buns, pigtails, buttocks, watermelons, mangoes, bi to tricycles and all