Church Bus Blues–#NaPoWriMo #1 Shuffle

The April 1st challenge for NaPoWriMo asked participants to use the first five songs on their shuffle list to write a poem.
Because I hadn’t set up this blog yet, I posted only to @sensualstories at Twitter.
In order to keep the napowrimo works together, i’m adding it now.

1. John the Revelator, Son House. #napowrimo
2. The Creeper, Pelican, instrumental #napowrimo
3. Such Great Heights, Iron and Wine
4. Kiss Me, The LaLas #napowrimo
5. Somethin Else, The Sex Pistols #napowrimo
Those are the songs for my first challenge. I’m going to let them steep. See what happens

Ms. Dora the held the book, black leather shining in her hands, talked of Genesis in hearts and men who’d lead us,
But John the Revelator, The Creeper as he was, sought discovery in me, pushed away the dust of cloudy glass eyes,
Peered to find such great heights in me, well of life and hope, dreamed of filling me up from the inside out, waters of his own
Lips at my ears, my heart, hands on my breasts, John spoke what his namesake did not, “Kiss me,” his beckon prayer,
Church bus ride on country dust to gravel roads, the songs and preaching chastity, the revelation somethin else.

#napowrimo
5:12 PM Apr 1st via TweetDeck

Studies in the South

I’d read in The Press that you’d married her,
Lacy dress white, but her heart beating dark thru
Blueblood veins, vessels to carry pedigree,
You’ll never understand. “Who are his people, anyway?”

Grandfather will ask, and Mother will change
The subject, tell her Daddy about the color of your eyes,
Crystal blue like the waters of the bay, and your skin, fair,
Unmarred, and your hands rubbed raw from work but gentle

Enough to play Chopin, just as Mama would’ve loved to hear.
And when it’s time, you’ll dance with her, but your heart sings
My name–I still hear it in the violet haze of twilight here
Where we walked together before you wrapped your future tight,

Rural white papers explicating the importance of proper unions.

Brown Recluse, Excuse Me–#NaPoWriMo #3

The object of prompt #3 is to write about something you fear. While I have deeper fears, my rather new fear of the brown recluse screams to be addressed.

The poem:

Dark fiddler, knees bend, extend, bend, alternation
To crawl creep crawl, scurry along the edge,
Baseboards I creeped to dust when I was small,
Crushing Arachne as I did, all in fun.

Had the power gone to my head? Likely,
This was true–I held your life in my hands,
Life and Death, God to your tiny form, but
You were venom memory, my flesh flavor hope.

You came for me, your eyes dancing and that
Mouth slick to whet your appetite, glisten hint
At what you’d do to me, my lily flesh gourmet
Delicacy. Your fangs prongs to pierce and tame me.

Hello world!

In honor of National Poetry Month and with the realization that my blog headquarters is becoming a tad overwhelming, I’m creating this space for poetry alone. Included in the works you’ll find here will be links to my poetic audio, samples of my favorite poetic authors, poems of my own, and discussions regarding (guess?) Poetry.

I hope you’ll listen, read, and speak.  Words ache to be read, heard, shared.  So come on.