I'm so freaking excited! I'm a self-published author, of a real live book!
In the hopes of tempting you to buy this 41 poem volume for yourself or your favorite literary geek (the holidays they are a'coming....), here are my favorite few poems from Truth, Love, Blood and Bones.
I am like a goat butting
my hard head and tiny horns against everyone
and everything I come across, if only to find out what
they’re made of. I’m made of stubbornness
and questions. My cry could be a laugh.
I hop rock to rock, restless explorer.
Pain accepted becomes power
the way a gift of seeds blossoms with love.
My pain grew a dogwood tree flowering,
soft pink petals bearing mauve stigmata like the bloodstain
blooms hidden in my mattress. My woman’s wound
flows with blood mysterious as transubstantiation, the pain
twisting me like a dogwood while my sap runs
through this curving form, expressing in beauty
the pain that is my power.
Women Grow Strong (this is the poem that inspired the title)
Women grow strong in
their silence - the calm before the storm -
gathering truth, love, blood and bones into a hurricane of
righteous fury that can lift the roof up right over you
in a swirling chaos working to destroy what is
to make the land suitable for planting something new.
Women grow strong in silence like a snake
slipping through the forest,
knowledge leaping straight to our tongues on the breeze
as we grow beyond and leave behind
the skins that would contain us.
Women grow strong in silence
like ears of corn pulling power into their sweet, meaty kernels
direct from the sun. Bursting like the Corn Maiden
from green and gold silk, we disperse ourselves
to feed a nation only too happy to devour us systematically,
left to right, then back again.
Women grow strong in silence
and under pressure, melting like rocks
in the face of insurmountable odds,
coalescing into something greater, more dynamic, more liquid.
Together we rise up out of the throat of silence -
lava pouring from a mountain -
blazing trails through wilderness,
destroying the casual assumptive power of the civilized,
and changing the landscape of our lives.
Although dreams come cloaked in vulpine velvet
of seeming softness but with hidden teeth,
although the pale, florid, petaled flowers we give
the dying only die themselves, dropping one by one
in their mission of mercy, although the mind’s delicious imagination
must twist serene delight to turbulent delirium, although
trees can form - but also topple - houses
which we erect about us in self-righteous strength,
although we each have a will
but no soul except those with which we wander,
my footfalls must follow close behind
the shaky steps you take with such new legs.
Give me xocolatl to crush between these teeth
(as I eye your neck longingly). I will swallow
the dark sweetness, thinking of the damp earth,
inhaling the smell after rain which promises new beginnings.
Once I watched a bird
die between the jaws of a starving cat,
surprise extinguishing in those obsidian dewdrops
before the growling force even came to a stop.
Feathers fluttered helplessly the way your pale moonlit limbs struggled once
against your bonds before submitting in a slump
for my ravenous mouth. I take another bite
of the chocolate, crumbling it across my tongue
before thrusting it between your lips, feeding you
the way the bird fed the cat: with intimate exchange of fluids.
I kiss you hard on those sweet lips,
rub my head on your chest cat-like,
breathing in your scent of moss and dew,
all the while your heart flaps like a bird against your ribs.
You pull secrets from my throat like scarves
one after another
pouring through my lips so swiftly,
flashing like semaphores through the air
into your pocket.
Only then do I realize
the empty spaces between my spleen,
I’d been stuffing myself with secrets but you so easily found
the thread leading through my squishy gut labyrinth and
hauled out my soul as if water from a well.
Magician, your scarves have turned
my greatest fears into brightly colored prayer flags. In your hands
they are beautiful and sacred.
You can purchase this as a real book or an e-book at QOOP.com where you can also read the first 10 pages.
Seriously, it's good stuff.
Time Lines: Local Poetry Anthology
Poetry Exercise of Yesteryear
My Top 10 Books of 2008
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