Implexity

Coming soon from my new self-publishing label, Purple Prosaic, a collection of my poetry entitled (of course) Implexity. It will be available as an ebook through Lulu, and in paperback through Amazon (CreateSpace). A hardcover collector edition will also be available for special order, which I'll happily sign.

Tentative release in mid-October 2009. Stay tuned!

Is it?

Is it still called love
when familiarity turns
voice into white
noise,
when every opinion
is taken as criticism
and every compliment
as apology?

Is it still called
love
when support
is sought from sources
distant
that was once
breath's breadth
away?

Is it still
called love when scores
are kept and bottom
lines drawn in shifting sands,
when the sound
of one more promise
draws not hope
but fear?

Is it
still called love?

Is it?


* * *

wither (visually)

A visual representation by my swirlfriend! I'm going to make a poster of it for my bedroom wall. :)



Edited to add: POSTER!

everybody's hero

an errant knight, shining rogue
e'er ready with chivalric sinew
to shelter or defend or buoy
through flirtatious charm

a damsel wondering
wandered into his demesne
intrigued by the valor
of emotional pas d'armes

dwelling in his heart's caisteal
she now withers on the inside
waiting for what's available
only to those on the out

and she wonders
if she should wander
in search of a soul
upon which to lean

or summon the will to e'er stand
and watch with sorrowful pride
as he strives to be
everybody else's hero

~ ~ ~

Lovin' This!

LISTEN!

Lefty McGee

I'm really starting to believe this man breathes poetry. Here are two of his "blurts" from Literotica:

(1)

There was a momentary pause,
the phone rang but she missed it...

The opportunity cost of missing that call,
was the sound of his voice caressing her
in ways that seem gentle,
at times.
But there is a timbre to his voice
that vibrates her thoughts
and her body,
that mixes the pleasure of the moment
with the pain of separation.
Bittersweet melody of a memory
as his words guide her hands in ways
mostly sensual, defined as erotic,
and certainly not sensible,
she finds herself sensitive to the touch.

What could have, would have.
Perhaps the phone will ring again…

(2)

I know nothing of the world you two are sharing. The slow words about nothing as you speak more with silence and hidden smiles. The suffering of the touch that is almost but not quite there in every word. The hidden thoughts of despair when you are unable to speak, and relive old conversations to pass the time until the next call. And each laugh you hear is an epiphany of emotion, love, lust. Innocuous though the words may be, all too soon each thought borders or embraces decadence. There are no secrets, no unknown desires, no hidden agendas when you fulfill your wishes and meet in person. Just the silent sounds of clothing as it puddles on the floor, until the first gasps for air some hours later...

Like I said, I know nothing of the world you share. But I have heard...

~ ~ ~

I'm so honored to have some of his work in Coming Together.

Where

And where are you
as I crumble;
as I teeter on this emotional
abyss?

Wait!
Don't answer.
That's not the important
question.

I doesn't matter where
you are.
What matters is where
you aren't.

So,
why aren't you with me?

~ ~ ~

* Apologies for the self-indulgent crap. I'm having a breakdown today, TYVM.

Sunday Mornings

I sigh on Sunday
mornings, dawning clear
cold with realization
that my life
be not as it should
and my love
be not as it could

emptiness lies
where once lived trust
and armor guards
against its return
scars of bleeding hope
a constant ache
in my hollow whole

the shroud is heavy
yet it skins my wounds
and I wonder if ever
without it I'll walk
again

I awake with a start
and start with a sigh
crying not for what is felt
but feeling what is not
on Sunday mornings

~ ~ ~

December

A poem I wrote for a December-themed contest on Literotica's Poetry Forum. It bombed there ... with a resounding *thud* Can you identify all of the December events it references?

Hark how the silver celled
slay balls ring
'round the rosy viral garland
white ribbons and yellow massacre
for whom the death tolls

an immaculate concept, imagine
there's no pearled harbor
full of tea or Bulged battle
as a creamed cigar flickers
in the menorah of velvet revolution

impeachy secession, schnapping the chain
reaction of a nuclear bus boycott
while a bull sits no more
and an ear hears naught
the screams over Lockerbie

brothers take flight, wrapped
in the twelve daze of candied caning
one Pole effected, another elected
and a mad monk sunk
in the river of impunity

press passed and Bhopal gassed
amnesty for the civilly warred
and freedom for the civilly whored
frequency spans the waves
wireless words celebrating

the son and the seven
the Sagittarian solstice
and the year's sunset
lest history disremember
December

~ ~ ~

EPPIE Finalists Announced!

WOOT! Phaze in Verse is an EPPIE finalist in the Poetry category. I have half a dozen poems in this collection.

For the complete list of finalists, visit the EPIC site. (If that doesn't work, Emily Veinglory's posted the full list on the EREC blog.) Winners will be announced at EPICon in March. Hope to see you there!

forked

so scream the choices, the choices
made with every breath
drawn
to hold and to having, hide
the depth, the breadth
of forever's façade

so scream the choices, while promises
made on whispered breath
echo heart's desire
to have and to holding, shout
with enough integrity
to love me out loud

~ ~ ~

a poster of this poem is available

~ ~ ~

CANDY!

Work begins today on this collaborative effort ... as does the search for a publisher (ebook & print):

Stripped

A gift I created last Christmas ...

auricle

I once fell in love with the heart of a poet
the systole of his verse
pushing through my mind
like emotional cock

I once desired the heart of a poet
the diastole of my dreams
aching for such devotion
to fill my whole

I once believed in the heart of a poet
until the arrhythmia of truth
revealed that his whispered words
echoed only in my hollow chambers

I now know that the heart of a poet
beating in secret silence
sucks blood hope from my soul
and life from my love

~ ~ ~

immortal

indifference hovers
outside love's window
thirsting for my need
as potential again falls
to restless night

weakened by the weight
of unresolved want
i feel the undeniable lure
of its sweet promise

to care not of todays
hope not for tomorrows
ever free of hunger's ache
in the undead surrender
of a painless peace

~ ~ ~

Phaze in Verse

Poetry has long been a short form method to story telling. Morals, epic tales, even desperate pleas for understanding have been recorded through the ages in verse. And yet, somewhere along the line of our technologically advancing society, it seems those small intimate pleasures are growing lost. Poetry is love, life, and feeling breathed into words. Our shared experiences, emotions, dreams… Today, we are pleased to present to you a fine collection of poetry. This is not just iambic pentameter or rhymed. It is not only free verse or measured. This is a comprehensive collection of a wide variety of tastes, styles, and passions. Just like our readers. There is a little bit of something for everyone.

Available now in both eBook ($5) and print ($10)!

Opus Organum

Posted on the first anniversary of their wedding, this is a poem that Belegon & I created as a gift. (Click to enlarge ... and to listen.)

quest

wedged in the crevices of hope
longing for adoration
she throws herself in love's path
as if its proximity can complete
her, blind desperation

craving what others have
she seeks not
to destroy, but to lure
siren song to ego's ears
when… if…
she smells fulfillment

its source irrelevant,
shattered dreams litter
her landscape yet
she does not cede… will
not surrender the hunger

reaching for rainbows, she
goes down
swinging, trying too hard
and failing again to escape
her gravity

~ ~ ~

reading this
08/06/07 by Anonymous
is like many memories. i read it with a nice offbeat beat, and i certainly appreciate that! very good poem, ma'am. good to read you. curt

Poetry Forum
08/06/07 by wildsweetone in ~ New Zealand
i mentioned this submission in the New Poem Review thread in the Poetry Forum. please feel free to come along and join in with other poets. the 50% temperature rating is given so that it does not alter future temperature ratings. - wildsweetone

:)
08/08/07 by Fallenfromgrace
A good read, a great addition to the challenge :)

Nicely done.
08/13/07 by jomar
What Fallenfromgrace and anon said.

Printed Poetry

These are available as greeting cards, postcards, and 11x17 posters in my Cafe Press shop:

wither

standing alone on the shore of hope's oasis
watching the pebbles of disappointment
gradually displace its waters
each plunk, perhaps, insignificant
until sheer volume renders
shallow its pull

it no longer matters whether the promise
is half empty or half fool
there's still not enough
hope remaining to quench
a desiccated heart's thirst

the sun draws blood through skin
tenderized by the sting of blown sand
leaving parched dreams
and echoes of passion
waiting in deception's desert for love to rain

~ ~ ~

a poster of this poem is available

~ ~ ~

Beautiful!
06/26/07 by lucky-E-leven in Texas, USA
I loved every word of this poem, but what really got me was the time-travel it took me on ... spanning such a long period of time in a few succinct lines. Very powerful. Very painful and beautiful at the same time.

I'm jealous
07/25/07 by mismused in USA
Beautiful metaphors, lovely construction, heartrending, way too emotional, but compelling. A sweetly written lament of the heart.