Stay  – a November Poem-A-Day Challenge – Diminishing Somonka

 

Love, what would you say,
if I knelt here — begged you please,
don’t go yet, but stay?
Longer, let me your skin lease!
Set my aching arms at ease!
~
Hear now my reply —
my pale and lovely flower,
while I kiss your thigh.
I’ll find my way yet lower,
and linger for an hour.
—–

 

PROMPT: 2016 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 1

For today’s prompt, we’ve actually got a two-for-Tuesday prompt. So pick one, combine both prompts into one poem, or write two (or more) different poems. Here are the prompts:

  • Write a stay poem. A poem about staying put, not leaving, and/or dealing with someone (or something) that refuses to leave. Or…
  • Write a go poem. Fans of The Clash probably know which song prompted today’s prompt. But yeah, this is basically the opposite of staying–you know, going.

—–

POETIC FORM:

Diminishing Somonka
 
A form I created by marrying the Somonka and Diminishing Verse poetic forms:
  • two Tankas (5-7-5-7-7), written as two love letters to each other.
  • remove the first letter of the end word in each successive 7 syllable line.
 
Variation: Poets can remove sounds if they wish like “flies” to “lies” to “eyes.”

—–

AUDIO FILE:

Witchcraft – an ovillejo poem

What magic makes my fever rise?
It’s your eyes!

What alchemy my heart beat trips?
Your hips!

How do you tempt me, charm me cruel?
I’m a fool!

You’ve lit a fire and fed it fuel!
You cause my soul to shake its wings —
my body does the wildest things!
It’s your eyes, your hips — I’m a fool!

—–

POETIC FORM:

OVILLEJO – a ten-line poem made up of 3 rhyming couplets, plus a quatrain. The first line of each couplet is an 8 syllable question, while the second corresponding lines are 2 to 3 syllable responses or echoes. The final quatrain is usually a redondilla, written in trochaic tetrameter. The final line of the quatrain combines lines 2, 4, and 6. The overall rhyme scheme is aa/bb/cc/cddc.

POETIC FORM DIAGRAM:

a (8 syllables)
a (2-3 syllables)

b (8 syllables)
b (2-3 syllables)

c (8 syllables)
c (2-3 syllables)

c (8 syllables) trochaic pentameter
d (8 syllables) trochaic pentameter
d (8 syllables) trochaic pentameter
c lines 2, 4, and 6 (8 syllables) trochaic pentameter

AUDIO FILE:

Penance 

Give me your eyes
so I may see
from your perspective.
You take from me, mine
–so you won’t be blind.

Give me your heart,
so I may feel
it’s broken places.
You carry my heart–
let it bleed in your hands.

I’ve been beating fists
against your walls until
I’m numb and bloody.
Repenting the sins
of youth in my old age.

Forgiveness must be
in a closet somewhere
with a rusty lock
and a long lost key
in a forgotten hallway.

It could save our souls.
But my prayers pool
in blood on the floor,
and you’ve taken
a vow of silence.

—–

AUDIO FILE:

I am the Hollow

wordbowl

My flesh is a bowl
— words dripping
from the brim.

I am the place
where words breathe,
beat as a pumping heart.

I am a cavern —
empty, and full of
echoes and bodies,

spilling out words.
They cry in pain,
dance in celebration.

I am where words go
— to mingle, and to flirt
— to kiss, and to fuck.

I am the hollow,
and I am the spoon,
dipping out language.

I am white linen —
a bed dampened
by the sweat of ink.

I am the cup —
words — the elixir,
the heat and the cool,

from which a soul sips
reason or rhyme–
sometimes both.

I am the sanctuary
where verses pray,
incantations rising.

I watch them slip through
cracked, stained glass
— a poem taking wing.

———-

AUDIO FILE:

A Map

map (2)

 

The pain you give makes my head spin,
takes my breath like a quick cold snap.
Who taught you to carve in my skin?
The marks meander like a map.
The way your eyes light when I bleed–
like you could tear my flesh apart.
Who knew you were so predatory?
It echoes deep within my heart.
I need to yield as your quarry–
I’ll give my will, your ache to feed.
———-
POETIC FORM:
Decima Italiana:  10 line poem, 8 syllables per line, ababcdedec rhyme pattern.
AUDIO FILE:

I’m No Goddess

Disclaimer: This post is intimate, and somewhat graphic, discussing a new lover,
and the manner of our love-making. If that might offend you or make you 
uncomfortable, skip this one. I'll never know, and I'll still love you if you do!

I am nearly fifty, and I finally love the skin I’m in, middle-aged, scarred, buxom, zaftig, curvy, delicious, sexy… this is my body. Like many humans, there are parts that amaze me, and parts that I’m not the most happy with. This body has served me well, and I’ve not always treated it nicely.

body 2
This isn’t me, but isn’t she lovely?

And still, these incredible parts…

I have a pretty face, thick, long hair, big green eyes, full lips, freckles, a smile that catches attention. I have full, middle-aged breasts, that are giving in to gravity. They fed children more than twenty years ago, along with the wide hips that bore them, carried them, nudged them along, the legs that gave them, a comfy lap for cuddling, and the rounded shoulders that supported their sleepy heads, and absorbed their tears. Today those hips, legs, shoulders, breasts, eyes, lips and smile can seduce a man, and drive him wild.

th6LUC7EQS
Not me either, but yowza!

I also have those parts I find less sexy, feet that carry the weight of me through each day, from the moment I get out of bed in the morning, until I slip back between the sheets at night, and well, they’re feet. I have a belly, too — round and jiggly, scarred with stretch marks, it is a reminder not only of motherhood, but of many decisions to indulge, and not nearly as many to do crunches. I don’t regret those choices, all the time, but I do see the results, and I’m not sure that belly is my sexiest part.

body
Not me. But I feel this way sometimes!

Today though, my mind is slowly changing… I have a new lover, and he is… hungry. He is primal, yet gentle. His kisses make me weak in the knees. He calls me “baby-girl” and growls at me. He caresses and leaves bruises, and our lovemaking is breathless, intense, filled with exclamations of surprise and repeated requests to “do that again.” He makes me feel beautiful, powerful, weak and hungry too.

foot kiss
My feet aren’t nearly this young, but I try to keep them soft and pretty.

And he kisses me… everywhere… even those not-so-sexy-to-me parts. He moans in pleasure, whispers desire, he pulls me to him in the middle of the night just to feel my skin against his. He touches me, to satisfy his hunger and mine. He worships my toes, the balls of my feet, and he kisses my round, worn belly, over and again, like I’m some ancient fertility goddess.

Fuck, maybe I am.