Penelope Connor — ink girl poet
She plays with fire
the way I play in ink.
Her blood is iron
and she knows the
heat of the forge–
it rages in her bones.
She is a poem,
written on I-beams,
a dozen stories high–
a rare breed, wolf
and metal-witch–
and I struggle
to find the words,
to describe her
as she burns.
—–
AUDIO FILE:
Listen to Boilermaker —
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:
Sometimes a poet girl is lucky enough to find a lover who wants to share poetry with her. I’ve been lucky, more than once. This week, a lover I’ve known for a very long time chose to write me two poems. A math-brained man, with very sexy intelligence, he took a risk, chose the Shardorma form, and jumped into the unknown, all to speak my language. The results left my heart full, and my mouth empty, with no words to describe the gift I’ve been given.
Every girl should feel so celebrated:
surprise kiss
the curve of her neck
sun kissed
inked skin
passion of word within her
lust after touching
———-
fire inside
to touch a stranger
bold hunger
new delight
embraced burning passion
flying above the sky
POETIC FORM: SHARDORMA
Shardorma is a Spanish 6-line syllabic poem of 3/5/3/3/7/5 syllable lines respectively. – See more at: http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/poets/shadorma-a-highly-addictive-poetic-form-from-spain#sthash.bn2uFi5o.dpuf
I’ve long been a caged bird, tethered
to your fears, straining to fly.
and he, dark winged man of night
came to open the door, whispered
in his strange and familiar tongue
I soared to such heights, I trembled
until …
seeing panic painted on your face
he drew an arrow and clipped my wings
caught me falling, and breathed
apologies into my ear, while my heart nearly burst from my chest,
sent me back to your waiting cage.
how can you not know,
I will always fly home to you?
Pen's Ink 