Tag Archives: m-poetry

M – Week 5 Poem

Their voices slowly fade,

she stands there mind racing until she is completely alone.

She waits to breathe easily again.

Eyes closed, hesitant to open,

arms, turn to hands, then, fingers intertwining overhead,

torso swaying,

her smile melts, the fake expression vanishing off her face. Soul at ease but empty,

looking blankly, focused on a reflection she knows too well.

Set on a wall of mirrors,

possessed by the fluid movements it mimics.

She sighs as each of her feet leave the ground,

weightless for a moment,

and,

in an instant she feels the cold hard wood against her blistered, bloodied, broken toes.

M – Week 6 (Fed by Touch)

Nourished by movement, my body is fed by touch

a delectable treat that leaves my physique to salivate in the anticipation of it all.

I lay supine as you move each tensile limb of mine,

your passive flexion courts my figure to stay limp,

rolling and strumming the superficial fibers of me.

From bone

to muscle

to tendon

to tissue, I awaken.

A hum of light emanates from my solar plexus ,

a fingertip steadily coasting along the upturned underbelly of my forearm leads cells to dilate

(I imagine that your hands dream of this.)

A rapid pulsing trickles down my spine in wavering bliss,

coaxing skin to blush, now our largest supple organ.

The simple, gentle work of fingers awakens the possibility of an intertwining of bodies,

(A simultaneous feast).

Body echoes body,

body becomes body as the pounding of hearts dissolves into one.

This one body now hovers, it whisks and turns in a vortex of vibration,

A field

A shield

We have detached from ourselves in a single exhalation,

yet my inhalation serves as the water one needs to survive.

This is where the soul and body bask.

In tangible pleasure.

M – Week 7 Poem (My Body in the State of this World)

The water inside of me

creates a riptide, a vortex of brewing.

A dangerous seething weapon.

The liquid that I am

 wills my bones to rise from deep

within their marrow.

I have no absence of worry,

I feel no absence of tension.

We are a clinging species,

a kind who moves with a smog ridden

veil over their emerald eyes.

An all-smothering kind

that is leading our mother to atrophy.

The muscles that propel me seem to ache

more frequently, as

fists clench with ease I feel my insides stir, 

yet the squirming jolts suddenly cease.

I pause.

A rush of stillness leaches into me,

I pause.

Irises fixate on two palms

Cupping nothing but the air surrounding.

I am reminded by this familiar sight,

I am reminded that my body resides in this

fading space.

I am reminded that I am,

That I was made to move.

So I do just that.

I fling myself from moment to moment

Tip-toeing round’ the latent bits of green dampness I find,

and residing there for hours on end.

The liquid that I am rises from deep within,

wills the marrow in my bones to

Run,

to activate my tactile senses and

meld my naked body into the

ground below me.

I will nourish you,

Reign me in, eat me whole,

But first let me dance for you.

M – Week 8 Poem (Hinges)

I stand vertical holding in the air I’ve just inhaled,

here I wait for the exhalation that your touch will bring as

fingertips brush the backs of my heels.

Slowly out of the warmth of my hinges the small of my back

emerges as the ground your feet covet

 

I sink into you,

as you into me

(I am in your hands)

 

Soon my field of vision flows in a backwards incline,

neck draping gingerly as I become buoyant atop your two

sturdy stacked trunks

I allow myself to breathe, coaxing my spine to sink into the ease of an arch

 

As hands find the shallows of my collar bone we sink deeper,

legs seep down with gravity,

we descend deeper as I allow your ever shifting feet to

manipulate my petite frame.

 

This is a permeable game of trust,

the necessity for comfort-ability in the very real possibility of falling

Is here

a loss in grip, in footing, in breath

yet the counterbalance that is achieved sends me to flight

I am a bird

I feel strong

 

The wrought iron hinges of me,

bend to your warm milk of a touch

I meld into your depths,

the creases you create as tension eases all else.

 

*** Still a work in progress, this will go along with my Poetry Observed piece