daughter

Image: A Musin Yohan, via Magpie Tales

trouble overhead

something weighing 
heavy 
on the mind
i rise
obedient
under a vengeful brow
pulling up my heels
Raising my voice!
i go
back
to my roots
wielding my habits of comfort
i walk the way
of my mother
singing psalms
soothing the sky
Rene~ June 2013
For all of my sisters
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ascension

one last broken
word
one first bite of
skin
let heaven and free will
ring
emancipation

thunderclap mistress
thirst obscene
lips parted
full
dripping sunset nectar
the moon is gold
my eyes are green

the world is radiant
jasper
the ceiling endless
aquamarine
i have bled into the river
weeping
it knows my name

Evangeline

Rene ~ May 5, 2013

For Magpie Tales

Young Woman Picking the Fruit of Knowledge, 1892 by Mary Cassatt

critters

Image: Helen Ward via Magpie Tales

It’s always a sight at the trattorie
when wild city critters make a scene

crumbled cake, candelabras
chaos and weasels in starched collars

paper crowns, rumpled nightgowns
won’t someone turn that racket down?

reptilian wait staff spin and slither
a tortoise brings breakfast in time for dinner

but there…
in the midst of all the clatter
a honey badger pot scrubber
for whom the noise doesn’t matter

he keeps to himself, he doesn’t care
doesn’t give a whit about the whole affair

he sticks to his task, gets it done
then leaves the city moon for the country sun

Rene ~ April 28, 2013

the dresser

Venus de Milo with Drawers, Salvador Dali, 1936

i’m the keeper
of your
trinkets
your dirty little
secrets
your moustache
wax
your un-pressed
slacks
just bring it
here now
all your
holy psycho
laundry

i’m the honey
in your
locket
the hamper
for your
pocket
bureau
of your
shame
strongbox
for your
flame
yeah babe
come on
stuff all that wicked love
into me

call me Aphrodite
or Venus more politely
a cocoon
for your treasures
chiffonier
of your pleasures
fill me up rightly
with cocktail
stirrer charm nightly
i laugh when you tickle me
i call you
daddy

i’m your
lover
your
junk drawer
your
doctor
your
drunk whore
your
casket of faces
your
keepsake oasis
go ‘head
and file me
someplace where
you’ll find me
i’ll be ready
and waiting
for the turn
of your key

Rene ~ February 24, 2013
For Magpie Tales

memories of a young poet

“November Lace” ~ Photo by Rene



marble notebook in hand
she slipped away 

from the fray
unnoticed
up
to her childhood room
through
the bedroom window
and onto the rooftop poetic:

” she sat 
arms hugging knees
surveying life,
the leafless trees
spindly branches claw the sky
scratching for sun,
to heaven they cry
psalms of wisdom,
strength and grace
woven in November lace”
 
the air felt good
against her flushed cheeks
a beautiful sunset
was now in progress
she was thankful for this
she was thankful
for finding her peace
she belonged
right here,
right now
to this moment


Excerpted from “November Lace” by Rene
Rene ~ February 9, 2013

For d’Verse Poetics “Meeting The Bar-Mining The Memory”

tetanus

Image ( via Magpie Tales) Google Images

blood stains freckle
snow-white linen
rusted lace
adrenaline
sloppy split lip 
apologetic kiss
hide my face
yet still
i hear
sharp-edged marbles 
in your mouth tumbling
over scotch rocks
and little red last straws
nobody sees
the more
that doesn’t meet their eye
no news is good weather
no bruise dear
it’ll get better
we soothe ourselves
with lullabies
and true lies
just rest now
dear
let go of your world
pull up a chair
let go of my hair
the taste of bile 
on your lips,
how quick
the monster slips
away
i wait
i pray you drift soon,
soundly
sweetly
a little boy
on soiled sheets
a broken spirit
hides spinning webs
and licking wounds
under cover
locked jaw
unglued

Rene ~ January 10, 2013

d’Verse Poets, Meeting The Bar-The Medium Is The Message

For 100 Word Song



This weeks song:


“Debonair by The Afghan Whigs”
A rough song about substance abuse
and how it poisons relationships
breaking both bones and hearts

virgin

Image (via Magpie Tales) by Daniel Murtagh

to watch her slip into
the silken night vulnerable
longing diaphanous

to boldly witness
such radiant torture,
exceedingly miraculous

to keep her pressed
under glass, instinctual
yet hopelessly dangerous

to know this brutal age old ache
is to have lived
a life across the threshold

Rene ~ January 6, 2013