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

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estherbrook

at the core
of my every tossed
and turned
my every blessed,
cursed knot
lies Estherbrook

god damn her
stone hearth and soulless board
her sour
maggot studded bosom
unloving
indifferent

to watch her
wither and grow craggy
unkempt
by my unfailing,
rich neglect
warms my heart well

Rene ~ February 18, 2013
For Magpie Tales
Image: “Wind of History” Jacek Yerka

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

french toast

Image: PublicDomain.com

God, man
It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone whistle in my kitchen
It’s quite the delight
Ahhh…you made coffee
And you’re making french toast!
You are a saint
You gotta fiddle with that knob on the left rear burner
Like this
It’s a pain in the butt sometimes
Personally, I think it just likes the extra attention
Mmm…your ear smells like cinnamon
not fair, man, that…
not fair at all
your ass looks better in my sweatpants than mine does
I now have to kill myself
After I eat a loaf of french toast, though
You want some orange juice?
freshly squeezed…somewhere
Tell me, again
Why is it we never were?

Rene ~ January 5, 2013
For 100 Word Song
The song prompt was Dan Fogleberg’s
Same Old Auld Lang Syne

This is my spin on the classic