Clothed Only In Poetry

In cruel honesties, I am a naked poetess, obsessed with arranging words to climax on ink and paper. Now you’ve gone and read me, undressed me, your eyes pillaged my pages, you’ve researched my secrets. My words, your eyes, this union, caught me by surprise….
We’ve been found out, dear, between the lines, they’ll find us here. You and me, clothed only in poetry.

DECEIVED

A timeless clock
Make haste
The hour
To tell a tale
Of sweet love
Sour

All unheard
All unseen
Lies behind
A love
Turned green

A tacit tale
Twisting lattice
Lacing lies
A tarnished
Status

All once grown
Is shown
To grieve
The tone
Of love
Known
As deceived

TRIBUTE

Tribute to a Goddess of Words

It has been two scores, one decade, and a year – minus a day, she slipped away..I was 27 days old..sleeping in my crib..I dream, she came to me, watched me slumber, in her knowing, I too would meet Ted.  He would watch tiny pieces break off, break apart, and turn to dust. She whispered to take comfort in her pain, to rise like a flame:  Lady Lazarus.
Perfecting the Germanic way, blonde and fair, bare eyes cast to blank sheets of paper, tight lips, and Tulips- soul to fill each line with confessions of betrayed ink. Our pen will never betray us, dear Goddess.
I was 27 days old with her Virgo moon. She passed the baton to my dimpled hand, wrapped my fingers round her pen, blessed my soul with a kinship of a grief too great for any page to balance with genius strokes.
With perfection, you agonized over every stroke. With courage, you breathed your last breath, breathed to death , leaving a weaving of words behind -a little clue of you. Sometimes wished I had the courage too.
Dying to live, under The Bell Jar, I slept awake, I am. I am. I am! inside the world-it passed me by at times so slowly, so cruelly. It passed me with quiet scenes and roses.
I read the pride of words, speaking with deceit, leaking to compete. It sealed my mouth and slit my soul. It crowned my thoughts with a knowing. I watched as emeralds spilled- under the bell jar with Sylvia..we spilled one winter onto pages for a final finale of words. You are forever immortalized under the bell jar…all of the pain and shame remains not, dear One.
You do not sleep alone, I am there next to you, sleeping giant stone.

Tribute