Archive for Amazing

18/30 So What if I Like Moths (sleep drunk inspired)

Posted in NaPoWriMo, Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on 04/23/2015 by spikedaeley

Night shuffle walk for backache
sound of fluttered hedge leaves,
remember moths are pollinators
too. Remember evolution. Remember
Morgan’s Sphinx Moth, correctly
predicted by Darwin to pollinate
an orchid with a foot and a half-long
spur, then more specifically by Alfred
Russell Wallace who got published credit.

Remember moths don’t give a fuck
about predictions; they find the right flower,
stick their proboscis out and fly into it.
They don’t give a fuck about my forgetting
what they do. Ever since one played tag
with me when I was 18, calmly resting
on my finger, softly beating wings, I have
loved them. Night beauty means taking
a closer look sometimes. Means digging
up streetlights and planting quiet.
Means walking, open-handed, index finger
rigid, craving testaments in pollinated kisses.

Angraecum_sesquipedale_-_Diogo_Correia 2

Photo Courtesy of Diogo Correia (DcB) at Wikimedia


17/30 Come Here. (For my La Cachette)

Posted in NaPoWriMo, Poetry, Que Interesante with tags , , , , , , , , , , on 04/22/2015 by spikedaeley

I love you from your stretch marks
to your tears. From the sunlight curls
left on pillow to your ocean irises.
From the clogged shower drain

to your home from work sighs.
Sometimes, when you enter a room,
I can feel the air shift to make space
for your heartsleeve. Especially

when you are Moody Blues and hate my
calling you that, I am all crows feet and
lip stretch. Smile too wide to hide it.
I know you can see the green tea stains

my teeth wear like merit badges. I am
full of the best kind of don’t care. The
kind that says, “Come here, insecure
and confident. Here, fit throwing and

don’t want to talk about it. Here, hesitant
midnight hand requesting permission
to board my jackhammer chest, pounding
tympani roll slowly subsiding as your palm

cups frustration like a 5 year old catching
a firefly. Clumsy, trying desperately not
to crush a living nightlight. Put it in a jar,
with poked hole lid and fresh mown grass,

let it climb sticks and fall down. Let it go
before it dies so it can fly one last time. When
I say, “I can never stay mad at you” I mean,
“Come here. Let your hand be a place warmer

for your head, let my arms wrap around you
like a book cover. Read your pages to me until
we are aged and yellow torn, more dust than spine,
tossed into the ‘Free Box’ of yesterday’s library.”


16/30 One for the Ladies

Posted in NaPoWriMo, Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on 04/21/2015 by spikedaeley

Watched you cartwheel across
your morning minefield

hug the glass shards
in your aquarium

pour Sisyphus some tea
and burn your own effigy

I was like damn, where can I
get some world shoulders like those?

WOMAN, the way you juggle nightmares
like chain lightning and still have time

for accent nails got me spun
like a satellite. I would gladly break orbit

for the touch of your GRAvity. I love
how you spell it with the beginning of

GRAce. Can I just say, that the You Doing
You looks especially amazing on YOU.

The next time you’re carrying us
without complaint, because BECAUSE 😦

please excuse our whiny “Take for granteds”
and remember this as my “Thank you.”



11/30 Magnificent Flaws (Really like this one. Not sure about the ending though)

Posted in NaPoWriMo, Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on 04/12/2015 by spikedaeley


Starlight naked, ready to hang glide my spirit
over canyons of panther’s teeth howling freefall.
Refusing to be swallowed in the unmarked grave
of a corporate smile, it’s time to bet life
on risk versus uncertainty.

Time to dive face first into my sixth sense anatomy.
To manuscript an alive language of “Succeed”
build rapture from mistakes, delight in awkward
and always save room for ice cream.

If “heal” is a wounded word and “present” means
deepbreathingsayyes I want to releasebreathe
until my heart expands into an ocean of here/now
kick myself off pedestals and sever earthly ties.

Grow upside down roots from my fingers into multi-verse possibles
Make dark matter love and fill the deep space with play in slow motion
I can do all of these things plus cartwheels with the right secret handshake

I’ve lost my keys on purpose
And am climbing in windows

Foregoing views from the afterglow with snifters of wince.
No longer wandering lost in a Mockery’s discarded library
So over withering to a vaporous scream.
Baptized in the sins of the father,
I’ve escaped scathed and scathed again.

My full moon armor is sometimes more chink
than impervious yet thusly cloaked
I’m the most confident stockholder
in my range of poor investments.

I am the consummate
Not Exactly What You’d Expected
The Breaker of Down in Inopportune Times
The accomplished Sleeper of Late
Expert Awkward Smile Deliverer
Midnight Eater of the Calorie Laden Smackerel

The Emperor of Accidental Offenses
The Unintentional Intimacy Killer
Armed with these magnificent flaws
I can only laugh

and laugh


and laugh.


I love her soooo much!

Posted in Poetry, Que Interesante with tags , , on 05/14/2012 by spikedaeley

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