I will be re-spinning a lot of previously published posts from time to time for those who have not already noticed. I have a lot of new readers and I just want to take the time to rotate some material. Plus, my one year Blogiversary (nope, that’s not a word) is next month so I’m kind of celebrating and at the same time thinking about what I want to do next with this blog. I’m not telling you exactly when Year One is though, that will ruin the surprise :).
Tag: repost
Rest
I wanna turn off my brain. Not completely, just enough to gather my breath and lay it at the head of the bed….a temporary moment to which renewal finds itself back to my pillow; to which I may die, and in the same second be reborn. I want my eyes to bow in submission to my bones, and my soul to fall slowly to the contours of this mattress….and for a second pretend that the world has crumbled around me. For a second, for just a moment, let me lay my body at the foot of sleep’s doorstep, pretend to swim with the clouds, and in the same moment…. taste of rejuvenation’s delicacies.
Give Me Life
Your words are beautiful
the way you paint them.
Tie descriptions around waterfall,
Walk us through frowning mirrors and smothered air,
And then auction them off to our fondest senses.
Touching us gently enough to resurrect imagination,
you have talent and you know it.
Cracking open heaven so that we may feel
what it’s like to sleep on top of clouds
or rightly discern what a teardrop taste like,
for we glide along in the melting pot of your splendor.
But your words do not live,
nor do they bring forth life.
I can hear the sirens of an acrylic woman
drowning in her own salt water…
Can you help her?
Will your words assist her in their beauty?
Your words suck the breath from our lungs with its daintiness
the Picasso of Poems,
A hanging Mona Lisa of walking glamour…
Except what I see
are lynched portraits
pretending to swing delicately
from the trees you attached them to.
A jump rope fantasy of tree houses and hopscotch.
I can smell the sizzling fragrance from miles away,
But beauty is just simply not enough for me.
I need to know that before time hugs my flesh,
before the gravediggers begin their song
Can I count on your words to CPR me into its arms?
Or perhaps,
I’ll just remember how beautiful
you are.
Wk#4: #Rebirth Weekly Love Challenge – You Can’t Leave
Wow, this month is over already. This is my final Love poem submission for Lisa’s Weekly Loooovveee Challenge for the month of April. 
You can’t leave me
not now
not ever
not while my kiss is in your bloodstream
and not when your tongue has danced on the insides of my mouth
not when your teeth have carved “I luv u’s”
on my heart like hieroglyphic images
to remember when were far apart from each other
like
long standing memories
And if I 4get to say I love you just use the seal of my kiss and put them in parenthesis
but not for a Greek tragedy
so you see
there ain’t no leaving me
Not unless you wanna leave you
and then our bystanders can tell stories of those days back when life made sense
back when you were already a man of pride
and serious eyes were already making love to the tears of my innocence
Not unless you want them to weep at our footprints
But if your heart continues to cry my tears
And my heart continues to cry your tears
Then it will be impossible for you to leave me
Because our hearts will be tongue tied for years.
************
Special thanks to Lisa for hosting this months Love Challenge, it was fun! Whoop! 🙂
Guest Feature: Waiting for Someone – Lamar Jorden
“Somewhere
In the Northwest region of Seattle Washington
There’s a homeless man, armed with a beer can
Trying to drink away war memories
Waiting for someone
Self-less enough to lend him an ear
He sits on the side of a Pizzeria on the corner of Queen Ann and Mercer
In a chair, they probably kick him out of after business hours
His skin
Has grown all too fond of the concrete beds that he rest his shell-shocked head on
His braggadocios body
rocks back and forth showing off to the world the only gifts war veterans ever receive
He addresses me, “Ey lil Bra, you got a dollar?”
Without even checkin my pockets I tell him, “I aint got it”.
Having anticipated this appointment he responds with,
“That’s fine, cause I really wanted a 20.”
Amazed, not that he still knows what humor is,
but that is one of the few possessions that the war actually let him keep, I laugh
Before digging into my coat pocket filled with a ton of change I’ll probably never use
He lets me know that more than a 20, what he really wanted was a conversation
And takes my 75 cent donation as an invitation to start one
Without offering much space for me to converse,
he lets me know how in this country,
war veterans are rarely anything more
Than patriotic flies on a wall
And that for all these people to ignore his request
Is just as second nature as swatting at a pest
I guess
None of them realize that here lie their tax dollars at work
His body jerks
To the percussion of his bones
Dancing to the song of post-traumatic stress syndrome
How wrong
Is it of humans to lack humanity
Demanding he keep his lips locked but
Possess the audacity to ask where he got his army cap on
To think it’s a trigger you can purchase at a gift shop he tells me
That they’ve labeled him as crazy and they say
he has to take medicine called percadine but the one time he took it
It made him high so why would he continue when it makes his mind worse with time
It seems like the perfect crime
Having people fight for a country that won’t fight for them
The goal
Was for one of those countries to take his life from him
And the opposing country failed when he
Returned to civilization but
The home country would succeed by stripping him of his home
How long
Will this be the standard in this country?
Where if war doesn’t kill you
They distill you
Sending you back home just to rot and mildew
the phrase
“War is good for absolutely nothing”, is still true
Before he lets me go,
he tells me
that he wants to die.
And I see the tear-shaped white flag surrender from his eye
I give him a pound
Before digging back into my coat pockets surrendering
the rest of the change I found.
I tell him I have to go
Cause there’s a white man, screaming at me through traffic
Waiting for me to end this conversation
There’s a young lady at a bar and grill across the street
Waiting for me to join her for dinner
And there’s a poem
Scratching at the insides of my soul
Waiting for me
To tell this story.”
Copyright Lamar Jorden
The PBS Blog 