Poetry and personal blog – Spilling my guts to strangers

Posts tagged ‘love’

the buddha of questions

you are a god,

the buddha of questions

whose answers are scrambled
in your mind.

but i want you to know that

who and how are the clay of why,
where and what are beyond your reach,
and in your lap you cradle when.

when do i?

a stranger,
your only friend,
your right hand standing on the left,
and all that remains of you.

who am i?

anxious, perching on a branch,
bending it,
riding the nauseous down- and up-
swing, off guard,
taking wing and
moving on to the next branch–
bending it.

and how am i?

because the answers do not
fit the questions,
because my heart beats way too fast at the sight of you,
because red is everything inside me–
refried, hot to the touch,
spicy, and staining.

why am i?

in your gut,
from your diaphragm,
on your breath as dense
as love can be,
exhaled in your sigh
(allusion in sound).

where am i?

gold and silver plated,
iron, steel,
helmeted, lanced.

what am i?

when all the stars are blank
and not for the giving,
and the fear of the dark and cold
is choked and airless,
when the final gasp is soundless,
when only the moment matters.

(From Like. Love. Hate. Available at Amazon.com and Smashwords)

© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2013

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Like. Love. Hate. (the ebook)

First there was the blog post, then the poem. Now Like. Love. Hate. is an ebook of four poems!

The poem “Like Love Hate” that originally appeared on this blog is included in the ebook, of course. I revised it a bit but it still retains its flavor.

There is something about this poem that keeps me coming back to it as a source of inspiration. Using “Like Love Hate” as a starting point for the ebook, I included other poems that further explore these emotions.

The other three poems in the collection are making their public debut in this new ebook:

“Victoria’s Dress” represents like
“the buddha of questions” represents love
“The Beginning and the End” represents hate

I created the cover art. The green background and flower design relates to the storyline of one of the poems in the collection.

The poems in Like. Love. Hate. cut a little deeper than anything I’ve shared so far, and still, this is just a beginning. Buy it and as always, let me know what you think!

The ebook is available at Amazon.com and Smashwords. If you can, please leave a  review.

© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2012

Like Love Hate (the poem)

[An edited version of this poem appears in the ebook Like. Love. Hate. available at Amazon and Smashwords.]

I. Like

Mustard is formless yet gives form to the tasteless with a glancing gaze and a dollop of flattery. It’s the imaginary strawberry topping on a hope sundae. It’s a periwinkle crayon, a surprise, neither blue nor purple, operating as a symbol of whimsy. As amorphous as a Persian cat, it’s an abstraction, a sly appraisal meant to stand for the opposite of cabbage (in turn, a thing that means only itself, layered and dense, the heart of it calm, plotting, and planning, the red ones running to burgundy). It’s an 11-fingered hand dangling over the side of the pool float, trailing the water, or is that just me? It’s the memory of five minutes ago illegally parked, blocking in a spring day (dandelion seedheads, floating sugar, a clutter of fairies fat on Lay’s potato chips, Wednesday on its throne symbolic of a fading week, a ghost whisperer angling for a record deal). It’s a modicum of maturity and freedom, wearing sandals despite the apprehension of baring unpainted toenails. Almost too busy for a schedule, it’s a Superbowl party dip–for want of a better term–fried to a crisp, like for like.

II. Love

Slathered, not spread, you clog my heart, my Mayonnaise, looking for all the world like a beautiful mistake. Sincerest appreciation, my Chocolate-Dipped Optimism! My pen, amazed, is the master of thoughts that mewl like kittens, simple in their complexity, of utmost interest to infants and scientists, like fractals, the cruciferous broccoli, the absolute quiet. Nothing can prepare one for the brightest of reds or the truth of seven, for the ocean oozing from the sides of a karma sandwich. Imagine me speeding down the highway full out, convertible top open on a dry summer day, Equal artificial sweetener-laced iced tea in the cooler; the dirt of a picnic lunch, a spread being laid, the samba of Friday, nocking a bow like a Warrior Princess, stomach weak from laughter, having the wisdom to walk barefoot, suffering only useful worries as I, engrossed, thumb through my itinerary: next, the Olympic trials of being in love with love.

III. Hate

Ketchup stares up from the plate and masks the taste of all it touches, a twisted imitation of Midas, a cousin to vanilla in the family of delusion, a pencil point ripping the page. We are blindsided by its power as a pantry staple: That sort of control is usually reserved for that which has fur and sharp teeth, crouched and waiting in obscurity, assuming we are the dangling carrots. The silence and the shrewd calculation that silence conceives (the answers born pink, snouted, and squealing) are separated by exactly three feet, as it’s hard to drown in a lake more shallow, and me, tuned in after years of traffic tickets, dark winters, and nonfoods (like ketchup and Splenda), still sweeping up the dust, lies, and Tuesdays knowing vampire slayers don’t exist. We feed at will and vomit the excess, and no one becomes immortal. Socks bunched up around our ankles, we are guilty of life, obsessively budgeting the cost of our dotage. This game, this sport, this need that robs independence boils over the pot onto our clean stoves. Hate sucks the air out of the room.

[This post was included in the November 2012 edition of the Third Sunday Blog Carnival.]

© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2012

The Sign

(Fellow poet and blogger Jenni De La Torre** not only gifts us with her poetry, but also talks about where it comes from. Read, enjoy, and show her some comment love!)

I gave my word to guest post for Sweepy Jean’s blog and when I commit to something, it has to be mind, body and soul. But when I agreed to write a poem, I almost immediately had an anxiety attack. You may be wondering why… Well, I will explain.

You see, even though I have been writing poetry for well over 20 years now (good grief, that made me feel old), I still tend to freak out when it comes time to write one. I suppose it’s because I believe that a poem is something that is felt–not something that can be mass produced in a matter of minutes.

Then I started thinking about (more…)

Like Love Hate

[See also: “Like. Love. Hate.” the ebook and “Like Love Hate” (the poem).]

Like Love Hate
mustard mayonnaise ketchup
gazing looking staring
flattery appreciation imitation
strawberry chocolate vanilla
hope optimism delusion
crayon pen pencil
surprised amazed blindsided
operate master control
cats kittens fur
abstraction complexity obscurity
appraisal interest assumption
cabbage broccoli carrots
calm quiet silence
planning preparation calculation
burgundy red pink
11 7 3
hands mouth feet
pool ocean lake
me me me
five minutes ago out  in
illegal parking speeding traffic tickets
spring summer winter
sugar Equal Splenda
clutter dirt dust
Lay’s laid lies
Wednesday Friday Tuesday
the Ghost Whisperer the Warrior Princess the Vampire Slayer
crying laughing vomiting
maturity wisdom age
sandals bare feet socks
apprehension worry guilt
busy engrossed obsessed
schedules itineraries budgets
Superbowl Olympics sports
want desire need
fried baked boiled
like love hate

© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2011

My Valentine 2011

This post is part of the Valentine’s Love Letter Fest hosted by blogging friend Pamela Rossow at Pammener’s Blog.

Love is such a tricky topic for me but instead of venting about the real-life drama that is going on with me right now, I’ll just talk about the top 5 love songs of all time! Well, actually, not of all time, but my top 5 of all time–although that also needs a disclaimer. I’m just going to go with my top 5 love songs on my MP3 player at the moment…. These are dedicated to the one I love. (more…)

Fragments

He rang the doorbell and waited for her to answer, the sun blinding and the heat erupting his skin like lava. When she opened the door, he knew she was the one.

“I’ve been expecting you,” she said.

“I know,” he said. “Nice to meet you.” Her lips were shiny, moist. As he walked inside, the smell of lemon icing rang from her hair. (more…)

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