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poetry is not
dead. it's sexy. it turns me on like you and me speechless when we understand our mouths get in the way of what we really want to say. __ published in Quadrant (AU national intellectual-literary journal | student days ) |
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BLACK + WHITE
i cannot love you more than this
page of words that will stay
long after i forget the slant
of your face. it will weaken
me with unblinking black and white
stares: the naked strength
of the truth of our moments.
page of words that will stay
long after i forget the slant
of your face. it will weaken
me with unblinking black and white
stares: the naked strength
of the truth of our moments.
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SUCKER
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we meet at your kitchen table
like knife and fork unwitting,
moving food to mouth in civil
eating. my body is fed
with more than bread. my life
comes from what's in your head,
feeding me past the emptiness
of plates, i am: full before they're empty,
sucker for mind-blowing things.
like knife and fork unwitting,
moving food to mouth in civil
eating. my body is fed
with more than bread. my life
comes from what's in your head,
feeding me past the emptiness
of plates, i am: full before they're empty,
sucker for mind-blowing things.
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SUGARtake me
very slowly. like smoking a holy cigar. or budding like a flower. |
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BLOOD
you will surrender when i say
i want lip service. i mean read
my lips, they are the colour
of your blood. of any man's alive.
and man & man will shoot
each other dead with gun
when i put on
my lipstick.
these lips are news:
blood-red they drip and you drop
dead and everybody cries murder
when it was suicide, lips
out of sync.
i want lip service. i mean read
my lips, they are the colour
of your blood. of any man's alive.
and man & man will shoot
each other dead with gun
when i put on
my lipstick.
these lips are news:
blood-red they drip and you drop
dead and everybody cries murder
when it was suicide, lips
out of sync.
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NOW
now memory
does not satisfy.
now imagination
will not melt words in
my mouth. my lines are
weak, i play with speech where
letters & their accents won't
repeat what really went
between us when we kissed.
does not satisfy.
now imagination
will not melt words in
my mouth. my lines are
weak, i play with speech where
letters & their accents won't
repeat what really went
between us when we kissed.
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INCLINATION
i shall caress
the total mess
you are and kiss
your inclination to unimpress
me with your careless
-ness.
the total mess
you are and kiss
your inclination to unimpress
me with your careless
-ness.
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SOMETHING
there is something
about you, before me, dressed. the throbbing in my head uncovering you unknowing. you, before me, not seeing my hands have moved: fulfilling in explicit pictures this almighty push to get to your absolute nothing-on beautiful. |
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GREASE
your leather jacket has eaten
me. consumed me so i no longer
remember things besides
meeting you in a packed,
merry place run by mechanical
strangers. you threw me in your black
open car, kissed the patent
of my shoes. how the sidewalk
shook when we stepped on its grease
circles and danced because
the moon was as full of milk as we.
__
published in
Monash University literary magazine (2013)
me. consumed me so i no longer
remember things besides
meeting you in a packed,
merry place run by mechanical
strangers. you threw me in your black
open car, kissed the patent
of my shoes. how the sidewalk
shook when we stepped on its grease
circles and danced because
the moon was as full of milk as we.
__
published in
Monash University literary magazine (2013)
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YESTERDAY
yesterday the song
you wrote and sang for me tore
through my dress.
and there i was again
with you, in dearest spaces
in certain rooms and streets
and cars. your smell in my hair,
my bed, my skin. mouth pressed
on your chest, sweet mouth
on your belly and below.
pink skies and purple flowers
fell on us in your mother's garden
where we got scared because
we'd touched the holy grail.
jesus, what if it slipped and broke?
you wrote and sang for me tore
through my dress.
and there i was again
with you, in dearest spaces
in certain rooms and streets
and cars. your smell in my hair,
my bed, my skin. mouth pressed
on your chest, sweet mouth
on your belly and below.
pink skies and purple flowers
fell on us in your mother's garden
where we got scared because
we'd touched the holy grail.
jesus, what if it slipped and broke?
WHAT IS A BRAwhat is a bra but a piece
of plaited string teasing you into untying me. it is not modesty. untying's the thing. why, i would put on the bra i do not wear for untying's sake to remind you you are privileged to unstrap me, know me bare, go beyond this cleavage that entices because i don't live in the same house as you, that is all.
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WHAT IS A BRA
Magdalene's personal journal on Woman + Love (maintained whimsically 2015-2021) Magdalene Carmen's poems of a more social-commentary nature have been published in various AU literary journals/newspapers (traditional and online) including the Australian nationals Australian Reader, Quadrant and The Weekend Australian Review. |
