Secrets of Blood

Blood loves its caverns of blue and orchid silk,
its slippery tunnels, pink cushions,
fringes and ruffles of flesh.
Red is the color that worships the body,
knocking at your temples,
announcing its ownership proudly.
Amazed at what it holds,
it purrs as it circulates,
touching your inner heart from time to time,
lingering in those velvet chambers,
saying MINE.
Over and over,
deep in your marrow,
it whispers its mantra.

Excerpt (first stanza) from "Secrets of Blood," the first poem in Teaching Bones to Fly, my first book of poetry from Bitter Oleander Press.

Sinister Tulip

The tulip bends under the weight of its red-black thoughts, its dark head heavy as a tarnished bell. In sympathy, the chair casts ominous de Chirico shadows.

Tricking Gravity

When the breeze first lifted me, I felt dangerously buoyant. I trembled like a baffled nestling. But then I relaxed into the air, let the sky embrace me. For the first time, sunrise painted me on all sides – pink, everywhere. I was weightless. Disguised as inconsequential, like a dust mote, I tricked gravity into ignoring me. I inhaled the fragrance rising from the world. I began to hear the silence that precedes blossoming, that blank space before the almost inaudible velvet-slip of petals unfurling. I held my future, all possibilities, locked safe inside me. I was a speck of pollen floating in the rosy throat of a tulip. Suspended above its secret black pinwheel, I waited for a gust of wind.

Excerpt from "Tricking Gravity" a prose poem from Stirring the Mirror, first published in The Bitter Oleander.

Trapped

Poor Olga, trapped in a painting with two conniving cardsharps from another century...

Baby Muse Thanks You

As of this date, Baby Muse has happily shared about 136 words of cyber-inspiration. She thanks you for playing along! Special thanks go to those of you who gave back new words to replenish her inventory. She really savored tidbits like bellicose, loofah, jejune, and dawndrawn. She is still chuckling over the creative paragraphs incorporating the gift words that some of you overachievers wrote and e-mailed to her. For those traveling here for the first time in search of her wisdom, simply scroll down to the original posts (2/29/08 and 3/2/08) for directions.

Thanks again!

Underground Sky

Oaks met themselves at the pond's edge. The sky filtered through their branches, leaving bits of blue among their leaves in the mirror. The hand gracefully moved over that underground sky, as if it were pulled by a magnet from below.

Excerpt from "The Hand" from Stirring the Mirror.

Yes, yes, Baby Muse is just several posts down. Scroll away...

Hudson Valley Writers' Center Reading Friday Night

UNMASKED

I drop my torn-paper skin,

my mask of leaves.

Words fall away

one by one,

until I'm a peeled birch,

a burnished skeleton.

Like an uninhabited planet,

my silent face

seeks the sun.

This poem first appeared in Graphic Poetry: A Wig-01 Project, an anthology of art and poetry collaborations, edited by Andrew Townsend and James Warfield of Wig-01, and published by Victionary. Each poem's text became part of an illustrated two-page spread.

I'll be reading this Friday at The Hudson Valley Writers' Center in Sleepy Hollow, NY.

Slapering Hol Press Presents Second Fridays Cafe
at The Hudson Valley Writers' Center
Featuring poets Joshua Mehigan, Marc Straus and Christine Boyka Kluge
Friday, March 14, 2008
at 7:30 PM
Reading, Reception and Book Signing

I hope to see you there!

For directions and more detailed author information, visit the HVWC Web site.
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