Moving On

Rainbow Falls Trail, Great Smoky Mountains National Park

Surrender,

anguishing lover

your heart cries

raven’s call

learning to love, my dear one

means letting me go

This is my first shot at a Shadorma, so I figured it would be an appropriate One Shot. I do hope you join me and others at www.onestoppoetry.com and submit your own poem and encourage others along the way. Thank you for stopping by and reading mine today. Blessings ~Apryl  

Creature of the Light

These are the wanderings of fingers on skin, and the

liquid thoughts surging through the flesh of men

for the purpose of emptying themselves into the life of another

and in those moments find the solidarity of existence

the song of a man is found in his hips, within

the marrow of him, angular contours of face,

the arch of his back, the curling of toes seeking leverage

the lengthening of torso and ribs with intent to release

In his arms I settle myself, adjustments of hips and breath

with the rhythm of his heart I find the courage to move,

to become the object of one man’s desire, and in me welcome

the evidence of his affections, silent etchings of DNA

genesis of legacy, of the silken movements that slip

across skin and in tiny fragments cling to the

parts of me that were made for him, surrendered self, and with it

the force of our love brings resonance

his whispered I love you at the moment of our coupling drum

upon the tympans of my ears, rumbling symphonic

union of bodies, surrender and control, comprehensive thought

slip into the thickened awe that wonder brings

I have journeyed farther than intended, languished in

the sun longer than I can recall, in those last few

moments before the moon rises, I know most

assuredly that I am a creature of the light

I long to lavish the remainder of my days upon him,

ultraviolet through the clouds, skin provoked by light

words marking me, like the tattooing of skin

I am, in his arms the fullness of a woman

bone of my bone,
flesh of my flesh,

we are one

Prison of Want

relentless abuses and how I yield to them

inflicted on the back of me

mirror tells me I deserve them

lingers here my soul in the sorrow of want

aching need beyond the threshold of sanity

memories of peace

and how they haunt me

I wanna let go

I wanna quit

release the ties that bind me

cease the tethering of my heart

to a world destructive

push away the hands of greed

unspoiled self

have I so willingly forgotten

beneath the surface you sink

bind me with the sinews of my own flesh

slipping to a place where skin grows numb

and senses subdued

unless provoked by you

whisper to me something real

and the thoughts that spin my head

the off tempo voices  

my break-neck ramblings

are at once silenced

I want of rhythm

speak words

that reach into the marrow of me

beyond  the noise I am screaming

in these bondages I am dreaming

while the pushers are slipping

dollars through the doorway

offering yet another taste

I want of something real,

from origin of self the dark rhythm

of footsteps and heart beats

the invisible substance that

satiates my insatiability

an answer

the un-tethering of my heart

in silence will my revelries be

once the voice that spoke my soul into existence

prophesies over me

and at His feel I’ll lay in

the blissful surrender of self

it is the truth that sets one free

Confession of a Fallen Follower

This poem was inspired during a recent sermon by my Pastor entitled Confessions. What would we say if we're honest? From the heart of this follower, my confession.

I am the converted one that follows

long ago laid entombed now risen savior.

My hungry soul in quiet ways allows,

the sin of weakness lending to waver.

My eyes see His glory, living Lord

though knee bows not in moments of anguish

lingering there my need creates a hoard.

Selfishness, I’m sure to lie in languish.

Rescue me, revive me, beyond this flesh,

inadequate I am to follow Him.

This tortured life I self inflict a mess.

Heart cries out, mercy, breathe on me again.

Mosaic life in it’s untold glory

Artisan hands are crafting my story

Thoughtful Journey

the dew fresh morning

slips onto rose-petal-lips

awakening sensations

greeting with consciousness

life from slumber gently walking

bare feet on hardwood floors

steps beginning a forward launch of

my harpooned heart toward home

with guile tasting abolition

that comes from want of freedom

the willingness to sacrifice is rendered

for the redemption of us all

fresh in thoughts provoked by news

acknowledged with black ink on white

pursuing expression of thankfulness

subduing thoughts animalistic

wandering thoughts behind veiled eyes

seeking unhindered transcendence

of self beyond boundaries of flesh

in contemplative prayer discover truth

Vanity of Vanaties, all is Vanity,

and chasing after wind.

Relentless

The winds chopped down our cherry tree

littered the ground with the infant fruit

Splintering the erections of man's efforts

where will we go when the wind stops?

Children climb limbs like monkey bars

if only shelter could they give

Elegant designs and power lines

weighed down beneath the trunk of it

This is but the calm, 

before the one that wants to claim us

Gather near, dear ones,

stretch this house of skin

I will weather this tempest and keep you from it

though mothers are not made of stone

This poem was my contribution for One Shot Wednesday

If you be of a poetic persuasion come and join us!

Sprawling Childhood

This poem is filled with fun memories of books, songs and poems that I read to my daughter when she was small. She's visiting colleges now, and these are some of the things she clings to. See if you can pick them out ;) 

The Big Red Barn,

and Goodnight Moon,

Runaway Bunny, gone too soon

I will love you forever

hungry caterpillar

that through my skin crawled

and very hungry, drank of my life

until a butterfly you became.

One, Two, One, Two

and through and through,

this flesh, this life

and with it run into the present light

Transparent  like the dawn

Paper wings unfolding

through chrysalis of adolescence,

you were only waiting for this moment to arrive

silhouette through paper in fire

blinking to glimpse with vision obscure 

One day, dear one,

I will learn the art of weeping

Like the mad one that I am.

It’s midday now, and sun hot upon my skin.

I see your wings barely

through squinted eyes.

Breathe, just breath

release this day.

Sunken eyes now see,

you have taken broken wings

and learned to fly.

Father's Hands

This past week I took a Poetry workshop with Bill Brown. It was heart wrenching but inspirational, this is the product of one of his prompts. I thought it only appropriate to share it here for #oneshotwednesday

Rough and ragged,

drywall hanging, putty stained,

patching cracks and holes,

mending the places where people dwell.

The cross shaped scar,

the ring less finger,

both evidence that God saved him once.

On my back with soft skin

brown or olive, on my white skin,

fingers laced

we are shades of one another.

Skin of the migrant worker,

native teacher,

blue collar American hands,

with Spanish dna instilling courage 

grasping at equality

contending the social bullishness of

injustice, prejudice and ignorance.

Those hands built the house

where my soul dwells.

This hodge-podge,

grew as the children came,

then grew some more

house of spirit and bone.

Hands that wrote

empty-handed legacy of bull-shit

with the permission to refuse it,

and craft my own.

Dark hands of my nightmares

releasing me to

a drowning world

in the amniotic fluid

that gave birth to me.

Hands with a voice

when mouth was silent

Shh… don’t speak

just close the door.

Grandfather’s hands now,

aged yet strong,

worn but useful

wise, and disciplined

casts fishing lines and

dripping sticks of marshmallows

into the fire consuming childhood.

The bearer of

hands that uplift the children

that thrust through the

bone of his bone,

flesh of his flesh,

daughter of the wild one.