revolving doors ~inspired by Perri Forrest

My sis *sister in scribe/sister in spirit* is penning a book to be released soon. "Revolving Doors" is the prequel to her short, "Rendezvous". this poem is inspired by her sweet story.

i tried to forget you

in foreign arms

and scripted kisses

i tried

unsuccessfully,

to 'x' out your impression

with penciled happiness

weakly scribbled over

pen-stained love

i sought comfort

in purpose

and drive

and still my eyes

were not dried

in every move away

i drew closer to closure

closer to the thing

i chased like butterflies

against zephyrs of denial...

i was searching for redemption

and what i found...

was solely searchable

...in you

hidden in muffled breaths

found in limbo

upon your lips

i found you...

in suppressed memories

resurfaced from corked springs

of past summers...

and now,

i am redeemed

as i come full circle

spun through a revolving door

bringing me home

...to you



© 2013 Kween Kiwi 

naked inside out

there’s something so free,
so vulnerable
about being [a woman]
underneath the weight of a man
limbs spread as wide
as her wanting can take them…
so aroused by the hands on her skin, 
his mouth covering hers…breathing for her
as he sucks her tongue
searching her mouth for a flavor too good to label…
creating chilled vibes,
raised and sensitive to touch
…it’s as open as one gets…
the treasure’s chest
unlocked, open and glistening with her value
being plundered over and over
stroking parts unreachable
scratching itches that fingers can’t feel
back arched
naked and nude
receiving and giving
nothing but air, sweat and pheromones between you…

to be open
the door of her sex unhinged…
is the sexiness
freedom
trust and sweet oblivion
that brings delight
to being naked…
inside out.


© 2013 Kween Kiwi 

what had happened was...

ok...this is the thing,

i supposedly dedicated myself to the month of April because it's Nat'l Poetry Month. i was gung ho and ready to challenge my muse, but she got a case of the idgaf's. BAD.

i haven't been in the mood for people or places or words or serious thought. it's been like this for some time and because i've been in my feelings  about people and things and situations and such...everything poetic has been jumbled up like a clotted vein.

i could lie and say i'll try, but that's not going to happen...no original poems anyway. so here's what i'm going to do.

i'm going to post some poems that i wrote some time ago and a few of them are actually just now seeing the light of day.

a lot are filled with angst and emotion, because a lot were written while angry or sad.

i will not apologize for those who may come and find themselves in my words.

thanks for the patience and support.

i guess, i'll start posting in reverse...

poem #3: subconsciously

subconsciously,

i've begun to crave him

i must want his love

i didn't know i wanted his touch,

his smile,

to open me back up

to daydreams

and reanimate

the long sleeping love for love,

seemingly tucked away

with years

of relationships

and disappointments

then,

 out of a subconscious nowhere

astral dreams

of marriage

and declarations of loving me

until our souls no longer linger...

begin to prod my desires awake

i've begun to search him

in crowds

and aisles

and lots

to see if his eyes

will explain the why

...why is it that these thoughts

have arrived

and from where

did they derive?

i need to grasp

the yen for him

why is it

i want him to profess his love

to declare

with poetic flair...

that the ones before

were throw-aways

from bad catches

because...

wherever he found himself before,

 life was feckless

no depth

and no height

not quite dark,

yet not enough light

...and there in lies his quest

to disrupt my last two night's of rest

holding a torch

of the love i lost

a dream's guide

to find the love inside

an astral hand

to lead me to love

emerging tangible

and fulfilled in his eyes

and the enveloping hug

that has clearly been

the catalyst to my dreams

...good night.

poem #2: love loss

i can't quite remember

the residual heat

from extinguished embers

the smoky reminder

ashen chips

from a once raging fire

instead,

i'm still...cool...glass

reflecting light

transparent

smooth

...water rolling off me

a surface unchanged

unmoved
until bluntly cracked
or under pressure

i remember nothing

of passions engulfing

wild and reckless

just caution,

a flame-less candle
lit...no danger of growing
no danger of losing control
...my heart is absent
of the feeling
that stirs beneath the breast
and gives life to bated breaths
and boils up
like water
touching lava
causing seas unrest...
...i have not selected
not to recollect
i want nothing more
than for my heart to crackle
with erratic blaze
and give spring to my step
balm to my face
and love in my heart...
...it just seems that,
i'm to be abject to this memory loss...
love's memory loss

National Poetry Month: poem #1

so, I just finished a challenge on my Kaleidoscope blog. check out 30 Days of Days and be sure to catch other challenge-takers on the left side under "dem challenge takers".  seeing that it is National Poetry Month, I figured perhaps NOW would be the time to pursue some inspiration.

i've been lacking in this department...not writing poetry...for some time now. it's definitely overdue. so, here's my first poem...a freestyle.

who i am

if ever there was truth

to the assumption of who i am

i'd be lord over many minds

more hearts

and a few hands

i'd be a big deal

a glorious display

a kween without a throne

i'd be a catcher's mitt,

a wide receiver

for all the shade that's been thrown

if i were to manifest

the hateful words

used to describe my vibe

i'd be a everything,

but a child of God

if i bought into the lies

see, 

some have marked me victim

because i dare to respond with "ouch"

some have marked me sneaky

because i don't air my dirty laundry out...

i'm naive (which is funny, since i'm also deceptively evil)

i'm petty (which causes guffaws, since i'm supposed to be too good to people)

i'm everything

and nothing

i'm a liar

hated for the truth

i'm spoken of in whispers

my flaws supposedly proof

if i believed myself

to be deserving of what i'm served

i'd dig the ditch

lie down in the bitch

and cover myself with dirt

but, i know better

i be a kween...so fuck what'chu heard

10 Word Thursday: The Missing Muse

Back when I was on Multiply.Com, a friend Ms. Bebe used to commission a Ten Word Thursday. She popped up on my wall today on Facebook after months of me not doing this challenge. (Also, timely because though I haven't been writing poetry...I've been wanting to) So here are the 10 words she gave me and the poem I came up with.


10 Words: bemused, judicial, countenance, abyss, adrift, pimpmobile, obedience, enormity, membership, visage

somewhere out on the sea of sonnets

ADRIFT on driftwood

feeling no more good...

my muse,

lies listless

staring up at the stars

wishing for whimsical wisdom

on dying suns

for one...just one line

to buoy out of the ABYSS

its artful assent

rising in OBEDIENCE

aware of how essential

my bard's MEMBERSHIP is.

or maybe,

she lies BEMUSED...

a VISAGE of blankness

that pale COUNTENANCE,

a reflection of the gaping chasm

that's taken resistant residence

all up in my heart...

all through my fingers...

my lips,

a silent dryness

where my golden gift

once dripped with hunger...

i don't know,

perhaps she feels left alone

my time,

meted out between too many loves

or just not enough love for her

and her obstinate stance

is a somewhat JUDICIAL

and heartless eyeing

for allowing her to lie here dying

and leave the both of us crying...

[i'm sorry]

back there...

afar on land

parked ashore

her poetic PIMPMOBILE

sits abandoned,

driven no more...

no music,

no Keys,

no packed bags filled with stanzas and creative acquiesce

just she...

floating in a breeze

in a pool of thought,

i can't seem to seize

somewhere,

too far...for me to write with ease

and though,

i can't swim

i fully intend,

to sing her back to shore

promise to be her whore

if only she'll remember

that i do...love her

temperamental,

neurotic

slightly psychotic

equally hypnotic

dramatic

poetic ass!

lost art

i've never felt this helpless
lost to the art
and afar from the center
so estranged from inspiration
...i don't want
every poem to be a non-poem
of poetic pain
a plea to the god of bards
to lift the weight
off of my pen...
i can't tell if it's due
to lack of paramour
or presence of apathy
either way,
i've never been here so long
it just doesn't feel like me

not only are poems stilled
and erotica chilled...
books won't bind
stories won't end
things begin...
and end again against my will
when i see works
of fellow quills
i burn with envy
for my own passions
to be fulfilled
...i can barely read
the scribes of others
while my own muse's heat
is snuffed and smothered

i feel as if this helplessness
can't be helped
...and just when,
i think i've missed it
i shrug with indifference
and nestle comfortably in it
i wallow in silence
i slop in muddled thoughts
an eerie acceptance
of aimlessness and loss

i count the pieces of me
that have broken and been cast away
all of the events remembered
like white noise on repeated play
and i know
that somewhere adrift
are the words
that escaped to be free
traipsing hand in hand
refugees...
overjoyed and over me

maybe they're in Tahiti
on my dream escapade
tanning, swimming and floating
basking in French Polynesian rays
i might be able to locate
a few in the family i never made
or took up with another poet,
spoken words on a stage
it's possible,
they grew wings
and became angels
with "mi abuela"
love
peace
bliss
all fitted with little halos
some stuffed in a box
interlaced around a ring
or maybe they've become lyrics...
waiting for me to sing

i just wish i didn't feel strange
a stranger to it all
i want to find my place again
i want to do it all
i want poetry
and novels
and erotica
and blogs
i want it easy
like it once was
before this overcast of fog
find me...
return to me,
i miss my inner bard
i want words, stanzas and depth again...
i want to find my heart

the look of summer

i feel summer,
in beads of liquid crystal
glimmering
refracting the light of a beaming sun
off the surface of tanned
smooth and soft skin
cool cotton cascading
tied prettily
over exposed shoulders...
slight breezes
teasing the hem of a billowing
sundress...
peeks of thighs
that wink hi on the sly
i feel summer,
in wild, tameless hair
sun-kissed by streaks
of ultra violet rays
given lift by bouncy struts
smiles behind shades
and shades over blinded eyes
from the sun's glare...
the summer,
is seductively hovering over me
invitations of abandon...

a yearning to lie still
while clouds pass over
and gales of wind
lead branches by the limb
in a dance of waving leaves
i feel summer...
in children's chuckles in the morning
robins and cardinals
chirping atop cable lines
bike tires screeching
garden hoses leaking
lawn mowers revving
chains on porch swings squeaking
wading pools filling
hydrants bursting
ice cream melting through fingers
fireflies in jars
and citronella burning
...the anticipation of coals on grills
smoke wafting over fences
sending subliminal cravings
of charred meat and
iced tea so sweet
but, i feel summer most...
in that sundress
in my favorite color
sandals on polished toes
a kweenly flow,
beckoning the turning of heads
to summer's hot ways
bringing heat to bodies
and flush to faces
the free feeling
of a dress' sway
just makes me know
that summer is here.

open book

i've been flipped through

used for my content,

poorly kept

and left to be picked up

read...

and dropped by the next

what's my story?

where's the story in my heart?

how do i know

that anyone has ever understood

me front to back?

why has no one considered,

treasuring my leafs

protecting my spine

reading me again?

...why has my story

been only momentarily piquing...

only once explored?

where's the story in my heart

and do my pages

reflect my depth?

does my memoir

bespeak my soul

and speak a piece...

my peace?

i never wanted to be

a library's keep...

openly shelved

and passed over...

i never wanted to be

borrowed and returned...

i wanted to be discovered

and cherished,

my beholder

afraid to share me,

but willing to recount my

imprinted confessions

with far off eyes

sparkling...

remembering the adventures

of my tale

instead,

i've been left

bare to the exposure of air

aging my words

turning my narrative faded

and shriveled

...but my story was in my heart

plainly penned

to be read

to be loved

to be traversed

with open mind and heart

so,

no matter if my cover is compromised

if my title is smudged

if my bind is broken

and the gild is gone

if i'm never read again

and no one ever remembers my voice

...my story was still written

my story is still here.

i await you

i heart you
i flower you
i cloud you
i space you
i rain you
i cake you
i book you
i lei you
i drizzle you
i butterfly you
i pen you
i write you
i lace you
i drink you
i scent you
i film you
i pour you
i lyric you
i flame you
i mani you
i pedi you
i massage you
i sorbet you
i browse you
i dawn you
i sunrise you
i day you
i sunset you
i night you
i twilight you
i open you
i picture you
i stir you
i house you
i blog you
i fondle you
i poem you
i comb you
i dance you
i shower you
i inhale you
i nap you
i giggle you
i draw you
i fluff you
i dream you
i swim you
i light you
i duvet you
i save you

do i have to say,
that every day
in every way
in every thing
that is beautiful,
significant,
pleasurable,
needed,
given,
felt,
been or will be...
you are there?
the one, i will love...
shower,
cradle,
speak,
stroke,
baby,
see...is already in progress.
...i await you

coffee black, no sugar

coffee and thoughts

jelly and tears

buttered memories

breakfast alone...slow and painful bites

melancholy set...

timed not to sulk to a crisp

watching tv...or it's watching me

can't tell at all

hoped to share a cup once

kisses and sips

making a memory or two

breakfast...me and you

guess i'll sip and think

nosh and sniffle

forget what went wrong

watch TV alone

doze and wake obliviously
try and write
my pen looming over paper
threatening to compose...i suppose

cold coffee
stiff spoon
cold morning
it's past noon
and all i can think...
against the spoon's clink
was that you were once here
and the coffee was brewing
the scent was inviting
my longing for morning love
gone with the steam off my cup
i ain't hungry,
you're eating elsewhere
and i'm stuck
with a cup of coffee...
black...no sugar.

[focus]

the unfocused focus
of the desperate need
to focus on something
anything,
other than self
is a crafty effort
to deflect from
what one lacks introspectively
attempting projection
onto external entities
to seek their validity

never is so much focus
required to fulfill
a myriad of needs
not already embodied
by self
than with someone
unwilling to peer within
and mend the inner fractures
unhealed
unsealed
not revealed
even to themselves

as long as the energy
...that precious life source
uniquely bestowed
to one soul...
is being dispersed
and left behind
in jagged pieces
to temporarily satiate
and medicate
the aches of loneliness
and fleshly needs
you can never be whole...
no lover will EVER hold you...
no kiss will lovingly linger...
you will never be king to "her"...

the exhaustion alone
will topple your throne...
when the bodies are gone
and the sensation has numbed
what is left
is what at best
can be described...
as YOU...
still blurry
from the scurries of distraction
leaving you listless
from emotional inaction

[focus] on that....

ms. truth

truth is smoooove chillin'...
she's sitting,
patiently
confidently
backbone aligned with the sky
eyes crystal clear
with a deliberate stare...
she sees them...
the manipulations
excuses,
omissions
and side dissin'
all trying to mask as her
but can't bask in her...
just ask her.
she's naked
free of cover
no shame in her name
confrontational at times
at times,
simply part of the art's frame...
there isn't anything she fears
nothing
she couldn't face
it's
all UP in her DNA
to be the realest one in the place
don't make her up
talk her up
she needs no co-signers
no crafty one-liners...
when everyone
and everything
melts away
flakes off like gold fill
ms. truth struts in
wearing Karma's heels...
she doesn't boast
or begin to trip,
she doesn't get emotional
or skittish...
she sits down,
crosses her legs
and speaks...
and when she does
the drama begins to cease...
the wake calms
and becomes placidly still
while ms. truth
bends the room to her will
and as they absorb
the consciousness
and perfection
she stands for
ms. truth...
badder than a beautiful lie
the idea of it
"what had happened"
or imitation of life...
you may want to get to know her
and everything that AIN'T her
just respect her gangsta...

recall

i'm walking...
a remembered path of passion
lit with faint pitches of woo
...long kisses between two
i recall,
the puppy love
that grew full on canines
before it was through
once a splendid escape
of whispered winks
and finger traces...
the phantom caresses
of his young tongue
across new bosoms
growing pangs
the broken seal
of a deflowering
took on the face of shame
denial dressed formally
as a concern for viewing eyes...
before long...
the feeling of love
had withered away
the petals of naivete
drifting on the cold winds
of chilled heat...

i recall,
the may-december love
of a grip too tight...
a toxic drink,
of brute strength and spite
once believed,
to be the one
enduring and pure
but left me needing more
how chivalrous he was,
protective and gallant...
even though
his sword was often drawn
without cause
and paranoia grew taller
with claws...
and my heart would thump
then pause...
every time
he entered
the room
when the end tip-toed toward us
i can remember exhaling
heaving sighs
of grief-filled tears
a caged bird
afraid of flight...

i recall,
the intangible love
of echoed beats
and cemented feet
love reverberating past cell lines
that never manifested past his lines
my northern chill
to his southern heat...
*singing*
"first...time, i saw your face
my heart just erased
every guy
i
knew
be...
fore you..."
and instantly
my poetry was conceived
to be lyrics,
to his musical keys
and i became,
keys...
yet,
he had a flock of fans
and he himself
was a fan of ladies
him singing in their ear,
his intentions
wearing winged shoes
tapping on heart strings
~sigh~
eventually...
the notes became muted
the pen dried
and we waved bye...

i am recalling,
the love
the falling...
the bawling
the crawling
for forgiveness
second chances
and best wishes...
the ones,
that weren't the one
the tender flavor
of new love
the hunger for
fulfilled and hopeful days
that never came
...all i want to call to my heart
is love,
that lasts beyond the novelty
that casts out frivolity
and small things
given power
to be mountainous
i want to call to me...
the spirit of oneness
with one particular one
with whom i can
recall and
reminisce and
retell the tale of love
with over and over...
i don't want to recall another thing...
except maybe...the beginning of a lifelong love

more than

i love you more than
the stretch of my arms
or the capacity of a human heart
or even...
the span of an angel's wings
i love you more than
my mind's scope
or my soul's hope
more than the furthest reach
of the longest rope
i love...
more than love can be defined
more than the infinite
space of time
more than a sky's height
or an Alaskan night
more than
and fiercer than
and greater than
a lioness' fight
and even then
its rougher than
but easier than
a kayo on fight night
that is
how...
i love you
the stretch of imagination
and a dream's escalation
the force and pull
of a planetary rotation
with showers of fire
and atmospheric changes
resulting in novas
and supernovas
of super loving explosions
*catching breath*
is a mere display of
how
much
i love you...
you...have...NO...clue
that i love you
more than the shells that hold us
and the experiences
and life
thats taken hold of us
more than the eons
that separate our past lives
more than
all the love stories ever scribed
more than
the heaving cries
of broken hearts
or
stuttering mouths
in awe of art
more than the echoing pains
of a child's birth
more than
the heat contained
at the core of the earth
when i say,
i love you...
know that
its more than
even "I" know...

writing my way through...two

this is redundant

damnit,

this longing

to scribe...

looking intensely

for the right vibe,

playing music

and reading...

reminiscing on when

words came easy

damn,

i just want to write...

is the thing i scream silently,

so what is it?

why do i get stuck in prose

looking for a poem?

why do i find myself,

free-styling stanzas

of vexation

to force OUT of me

what used to flow like

fountain springs?

i've been doing inventory

drinking up what drops fall

as liquid incentive...

yet i ache at the stillness

is it me?

am i changing?

...is what i ask,

has my muse

left to bring blissful whispers

of worded pleasures

to another?

[whore]

is my time up and over?

have i squandered

my poetic account?

or am i a lifetime member

of the torture and ecstasy

that comes with the artistry?

or have i become too used to the enstasy

...spending too much time

inside my mind,

rummaging through

experiences of old,

instead of creating

new slide shows

and new tides to row...

even though,

i do feel it...a little

that purge pushing past

smoke screens

and veils of veiled attempts

to ignore the tickling

at the base of my spine...

and if i had to be honest,

i'm may be in denial...

that what begs to be written,

ain't what i want to be scribbling...

hiding out in this question

when the answer,

lies barefaced

with glaring eyes...

that i need to quit trying to make it

bend to me

knowing i'm it's slave...

and not the other way around

damnit...

i knew when i started asking,

two entries ago...

that i was rebelling

with my sun's stubbornness

my rising's detachment

and my moon's oblivion...

against the truth...

the truth...

and it's naked ways

beseeching me to see it,

causing blush...all the same

and now,

i'm sitting on the fence

pen ready and unsteady

afraid to see what's left

when the ink dries

blinking blankly

at the reveal...

throwing back the comfort

from what i've tried to conceal

[deep swallow]

i suppose if i obey it

give way to it

and sway with it,

that i'll unblock the passage

and my spirit will stop shimmying

and my head will quit spinning

and my heart will stop seizing...

if i'd only give my muse a reason

to return again...

to write my way through, this too

so, now

i guess i owe y'all a damn poem...

about love...

writing my way through

i've had it!
i've meditated
been silent
observed life,
grasping at my own
desperate
need of inspiration...
i long...
SO much,
to create...
to give an offering
of prose
to use my gift
to lift
to release something
ANY thing,
into the world...
i feel choked.
it's like,
i have nothing to say
nothing to show for
this mind i mind...
this heart i love
the things i see...
i feel less than a poet
lately,
like it's too hard to be a "bard"
and too banal an existence
at the same time...
because,
"everyone's doing it"
and if any person
can scribble, loop, dot...
then, why can i NOT?
maybe it's that thing...
that thing,
that happens to me
having been the square
to the round hole
since i could remember,
perhaps i dismember myself...
detach and unchain myself
from the growing number
of poetic hummers...
always the one to twirl,
counter to their clockwise
and paint around the image
instead of in it...
i've become bored?
oh no...
that's not allowed...
this writing?
this IS me.
i can't get stuck
with no words
speechless...
spoken words...quieted
written words...stilled
i have GOT to dig deep!
i have to awaken from this sleep...
if i have to chant this rant...
that i must give forth
love from the source...
in order to keep in sight
that there's a soul,
reading,
water welled in their eyes
as something I have birthed
kisses them gently...
that's what i will do!
so...
no,
i've gotta keep writing my way through.
i can't fade into the minutiae of it all...
or get mired into this momentary fall,
my pen must win!
this gift given me
will not go un-praised...
it will not go to waste...
i will write,
my way through...if not for me...
for you...

climb to fall

in the midst of
scaling the heights
of love's tower
and touting it's
power
at some point
into acclimation
one's purpose
for escalation
can become lost
too high of an altitude
can bring about
gasps...
short breaths
from thin air
a cold
so brisk
that it seeps
deeply
past protective gear
raised chills
that burn from pain...
with the claws of cold
a companion of void
settles...
a loud cognizance of one's place
amid nothing,
seeks attention
how, now...does the climb
still hold substance?
whilst looking
for evidence
of love's stretch...
how does one
defeat the demon
of whispered solitude?
the heated impetus
set to give hope to the hopeless
crystallizing...
seizing and freezing out
the belief
that love lies
atop a mountain of obstacles
waiting to be validated...
snuffed out,
by the ascension of
a hurried sense to feed
a worried and dense need...
what occurs...
in the midst of
this sojourn
for love's pinnacle...
is a tinge of deliberation
to loosen the secured fasts
and just fall...
descend with the speed of doubt
more breath stolen
the heart,
imploding from the pressure...
the heart,
beating so fast
that it stills...
flailing and falling
...the end
surely to be met
with spiritual death
no longer adept
in the heights and depth
of love and it's armored vest...
how about,
this daredevil...
repel from the top
and stop.
...why even dare to care?
what will the world have lost,
if i chose to sit
indian style...
at the base of cynicism
and bitter regret
and let the waters
of wasted emotion
drown my champion?
why should i fight to climb?
when it seems...
everyone else
pays love no mind

fall in love with me

fall in love with me

my whole self

not fragments

broken into the

most palatable...

eat me up!

love the crumb of me

the sum of me

the hum

beneath the surface of me

fall IN love with me

my sensitivity

my desire for

your exclusivity

the divine

and incomparable

God in me

fall in love...deeply

with ME

the attitude

that i sometimes can't adjust

the once in a full moon

over the top lust

the more than usual need to bust...~whew~

my need to be right

even when i'm wrong

the moments

when i just need

to be left alone

love ALL of me

fall in LOVE with me

don't recoil from what i can teach

don't flinch at how deep i can reach

don't ice down your heat for me

your fear to be seen

being crazy in love with me...

fall in love, baby

the way i would with you

in love with your truth

not the scripted

and prompted you

i love the you

that's meant for

God, you and your Ruth...

fall in love with me

the one whose love encompasses

vows written

and love unspoken

that touches on notions

and dormant dreams awoken

the one who with pride

your chest puffs than rises

as your "single' knot unties

fall in love

not stumble

or trip

for it's a misconception

that those falling in love

hit pavement with a split

it's a voluntary

RECLINE

back into the arms

of a true love's hold

not some plunge to death

not a nude dive into cold...

fall in love with me...

and i promise...to catch you