poems #12-30: i ain't finish

okay, okay
i ain't finish...
i'm sorry
what'chu want?
i told y'all this wasn't going well
hell,
i wrote three or more "po' me's" about it...

don't hold it against me
don't judge my pen...
it ran out of [th]ink
couldn't find anyone
who could sell me a refill

so, i apologize for this month
and every one before it,
where my page's pages
whipped empty in the e-wind
blank,
with no penciled impressions

maybe next year...
maybe not even that far away
just maybe,
some other day
i'll finish

for now...i ain't. :/


© 2013 Kween Kiwi 

poem #10: broken pen

i'm not so sure if i'm blocked
or just building them
my pen is pushed by passion
so am i passion-less?
less of a scribe,
because i can't ride a vibe?
been sitting on a lot
of parked prose
and idle lines
nothing fulfilling
the flame of a furied pen turning to ash
not a thing
to catapult me into the throes
the words...
they used to roll like
big mama's panty line
like papa's stone
like a classic caddy on chrome
like damn...
when will it return?
can it be,
my days as a poet
have waned
and i didn't know it?
did i miss the hint
had i never owned this gift
was it just divinely lent?
do i need to be in love,
have my heart wrung dry
just to scribble out fraught lines?
can't you see?
every poem is one of literal longing
beseeching my pen
or ruing love's end
and i want more...
i want epic
classic
timeless
poetry for posterity
and i can't even write without
writing out
my pen's black out!

pray for my pen


© 2013 Kween Kiwi 

poem #9: always and never

i realized the other night,

that i am still in love with you...

...subconsciously

no matter whose heart shape i trace

or who manages to nuzzle into mine...

in dream time...

my love is yours

the way we fit

[in my dreams]

is the way we fit, then...

and in spite of the reality

that is my awake state

of not wanting you

or needing you

...in my dreams

you're ever present

and a calm to my chaos

my left finger

is always weighted with your promise

and in my slumber...

i hunger to bear your seeds

and i've even dreamed that

you've saved me...

called my name,

as i lay dying in suspended time,

and i woke right up

heart beating

with memories of your hand in mine

why it is that

in the day's light

i'm immune to you

is beyond conscious reason that

i still manage to traipse through

painted dream scenes

with you and mostly you

i realize,

that maybe i'm just in love with nostalgia

and in my dreams...

you're on constant rewind

in a time

where you were all i knew

and now that my eyes are open

 i can't un-see

the unworthiness of you

the way you'll always do what you do

so, i dream you

in perfect state

far better than the truth

which i shake loose

when i awake and remember,

i can never love you again

© 2011 Kween Kiwi

poem #8: midnight oil

As midnight creeps in...
tipping lightly around my awareness
I sit in still thought
pondering
how it is I could've been a fool
looped tightly around his middle finger
while he fucked over my love...

Regret plays blaring notes
on my heart
convincing me in a moment
of temporary ire
that I shouldn't have ever made his acquaintance
that, his invite
should have been declined
ignored
blocked
and forgotten...
but, then...
I come to...
not wanting to trade a single
word,
minute,
affectation,
dream,
notion,
or hope

Even as I tread forward...
finished with uncertainty
and open-ended breaks,
I see how his place
was invaluable
and classically meaningful...
glad to have undergone
another metamorphosis
causing the rebirth
of the original butterfly's freedom flight...
knowing now,
the depths of my love
patience
and heart's core...

It was all a deliberate process
of loving
learning
lavishing in and about
life...
for a fleeting,
yet eternal time frame...
he brought the biggest of smiles,
heartiest of laughs,
warmest concerns...
and the most guttural
and painful tears...
every nuance of agony
a cracking in my cocoon
giving way to unique
elegantly splashed
brighter,
more expansive
and intensely colored wings

I will always
hold tightly
with the strength of
the biggest arms
and something
that can only be described
as agape love,
for a man
whose hands never grazed my skin
whose breath never heated my lips
whose eyes,
never met with mine...

I'm going to bed now...
my dreams await...


© 2010 Kween Kiwi

poem #7: fisticuffs

you attacked my heart

bluntly and coldly 

with a lie from the past

presented to me in the form of

needing to know

man...

you put some stank on it too

my senses were thoroughly

offended...

unable to breathe from the stench

and the unbearable clench

my heart was the shape of  YOUR fist

because you held it in your hand

and you just manhandled it

and discarded it 

as if it were just shit

had me...

...yes, you had me

but did you earn me?

i put the cart before the horse

the trust 

before the worthy

the do

before the i

and i...i...i cry

i want to scream as loud as 

my box will deliver

to ask how lillied is your liver

to sit in~dig~nance

when you're the perp and traitor

how do "i" end up holding the bag

however empty...

now i see nothing but

ex cues for you to ex-it

stage left

right into a former me and you

starring you and her

while my universe

implodes

i hope the ride in a warped time machine

is worth the sacrifice of the promise

of a classic future with me

i pray that you're released from here

AND fear

and given the dream you chase

so that maybe it was worth it

to lose, the love i gave you

and you don't need to remix

or reprise

another come on

to come home

to a heart that no longer fits

in your fist

© 2008 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 #6: this room

this room

swallows me whole

in the middle of night's yawn

i tumble

inhaled by

the hunger of loneliness

my bed,

lapping me up greedily

pillows,

nuzzling against my temple

warm pseudo lovers

in this room,

i'm servile to its protective purposes

relaxed against

the walls

struggling to stand alone

i can do alone

i'd just rather not

this room,

my painter's brush...

is as much the cramp in my hand

as it is my palette's fancy

in this room,

amid ideas, refuge and vices

i'm in a surreal loop

of many a reason

that convince me

in this room,

is where i belong...
i shouldn't be resigned to this space
and it's not that i even avoid life's face...
it's the way this room holds me
and gives me life,
like my spirit reverberates
off these walls
in a constant rhythm
against my heart
and THAT
makes this room...where i belong.