Of Art and Literature

My favorite writing conditions occur when a line of poetry or prose comes to mind out of nowhere and I scramble for a piece of scrap paper to capture it on before the thought is lost. Another piece from the scrap paper collection, written this morning.

This piece can also be found as a response to Thursday Think Tank prompt #8 on Poets United.

Of Art and Literature

Sucking supple nipples
sweet like pears
She lies nude beneath me
whispering sonnets of Shakespeare
as my lips chisel at her figure lovingly.

Her thoughts get lost in a silvery haze
their case lulled in a pillow somewhere
and after minutes of soft and mindless pleasure
She emerges, speaking to me in a silky tone,
"What do you make of good literature to-day?"

I cease my persistence in working over her body
and lay to rest beside her, cradled within her,
I release a sigh,
"I suppose it should be much like this,
an art of the mind, body and soul"

Life of a Poet Interview

Want to know more about the author behind the poetry of the Not-So-Secret Writings? Great! Your curiosity came just in time! Check out the interview I gave for Poets United "Life of a Poet" interview series. 

Do we have something in common? Is there a part of my interview you particularly liked or connected with? Do you have any other questions for me? Comments and feedback are always welcome!!

Enjoy!

How to be a Liar

This poem is to some extent a response to Poet's United Thursday Think Tank prompt from last week: How To.


How to be a Liar

It begins with a pact; a promise

“Don’t tell daddy,” she says

But in all of your childishness

or perhaps rather a premature intelligence

you’re compelled to know why

before entering even a verbal contract such as this

He won’t understand

It’s plain and simple

He’ll misinterpret

and someone will be deeply hurt

And from that point on

there's this suppressed, unacknowledged terror

that lies beneath your diaphragm, as you agree to keep it

a secret

Not for daddy’s sake, no

but but surely for mommy’s.

Because you and mommy

might as well have slashed cuts

at your palms

and touched bloodlines

because, just in case you hadn’t shared the blood bond before,

You now are forever entangled.

And it doesn’t end with daddy, no

(though he is long gone by now)

Pact upon pact

Bond upon bond

they pile up until the stories flow steadily like rivers

and the people

are towns, no, worlds

just settled along the bank

which is merely a pile of your own untruths.

But when she and you are in this together

You are a duo of misunderstood bandits

stealing from one life to the next

Survival of the fittest, it’s called

And the secrecy is your role,

Your duty to the sacred bond

You’re old enough!

The machine can’t function without you

You’re clearly aware of that

And, like that, it’s almost a matter of life or death

And while you did not ask to start over, again,

She reminds you that you probably need it just as she does

And it touches you nonetheless

And it’s all right,

justified even,

and when that’s the case

it almost masks completely

that you’re nothing but a liar.

Just a little author's note: This poem is freshly written, and now that I have it all on paper, I feel pretty confident in saying that this is one of those poems that I never want to read again.

Steam

Two poems in one day, aren't you lucky?! This is an acrostic poem I wrote in response to this week's prompt on Poets United & Poetry Blogroll in hopes that I can get some more writing out of me. I may have used a bit of poetic license with this one, I'll admit, but in my defense, I haven't written an acrostic poem since perhaps the third grade.

S he silently slips her hand around me from behind

T houghts of mine are interrupted as I turn to her timidly

E ager, I take her hand and lead her to the shower

A ching for love, I press her against the cold tile wall

M y hands move up and down her wet figure as I maneuver myself through the steam