Poet. Poem. Poetry. Prose.

I didn’t realize this, but April is National Poetry Month.

Poetry: the topic is not so much as important, as the freedom to bend and shape it.

For me, writing poetry is an outlet. I go there when I cannot sleep, when my soul is restless and weary, reverent and grateful, or simply inspired to say something that refuses to reveal itself within conventional understanding.

Unlike writing commercial fiction, poetry affords liberties and gratuitous indulgences, allowing the writer to spread those wings hidden beneath the plumage of her everyday attire. The restrictions and confinements are only those the author arbitrates. And in my poetry — whether I be reading or writing it — there no restrictions. All is fair, just so long as what is written is done so with integrity and behooves the reader/writer, alike.

With that said, and lest I shock a few of you, I should tell you that the writing you’ll find below isn’t the norm; though I am the woman who sing praises to the One who loves me Divinely, equally, I am the woman who writes of the one she calls husband. Passion takes many forms; it is impartial, favoring neither the provocateur, nor the christian. I believe there is a misconception that passion cannot share a bed with morality. It can, and I do. There is lust and there is love, and passion fuels them both. I, however, choose to funnel mine through love.

This poem was written for a contest judged by the Poet Laureate himself, Billy Collins. The only precept was that it must start with the sentence “I want to play in a band.”

It received the honor of third place, and I am very proud to share it with you.

Have a wonderful day, everyone.

 

Emblazoned Chords

I want to play in a band

with a crazy name, using my Hips Like Magnets,

and making music that sticks

like a sultry whisper caught in a spider’s web.

Cloaked in a heady aroma, burning

hot capable booze and false promises, I stalk the wall;

watching you, watch me, watch you.

I came here for the music;

to bathe in the buoyant lyrics, and leave

my brined silhouette stained on the dance floor.

I came here to nip the cherry from the stem,

flicking and folding, until I have a fine piece of artwork.

I came here for this and that and such and such,

but when I tuck the curl you love most behind my ear, I remember

I came here for you.

Held in musician’s embrace, you cradle something inconsequential.

An electric guitar, perhaps.

I close my eyes and it’s gone, replaced

with my body, willing and able.

Smirking into my stomach, you make me shudder,

stroking my emblazoned chords — making me sing for you.

I do, and the song is ours, just like our his-and-hers towels.

A  drunken stranger in a loosened lavender tie

stumbles into me, virtuously claiming his

innocence, and roaming apologetic hands and slurry sentences

punctuated with stale discontent from last night’s one night stand.

His CEO fingers are nothing like yours

that clench when you see him, lifting the leather strap over your head.

But I catch you just in time, holding your stare until you’ve reversed.

Be calm, my love.

The distance between us, once toothsome and tolerated,

has grown heavy and impatient, threatened by the amorphous fray.

Close and closer, I move; slaloming,

swaying, sashaying, and syncopating.

Beneath you, the rosy red haze envelops

your skin, until you melt right off the stage and into my magnet hips.

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54 thoughts on “Poet. Poem. Poetry. Prose.

  1. oh is that sexy! that was fun. let me ask a question. this line:

    my brined silhouette stained on the dance floor.

    i’m wondering if you should remove the D in stained. depends on what you meant. if you meant that your silhouette (one of my favorite words) will be stained and on the dance floor, then the D belongs. but if you’re only leaving the stain – like a shadow – on the floor, then it might be better without the D.

    either way is great, just wasn’t sure which you meant.

    love the magnetic hips. and the ones in the poem too!

    • Jonel,

      Whewee! When you said erotic, I actually cringed; not to say you are wrong . . . I think, yes, some parts are quite erotic, but I don’t know. That word, it’s always seemed, how shall I put this delicately . . . wet. LOL.

      Thank you!

  2. Oh Cara! Brilliant! I haven’t read first and second place winners but I think your poem should have won first place. I am continuously blown away by your talent. You make me laugh, you make me cry, pull at my heart strings and make me even get angry with you. A true talent my dear!

    • Elisa, thank you always for having a kind word for me. I imagine you are the type of woman and mom that, win or fail, success or failure, you are always cheering on the sidelines. 🙂

      Ah, first is such a pretty concept, isn’t it. I’ll continue to strive for her, but be thankful for her less fancy cousins.

      Have a beautiful day, my friend!

  3. This is hands down my favorite post of yours of all time. This is riveting and the near fisticuffs just blew this up for me. Sultry and evocative of days that are all too fleeting. Wow, this is just excellent! This is the Cara and the passion I know brings your pen to paper. Boom goes the dynamite here and this little light just shone for the planet.

  4. Cara,

    This poem is so beautifully written! The youthful love and passion you feel for your one and only is captured perfect and everlasting in this piece. The musician, the seductive dance… It takes me back to my own early days of reckless abandon and reminds me why, after all these years, I am still in love with my husband.

    Here’s to a lifetime of endless love cara mia!

    Lori

  5. This has always been one of my favorites My Love! And I agree with everyone else . . . you should have taken first place. I am a little biased though ;-). This is just a little glimpse into how “rich” your writing is, stealing that perfect description from one of your beta-readers for Awakening Foster Kelly. I cannot wait for others to have the chance to experience this kind of richness woven throughout AFK. You truly will be resurrecting a long lost art of romantic literature, without sacrificing the nuances of modern life and culture.

    • Ah, Bubba . . . you know that so long as you love my writing, this heart of mine is full and content.

      You, 10 years later, are my greatest piece of writing. And I, yours.

  6. What a great read! I love reading your stuff… my favorite part was very early “using my hips like magnets” but it sucked me right in to a very seductive poem…I loved it!!

  7. Cara,

    This is very impressive. I do not get the chance to read often as I am swamped here lately but this is truly beautiful and erotic all at the same time.

    🙂 Christi B

  8. As someone else said, it’s raw and sexy. It’s steaming, it’s alive and it’s full of music and sound. What a wonderful poem. Nothing wrong with passion. Congratulations with the third place even if it is some time ago. Besides I enjoyed reading the whole post. The reason you write poems, is the same reason any artist do whatever he og she does. It’s something we have to do. The freedom of expression.

    • My goodness, what a lovely comment! Thank you for coming by and leaving me your thoughts. That you enjoyed the entire post confounds me in the most delightful way. I am beginning to think most people don’t actually “read” per se, but “skim” and “glance” and do all sorts of other fleeting things when visiting. Time, as they say, is of the essence. But to have something read in its entirety is a compliment indeed. Again, thank you.

      “The reason you write poems, is the same reason any artist do whatever he or she does. It’s something we have to do. The freedom of expression.” That was beautifully said.

      Hope you have a wonderful day,
      Cara

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