Metamorphosis

Posted on November 22, 2011 by

Holding court
in the kitchens,
under counters,
behind the sinks, and
on the streets.
Craving consumption and
barrio binging while
los vencinos bring swarms
of whistling good morning
pleasantries, buenos días.
Devouring de la calle currency,
“Did you see? Do you know?”
“She’s not who she says
she is…” (¿Cajera?)
“He’s not who he says he is…”
¡Qué pasa! ¡Callejera!
Chewing, biting, burning.
Masticating (publicly),
“I know you know what
I know you know.”
No. Nursery rhyme
jump rope goes:
Sticks and stones-
break broke broken bones.
Fallen by the word (¡Me molesta!)
bugged bothered but not broken.
Hester Prynne’s ornate letter A-
scarlet –lovely, sparkles in the sun
revealing a bugged house too small,
a caja packed with suspicions,
tape and addressed to:
“ the slut I know you’re
bent on becoming.”
Bumrush of creeping,
crawling and cutting
cartoon bugs,once happy
in the dark, now carrying on
in the middle of our street.

Posted in Bilingual, Cynthia Pittmann, Metaphor, music, Poems, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Desire

Posted on November 12, 2011 by

They told me to take a street-car named Desire, and transfer to one called Cemeteries, and ride six blocks and get off at—Elysian Fields! (Blanche Debois in Tennessee Williams’ drama.)

Desire named in
real conversation but
stories inflate, shock and
tempt. (Her husband’s man-love
and suicide deemed too strong
for the Commission; and her boy love?
“Why he’s just seventeen!”)
Derailed in the Land of the Dead.
Blanche’s Greek drama caught in
magnolia blossom, flimsy scarf,
near black and white. Her
place-less plantation fallen to
debauchery. Once sheltered, then
shown and shut in. Condemned.
Brando brute unmasks both raw
and hungry. His apartment, well
off the French Quarter, pokes
bets and constant craving. Lusting
after life and trading
on decency. Southern chivalry
escorts Our Lady to Castles in the
Air where her blue veined wrists,
gently powdered, reveal deep tracks.

Outside Tailgate where the player plays,
Cajun crawdads boil toy lobsters and
gluttony under the yellow moon. Green,
beige, and deep maroon steam
red on Fat Tuesday’s feast.
Marti Gras and carnival call,
“It’s okay by me, if it’s okay bayou!”

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Urban Fetus

Posted on November 9, 2011 by

Unborn again.
Secrets on paper
torn and burned in
pyres of canvas
and paint. A gesture of
Monet’s anger frustration fury.
Desire dampened but
dries out again.

Ecstasy, a pill a thrill
given in the closet.
(I know this after-hours place…)
Euphoria rave and
freedom by design.
We have no secrets.

Red orange yellow
burst through
fountain brush
spray splatter swirl
on Cin-cin’s stall.
Corralled by pen.
Pinned stiff to be
extracted.

Womb waves contract,
crash and contort. Artist
wall blanched blank again
for a mural moment of
graffiti, grappled with
and pressed out.
Turn away.

Washed canvas.
We have no secrets…still
I never knew some of those
secrets of yours.

 

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Mangrove

Posted on October 19, 2011 by

Mangle rojo
root spread wide
toe buds, stipular
ring, aerial roots.
Directionless
expanding Om
attracting light to
mercury depths,
agua caliente.
Medusa locks
reaching tendrils
tangle, entwine, clutch.
Life panting through
slippery schools,
overwash basin,
swamp bosque.
Unheeded guru.
Tempestuous wind
twists sharply at
haven below.
Knots open,
rhythmic current
pulses debris
ashore.

Posted in Cynthia Pittmann, music, Poems, Poetry, Weather, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Adi Shakti

Posted on October 18, 2011 by

Mantou dashing under
Crushing wave-bursts
Spray, splash, spill
Dash, dart, drill
Pour open skin
Shell-shock liquid glass
Center silk quiet
Gentle spectrum light
Sigh hints of You.
Bitten not dead.
Open not empty.
After the fall.
Before the known.
Found but lost.
You there, here,
and here, there.
Broken, tossed, dipped.
Returning, parting,
allowing, refusing.
Sea-slush and diadems
offering mantra
waves relentless.
Hari Har

Nothing but waves:

Posted in Cynthia Pittmann, Poetry, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

1010

Posted on October 16, 2011 by

“Every pleasure or pain has a sort of rivet with which it fastens the soul to the body and pins it down and makes it corporeal, accepting as true whatever the body certifies.” Socrates

Amuse-bouche
Drawn in
Pulled through
Twisted under
Monroe platinum
Rounded hips
Arched brow
Breathe rouge
Bone stretch
Carmel flesh

Entrée
Fired wood
Carpet cushion
Spiral wrought
Breeze caress
Orchid bloom
Satin length
White heat
Pleasure-pain
Undone

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Encounter

Posted on October 16, 2011 by

Dervishes collecting sky,
sea and shore-tossed orchids
Casting Sufi smiles, pearls and patience
to those hidden in the wave’s barrel.
Lifting lantern flames to meet strummed
sea glass, verdant fingers reach to capture
sand and seaweed. Turbaned shells sigh
while coral crushes under, deflecting
moonlight and surrendering to salted
sliver torrents. Collapsing conch shell
rests as the muted tide retreats.

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