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Domina, POETRY

Twenty-One

emorywolf3

Soft delicate hands
cover my eyes
goose bumps shiver
gentle lips press my ear
“guess who.”
the words tickle my ear.
I turn and press my lips against hers

“I was another person.”

I look down
a kiss
That’s not enough,…is it?
It’s all changed now.
Whatever I lost,
What ever I cried for
is not mine.
Those wild gentle eyes
can never be mine.

But they were within my reach.
Didn’t you see it?
Alright it’s true
nothing is ever enough;
images split truths
into empty liquor bottles
spread across the floor.

Sooner or later
we all must throw up
dreams to stain the sheets

POETRY, Uncategorized

Trees

emorywolf3

There’s an owl,
just outside my window,
in the trees.
Her claws firmly fastened onto a branch;
moonlight reflects thro’ her feathers.

Should I be so bold,
to ask her to rest upon my arm?
Would I dare?

There’s a street corner
I can stand on
Shout
And over-react,
As the headlights reach thro’ the darkness.

I can think of a few things to say.

 

thoughts

A thought on Ants

emorywolf3

I learned something a few days back
about ants.

Ants can’t eat the food they get.
They have to bring it back to the colony;
then the larvae break it down.
The larvae eat and regurgitate the food,
so the adult ants can eat.
So my first question was.
What came first the ant or the larva?
Then my next question.
When down through the evolution of the ant,
did this happen?

But I guess I need to tell you
why ants have this problem.
It’s their waist line.
It’s so small.

Ok, now back to these thoughts
and trying to answer my own questions.

There’s a story in the history of the Hopi,
a Native American tribe,
about one of the end of the world cycles
there’d been three so far.
I’m pulling this off the back shelves of my brain
so I can’t remember which end it was,
the first, second or the third;
or if the end was flame, flood, or something else;
nevertheless, the ants took the Hopi’s into their home
and being such good hosts,
they fed the Hopi well, eating little themselves.
So over time the ants kept tightening their belts
so that they are as they are now,
having those thin model Barbe doll waists.

So maybe that’s the answer to the questions.
Seems a little crazy, I know;
but, the insect guy who told me the facts about the ants
had no explanation,
so I had to make up my own theory.

Feel free to reply with your thoughts on the whole matter,
’cause I still wonder
what is truth?
And what is Memorex.

dreams

Dream 8noc17

emorywolf3

I pulled her hair back,
gripping her by the elbow to steady her
as she puked over the staircase railing.
In between her heaves,
she explained how her father had pitied those at war.
“He was a true pacifist. He’d never fight,”
Sirens went off in the distance.
“and he never got angry.”
Some explosions sounded.
I wanted to explain to her
even Jesus and Buddha got mad at times;
but now wasn’t the time.
As people started yelling fire,
I helped her down the rest of the stairs,
pushed the bar on the exit door;
light and smoke filtered into the air;
we walked out of the building
and went to a bench that rested under a tree.
We could see the fire trucks
and their red lights dimly through the smoke.
As we sat down, she remarked.
‘I think I’m paying for those bread sticks.’

dreams

dream7nov17

emorywolf3

I don’t remember much of the back story
or really why I at the university that I was at
or why I was walking through the building thhat I was.
but I walked into a class that was finishing
an exam
there was a lithe brunette hair woman teacher
and I stopped
with my back pack on my shoulder
and I saw she was in some distress

“are you alright?”

at first she was defensive
than she
i guess saw the sincerity on my face.
and told me.

damn its slipping.
but to put the the whole thing in a package
was we talked
and we got into god
it seemed
she had been a Catholic
all her life she had gone to church
and she had stopped
and she was bothered

and I
well I as i told her I got my self baptized when I was eight
never really went to church much after that
but I studied all religions
believed all were the same god.
and she just began
breaking down and crying
I held her
while all her students just looked on
it was OK.
and then she went blind.

“I can’t see”

was what she kept repeating.
I told her calm down.
and look into herself
in her minds eye
don’t worry about what the texts said.

what did she see
I can’t tell you
but she calmed down.
kissed me,
and thanked me
told me she could see again.
and just held me
asking me not to let go.
so we sat there on the floor
with her sleeping bag and book
holding one another.

that’s when i woke up
with my keyboard beside my head on the floor.

now after I typed this
little facts start coming to my mind.
she was teaching a anthropology class.
it was a night class.
I don’t know why they all had their sleeping bags.
the class number was 477.
she had a little note grasped in her hand
it was where she wrote her poetry.
i’m not sure any more if she was Catholic,
but that just that she went to church ever since she was a child.

its almost gone,
just her out of focus face
and thee smell of her perfume.
and now that is slipping away to.