Poetry in April…and The Siren Sings on a Distant Shore

Poetry in April…and The Siren Sings on a Distant Shore

Bienvenidos, El Mes De Abril!  We bow to the ecstatic beauty of April and the showers of poetry that it brings!  Oh how I love Spring!  How fitting it is to challenge myself to pen fresh poems in addition to writing the first draft of my new novel, “Not Without Passion,” as I intend to complete my first spoken word CD/poetry collection, “Soft Tsunami,” this year.

On a poetry stage, behind a mic, I am THESIREN.

                                                     “Women in the Photo #1”

You don’t need to ask how I feel about you
It’s written across our photo in a thousand words
As if we have written “Love, me and you”
At the bottom, scribbled elegantly in the way
Your arm encircles my back or how I caress you with my smile
My body askance, scripted into yours
Poised, as if we are about to dance
Though the camera does not feel your hesitancy.

(c)   Claudia Moss   1/21/06
 

*******************************************************************************

 

Tongues
I am fascinated
By tongues
In all their
Multiplicities
Some maliciously
Charm
Strap arms
And alarm
In tongue-lashing judgments that
leave whelps and scars…
Others
Sweet talk
Tickle
And implode
In naked nuances that pillow the night…
Some motivate
Change history
Adding names
To the list
Of oratory
Like          KiNg      and      GaNdHi      and         KeNneDy
AnGeLoU      and       HiTLEr
Whose honeyed
Or switchblade
Tongues
Leave you                  H      U      N      G…
But to see
A tongue at
Work
Can leave you
Simply sprung
Especially if
It holds a
Tongue degree
Skilled in
The artistry
Of controlling breathing
See
Some tongues are
Ringed
To make you
S      I      N      G
Their beat heat
That sends feet
To dance on ceilings…
If you’ve ever
Been tongued
Without saliva
Hollah
If not,
No bother
You will—
Just be still
And someone is
Bound to spill
The sight
Like the tongue
That teased me
At the party
Last night
It was               Unmercifully
Darting
Shafting
Flitting
Stinging
Zipping
Ripping
Velcro-ing
Me to the                 S      I      G      H      T
The vision wicked
Like a cobra
In a basket
Stuck, I couldn’t help
Thinking:
“Do whatever
With it,
But stick it
In my
Suggestion box, please…”
The melody
Of Spanish tongues
Enthuses me
Looses me
In revelry…
Deseo ver el fuego
En sus ojos                porque     
Cuando tu escribas su nombre
A traves de mi corazon
Beseme y
Comame como un dulce
De dedo la medura…
In company
I was told
To
H      O      L      D
My tongue
As little girls
Were meant
To be seen
Like a store-bought
Painting
Not having
Anything to say
That might mean
Something
Thus
Little girls
Became
Voice-less
Beings…
And let us
Not forget
Granma’s favorite adage,
“If you don’t
Have anything
Nice to say,
Don’t,
Say nothin’ at all,
Which
In essence
Translates,
“Say something.
Don’t leave it
At nothing.”
But a tiny tongue’s truth might
Challenge Granma’s sensibilities
As Granma…………..Who knows out of the Mouth of a Child
Could come a hurtful truth……….Might yet be
Soothing  
A wayward child inside
Whose tiny tongue
Once charged a debt Granma’s backside
Paid in a switched      H      I      D      I      n      G…
I commemorate
An organ
Weighing less than
An ounce
For as surely
As numbered hairs
The Power of
Life and Death
Resides there
On the tip
Of your
Tantalizing
Truth-welding
Teasing
Take that
Tongue…
 ©   Claudia Moss   08/29/05
                                                                           

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“This is a Love Poem”
From me to my heart
Written in the sensual ink of self-love and gratitude
A Goddess
Painted me in Her image
To define myself
To embrace my likeness
To Divinity
Blessed I AM I don’t
Bow to
Hetero-skewed notions
Of what I should be
No, that’s why this is a Love Poem to me
If left up to you
I would be
Effaced as you think I AM
My footprints already eschewed from the sand
‘Cause your voice and your media
Proselytize lesbians don’t exist
After forty
Much like all women whose parts deflate
Their guarantee
Proven fake
If under the knife   they don’t go
To maintain
Their womanly refrain
That keeps you sane
In your love poem in the lustiness of
Your midnight porn where
Two curved angels
Wings flapping
Breasts fluttering
Thighs quivering
For you          while you stoke
A furnace you intend
For them
Being you figure who else could be the center
Of their erotic fantasies
Never minus testoste
RUN…
It’s a known fact in your Male festo
Dykin’ is fun                        a’ight even
Long as it’s enacted
Under your supervision,    a result of your decision
To please self
Every verse in this Love Poem whispers to me
In soft-lipped, glossy revelries
Of an endless love
A timeless promise
That I AM
The One
A sea-slick Venus
A bare-breasted Isis
Or
The thick-thighed Nzinga
The honey-voiced Nefertiti
Here to right nothing       ‘cause Nothing Really Matters   like Hill sings
Outside of my desires and whims
So I let the world write itself
As that is the way She has it        being She is Love
Like Walt’s Mulan              my duty is to my heart
Thus, when I harken to its calling
When the curtains rise
And I star in my own eyes
I do me:
Loving who I love
Saying what I say
Writing what I write
Dancing how I dance
I am a Sapphic Siren
Singing on a sugary shore
Serenading the sea
I am a Golden Goddess
Doesn’t matter who tires of women
Claiming the right to be               thus
I’m patiently content
Grateful for my Queen’s certain advent
See, this is a Love Poem
And in it I AM the gift
Of me
To myself and
I need no other reason to be
©   Claudia Moss   2/1/2011
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