A Year of Poetry by Amanda Paweska
MUSINGS OF A ONE NIGHT STAND
Can cold hands
groping hot flesh
melt the ice?
Can alcohol soaked breath
fuel an eternal flame?
The musings
– the girl who
gives it away
when she’s desperate
to hold on.
Can’t break the cycle,
not when it works;
temporarily.
Daydreams
and fantasies
– stable knights on white horses,
warm glances from drunken eyes.
She still has those,
holds to those.
Sensory depravation
until the morning’s light.
Would someone stay
once they’ve already gone?
Who claims
a conquered territory?
Practice
tells her the answer,
but sweet naïveté
lets her imagine:
Seen past the push up bra
and bunched up panties.
They will want
the kiss swollen mouth
to remember their name.
Childish rationalisations:
saying no brings contempt,
a yes breeds affection.
She doubts;
the sad pathetic show
of slow dances and sharp hips.
No glory to gain,
just grin and bear it.
Does a leopard
change its spots?
Does the sinner
become the saint?
Simple questions,
of love and faith.
Things to deny,
and things to seek out.
The truth always hides
between the sheets,
or in dim lit corners.
But she avoids the light,
and their harsh judgement.
01/05/08
ALTERED STATES
Mother, maiden,
whore.
Never the sum
of its parts
– only pieces,
pasted pieces
that make a familiar form.
No worth
goes un-appraised
by public opinion’s poll.
The truth is never nice,
never correct,
and easily tempted
by the myth you learn.
Did no one tell you,
your sex came at a price?
There are roles
you must fill,
and spaces
you must fit.
Social order, my pet.
Modern mother,
classic whore.
You don’t have to wait
for the judgement
to be damned
– it comes without jury
now inbred values
with every budded breast.
All the convenience
for the new age.
The beautiful can still fall,
but the ugly will never rise.
Don’t fret it, my dear
dissatisfaction comes
with the territory.
You learn of the price
for your social place.
They try and tell you
to reach beyond roles;
but in the end
it’s the spaces
that keep you.
02/20/08
WHITE PICKET FENCES
Secrets lurk
in those last places
anyone dares to look.
No one sees shadows
that hide behind light;
How could they be there?
Little white lies,
everything’s fine, dinner’s fine,
all is up and up.
Black coffee swirls,
add two sugars and smile.
No one needs
the truth.
Virgin words
utter mortal sins,
why listen for that, to it?
Teach them the rules
to never speak out of turn.
Memorial beer bottles
in the toilet tank,
floated, bloated bodies bob;
The hidden tales no one speaks of.
Stumble home, turn and fall.
Out of sight, pay no mind,
it never really happened anyway.
Broken mirrors, shattered faces
or fractures of the picture.
Sweep them up, hide them away,
like written confessions
in blood and steel;
They fester and boil.
Little dark truths
no one ever buys.
Smile.
Just another night passing
behind the ivory bars.
04/08/08
CASUAL POLITICS
Why am I not over you,
when I’d rather be under,
- trapped and marked
by trailed kisses, still.
You lied
(to me, to her, to them, to you)
held my hand as truth;
fake an orgasm, fake a smile
but not that, never that.
Can’t fake a heart’s beat.
No matter how good you are.
Naked before you, I was,
in my eyes, you saw it,
you accepted it.
Maybe even relished it.
No, never cherished, I know.
Can’t get sentimental, not now.
You’re just that good, aren’t you?
A starved man can hunger,
a glutton too,
guess I’ll never learn why you fed,
just that you did.
(stop thinking, stop guessing, stop feeling, stop)
Quick and easy,
doesn’t seem so simple now,
against the plan.
Chalk it up
to lessons learned in the dark.
Fumbling miss steps,
with me so out of practice,
and you in the lead.
No wonder we swerved off course,
and lost our footing, slipped.
Maybe, not that good after all.
Who knows where we’d end up
(nowhere, somewhere, anywhere)
Just slip it over
and tuck it under,
it’s better that way.
I can respect that.
04/11/08
RING ON THROUGH
Answers to questions
I cannot ask,
I cannot begin to form.
Seeking truth, among lies
– the safer, secure world
each of us seeks.
Ask not what you can do,
but where to hide.
Bunkers and bomb shelters
of material wealth
– the capitalistic safe house
made of billing receipts.
It’s a plastic world;
ring on through to the other side.
Direction encompassed
by where-you-are’s little red dot,
as long as you’re checking
from nine until nine.
Business as usual.
Everything is recorded,
for your own safety.
Quality control.
Questions from answers
I never did ask.
I never knew the lingo.
Someone can help you
at the next window.
It’s not faith,
- all sterile and controlled.
Time doesn’t live here
with no face for witness.
Check for pretty packages
and soft, scented tissue.
You’ll find your calling.
It’s a new world;
ring on through.
Lost is the new found,
wear it inside out
as fashion dictates.
Follow the rules.
Holiday hours are in effect.
Leave a message
with the tone –
08/26/08
1:49 AM AND COUNTING
Hanging myself
by the metaphorical rope:
an act of treason
against the self,
the state of the union,
and the soul collective.
Why do they always judge
what they cannot package?
No trademark, or copyright
on the rite of death.
Big budget buyout - bust.
Damage sale, walking wounded.
The coward’s courage;
to stop
or be left twisting in the wind.
Just grin and bear it
as it rides up, bunching.
It looks different on everyone.
One size never does fit all:
misshapen and bloated,
tightening strangle.
Pull at the layers
just to breathe again.
Pre-packaged pills.
Ah, that’s the rub,
the cash cow, or dead horse.
Place your bets now!
Scratching, tearing,
screaming when no one listens.
Help is just a phone call away,
or is that pennies a day?
I forget. Forgot.
Forgave.
Hanging myself
is just a metaphor anyway.
09/10/08
ONCE, BEFORE
Twisted shards
still sparkle,
but the whole is gone;
wasted.
What once was
never can be again.
Like some forgotten fable
of the fantasy princess.
Virgin-whore;
without the title,
and the title makes all the difference.
Untouched, unspoiled
-- laughable! Wasted.
Lips cry and souls bleed:
not all scars
are on the surface,
not all details
count.
You were drawn to it, weren’t you?
- strong will and
sure tongue, once.
Not these
broken pieces;
so easily discarded,
easier to forget.
A latex spilled memory.
Again,
you cry out, beg,
arrange.
Princes don’t
fix bedroom deals.
But we’re working
without titles here...
Labels are a better fit.
Corruption,
that was your promise,
that was your offered gift.
Only, can’t spoil one
who’s already damaged.
Silly curse.
Dirtied little girl,
with the swollen ruby lips;
the fable’s moral twist:
Sleeping dogs lie
and little lambs
they eat ivy.
Onto the slaughter.
Wasted.
11/14/08
THE SNAKE CHARMER
Should’ve walked away,
when I had
half a chance;
stumbling, slipping
on my own two feet,
on my own will;
not crushed
under your weight:
But drawn back.
Tear streaked cheeks
erase, reroute
the free flowed memories;
delusions
in honey coated lies.
The joke of years,
the real months wasted.
- Cowards never
leave tracks home -
What kind of fool
trusts you?
I’ll ask her,
with the gold branded finger,
or the next body
to warm your sheets.
So much to share;
bite marks and poison.
Crawled on your belly,
and still charmed by
that slick, slippery smile.
Trapped, quivering prey;
relished every minute
I did.
Should’ve run,
not lay, offering.
Should’ve learned
before the lesson,
from the seductive serpent.
I’m worse than Eve.
11/19/08
SALVADOR’S SYNDROME
Rage;
Sculpt me
in your image,
with your
cold, callused hands
and slick, slippery
mouth.
My body
moves to you;
you become the artist,
I’m only
your materials.
The inanimate, open canvas
to create
your masterpiece upon.
Display me,
on your private pedestal
of cotton drape
and liquid touch.
The secret viewing.
Rage:
not an art form,
but a penance.
Crumbling marble
under a new touch,
they don’t know
the lines your made,
the curves you’ve carved.
They move
against the grain,
splinters like an open wound.
Weep.
But tear it open, again,
the unskilled feel
of the novice’s dull tools.
Withered and worn,
under harsh morning light;
no soft caress
of appreciation learned.
Naked.
Rage;
ravaged, once.
11/24/08
EPIPHANY
I loved you once
in a dream
when you
looked at me
with hungered eyes;
for a moment
I could believe
in the girlhood fantasies
of true love’s kiss
and the ever after.
But the fog lifts,
our eyes clear;
your stare
grows cold.
No heat beneath
those forceful hands
and dry kisses.
We all grow up.
Chasing passion’s wink
and warm sheets
beyond the prince’s castle.
Where everyone loves you
but no one
speaks your name.
The disenchanted,
the reaffirmed
who stumble home
at dawn’s break.
Loved you, once
before I knew
you reflected in me.
11/25/08
LEGENDARY LIBATIONS
Love – wait!
Criminological theories;
it all comes down
to the five finger discount.
Much easier than
the quest for love,
in all the wrong places.
Faster; easily referenced.
Dewey's decimals,
and Chicago style.
Dumbstruck,
this education
of a felon;
always running
never arriving.
Count back from ten.
Lust –ready!
The crimes of New York,
beyond the myths
and pink hazy lights.
It’s all a footnote,
the real odyssey
is never committed to page.
Reality watches,
naked by the window;
it’s heart swells
with lies and hope.
Relentless pursuits
of truth, justice
and the way home.
If you’re following along,
he replies with a crocked smile.
Liberty – go!
Cheers to the few
who continue the marathon
long after the race has won.
Tittles fade,
their jackets tear;
the immortal call
of another’s words.
One thousand and one
echoes in the darkness,
across the summer wind
-far too late
to say goodbye.
It’s her turn to smile,
may I make
my recommendations now?
11/26/08
