The Married Life
All the sex and beauty I want.
Hot shot. Wise Guy. Lucky duck,
you could say. Strawberries in sun.
The wife pins me with awards,
ribbons like generals in Panama.
I'm president in my own little burg.
She draws me naked, her feet
sweet as paid nights with a geisha.
Heavy birds fly-in with first light.
Talk soft as removing white gloves,
whispers over a Bombay cordial,
our nesting feathers side by side.
She palms my plump penis,
rotund as African bananas,
rainy afternoons with solo cello.
She combs her hair. Swept back,
swept away. Glissando, cantata.
Perfect.
The Married Life
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BobBradshaw
- Posts: 2688
- Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Re: The Married Life
What gorgeous work! It's like an unforgettable painting, that I want to return to again and again. The imagery is as romantic and as good as it gets. I could cite any of the stanzas, all gems. My favorite line is 'our nesting feathers side by side'. If you want this poem nominated for the IBPC, it will be my honor. This poem makes my day!
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Michael (MV)
- Posts: 2154
- Joined: 18 Apr 2005, 04:57
Re: The Married Life
a ukiyo poem
sensual & sensuous = sensualous & sensuousal
sensorama sensoriuminteresting title - one doesn't - or maybe I should say 2 or more in unison don't need to be literally married to live/experience a harmony.
workshop share --
you could say. Strawberries daily
^^ my inner echo: "strawberry fields forever"
She draws me naked, her feet
sweet as geisha-nights.
She massages my florid penis,
a poem from Li-Young Lee to accompany your floating world:
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems- ... tail/48803
Michael (MV)
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BobBradshaw
- Posts: 2688
- Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Re: The Married Life
Li-Young Lee's poem is one of his best. It was great to see it again...thx, Michael
Re: The Married Life
Bob---
you stir my heart. and Lee's poem, the last verse:
But I know
it is because of the way
my mother’s hair falls
when he pulls the pins out.
Easily, like the curtains
when they untie them in the evening.
oh, i wish i had thought of the wonderful detail, pins,
pins when removed, the sound of hair falling as when curtains are untied at evening...how subtle, evening implying intimacy and not just night.
Michael---
still trying to fix them strawberries.
strawberries unlit...
strawberries in sunlight.
strawberries on ice.
thanks for the close look.
bernie
you stir my heart. and Lee's poem, the last verse:
But I know
it is because of the way
my mother’s hair falls
when he pulls the pins out.
Easily, like the curtains
when they untie them in the evening.
oh, i wish i had thought of the wonderful detail, pins,
pins when removed, the sound of hair falling as when curtains are untied at evening...how subtle, evening implying intimacy and not just night.
Michael---
still trying to fix them strawberries.
strawberries unlit...
strawberries in sunlight.
strawberries on ice.
thanks for the close look.
bernie
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SivaRamanathan
- Posts: 1168
- Joined: 14 May 2011, 20:30
Re: The Married Life
Bernie
A poem certainly for the IBPC. Bob can nominate and I wish to second the nomination.
I don't know about the use of florid penis.
' She masturbates my florid penis,' But if everyone is okay with it then let it remain.
S
A poem certainly for the IBPC. Bob can nominate and I wish to second the nomination.
I don't know about the use of florid penis.
' She masturbates my florid penis,' But if everyone is okay with it then let it remain.
S
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SivaRamanathan
- Posts: 1168
- Joined: 14 May 2011, 20:30
Re: The Married Life
Bernie
The 'florid penis' sounds effeminate; at least in this part of the world.
Your take.
Siva
The 'florid penis' sounds effeminate; at least in this part of the world.
Your take.
Siva
Re: The Married Life
florid penis....i understand you. but i like a dangerous image. risky....not just pretty poems, but an edge, sometime, too.
it's just out, but a blockbuster to me....Arundhati Roy---of Delhi. The Ministry of Utmost Happiness...
for me, just fantastic....look at this key excerpt:
The next morning, when the sun was up and the room nice and warm, she unswaddled little Aftab. She explored his tiny body — eyes nose head neck armpits fingers toes — with sated, unhurried delight. That was when she discovered, nestling underneath his boy-parts, a small, unformed, but undoubtedly girl-part.
Is it possible for a mother to be terrified of her own baby? Jahanara Begum was. Her first reaction was to feel her heart constrict and her bones turn to ash. Her second reaction was to take another look to make sure she was not mistaken. Her third reaction was to recoil from what she had created while her bowels convulsed. . . . Her fourth reaction was to contemplate killing herself and her child. Her fifth reaction was to pick her baby up and hold him close while she fell through a crack between the world she knew and worlds she did not know existed. There, in the abyss, spinning through the darkness, everything she had been sure of until then, every single thing, from the smallest to the biggest, ceased to make sense to her. In Urdu, the only language she knew, all things, not just living things but all things — carpets, clothes, books, pens, musical instruments — had a gender. Everything was either masculine or feminine, man or woman. Everything except her baby. Yes of course she knew there was a word for those like him — Hijra. Two words actually, Hijra and Kinnar. But two words do not make a language.
thanks for your comments.....and i have removed one word from the original poem...
bernie
it's just out, but a blockbuster to me....Arundhati Roy---of Delhi. The Ministry of Utmost Happiness...
for me, just fantastic....look at this key excerpt:
The next morning, when the sun was up and the room nice and warm, she unswaddled little Aftab. She explored his tiny body — eyes nose head neck armpits fingers toes — with sated, unhurried delight. That was when she discovered, nestling underneath his boy-parts, a small, unformed, but undoubtedly girl-part.
Is it possible for a mother to be terrified of her own baby? Jahanara Begum was. Her first reaction was to feel her heart constrict and her bones turn to ash. Her second reaction was to take another look to make sure she was not mistaken. Her third reaction was to recoil from what she had created while her bowels convulsed. . . . Her fourth reaction was to contemplate killing herself and her child. Her fifth reaction was to pick her baby up and hold him close while she fell through a crack between the world she knew and worlds she did not know existed. There, in the abyss, spinning through the darkness, everything she had been sure of until then, every single thing, from the smallest to the biggest, ceased to make sense to her. In Urdu, the only language she knew, all things, not just living things but all things — carpets, clothes, books, pens, musical instruments — had a gender. Everything was either masculine or feminine, man or woman. Everything except her baby. Yes of course she knew there was a word for those like him — Hijra. Two words actually, Hijra and Kinnar. But two words do not make a language.
thanks for your comments.....and i have removed one word from the original poem...
bernie