~ she

floats
to the edge of the pool
with her own pomp and circumstance,
and we squint
even behind the darkest of sun shades

snickers skew tight lips,
potatoes chips held suspended over clam dip
crumble between our fingertips
and we shiver under the heat of our own dementia

with arduous sigh I follow
the slant of her smile
and the ageless bounce of bosoms,
the ornamented red of cheek
still the burn of her maidenhood

the dip of her toe into water,
the breezy dismissal of time under weightless chiffon
cast away with a giggle
and we twitter, but no one rushes in to save an old woman

perhaps, she is mercifully blind to the color of melancholy,
never touching the texture of wrinkle, the blemish of crease . . .
simply lost in an euphoria
too fragile to deny her bed fellows
age and heartache


jeannerené 07.09 

vapors

moments when the loneliness
presses so heavy against the chest
the effort to breathe is unbearable
as if the next breath will not reach down
deep enough into its own unconscious will
to draw up and expel yet another whisper

I am this moment’s vapor
rising
and consumed by my voiceless poems


jeannerené 4.08

Conversations with Self-Portrait

My brush stroke remains paralyzed and the portrait scoffs,
an unhurried sigh escaping over its pale lips,

What do you know do you know beyond a dot an iota

with one woman eyes that watch without alteration modulation.
How can you presume consume dialogue with merit to any to all
in monotone tongue and starving palette bleached,
so absurd the notion promotion of unshakeable authority
with and of a single signature fading before my ink dries . . .

In tantrum I bellow,
spattering inadequacies defiant spittle across the canvas,
a scream birthing primordial returned,

I want to know I want to know want to know

the mouth the movement memory of woman
of molecule and mass whose groans moans
rise from stalk and stem
brood blood scattered by winds and wails.
I want
to comprehend the degrees of saturation
the consumption of its darkest dark
the assimilation of its lightest light eyes of she.

Needing
to follow her dance of bare breasts bruises and audacity
round the fires kept burning.
Pining to hold my hands under the belly of her dreams,
feel her curves be my curves.
I paint I devour her essence her undertone
yesterday today tomorrow

I will I will

Kiss the lips of her men,
fall into their arms guileless faultless surrender.
Diminished
backbone, undulating supple compromise conversation.

Portrait, I answer I will not be silent.
I will know all of her.
And with me,
she will fold our arms round my mother.
Beside me,
together, she will surround our daughters,
hunt down our sons with an eye fast on the moonbeam
and a cup held to capture the rain.

Portrait
I can give my brush this command,

Adorn my head with her hats of color.
Give blush to my complexion in gradations of gratitude
of all hues all shades all distinctions

Hush now …
Let me Create


jeannerené 5.06

~ lovie ~

it’s a big big bed
brilliant by sunrise
day rays come a-breakin'
with an angle of reflection
bouncing by monster mahogany
all 'round me, wall to wall
flame grained ball n' claw
carved heavy, heavy as my heart broke in pieces
laid out prim and proper
love petit fours
sliced on silk n' pillow violet, rich and ravenous

it’s a big big bed
rising up from shadows of the moonlight
dawn dancin' on the floor boards
flickerin', frolickin' its luminosity
all 'round me, side to side
accentuate the cry
weary red, weary looking out on a horizon
beyond window room
to magnolia dreams
and magnolia world rooted on my fingertip
wish upon the lips
silhouette, cold and statuesque slipping
through the prism

he moves, the stairs in lyrical vibration
each step a serenade
of tread by tread anticipation
creaks,
I’m coming for you, lovie
creaks
... coming for you, dar-lin
his hand, the balustrade a-sweepin'
softly over mahogany curves, he's dreaming
beautiful, bewitching curves ... gently
his hand
over my shoulders weeping

it’s a big, big lie
smothered, kept breathless between
sin and sacrifice
graffiti dripping behind the mirror
black n' blue in soulless hues
shouting, what’s become of you
the pane so warm beneath my palm
of morning come beyond the monsters
where sparrow sings perched in my hand
and petals, pink and pulpy ... fall

hurry
the sun whispers
he’s calling for you, lovie


jeanne rené 11.07