YGM » Poetry

Dowe Digters – uitdaging: skaamlippe van skryf

Feylian — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 14:34:44 +0000

(i)

My skaamlippe ken die taal slegs tweedehands

(wat die mond van vol is syfer deur die slukderm)

My hart praat verraaier rooinek vlot

(wat die hart van vol is drup deur die ribbes)

In my skede stotter meng die tale blooswarm en gladdebek lieg

o|o

Ek het jou hemp gesteel

Dit ruik soos jy, en vanmiddag se sitrus|sweet|seks

Jy, wat my onvoorwaardelike liefde belowe

Ek, wat net weet van oester koue tabasco en sjampanje spyker

en so min van jou

Bitch’s love leaves

Feylian — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 06:45:19 +0000

The whitegreen capsules valiantly battle

the rising tar

Mostly the pills work

Mostly the pills don’t

The tar claws scrabble against the plexiglass pills the resultant

plastic scrapings rise in my gorge

leaving my eyes baggy and my mien

weary and blackgreen jaded

Mostly the pills work

Mostly the pills don’t

Of jonesing

Feylian — Thu, 15 Sep 2011 20:56:17 +0000

Would you kiss me

swipe your crooked thumbs over my heart

moulding the needles of your heroin fingers in the interstices of my ribcage

Would you trail your lips

on my jaw and hold my pulse in your palm

knowing me

Would you catch my sloshing qi

in the hollow where your heart used to be?

A vignette

Feylian — Thu, 13 Jan 2011 12:18:07 +0000

I only remember. I remember the heart attack symptoms of joy and fluttering excitement at the possibility of it all. The maybe of a fingertip tracing the inside of my wrist, of accidental touches and fresh-spicy aftershave.

I remember feeling understood and understanding, finally, and therefore for a moment not being alone in this universe. I remember his eyes crinkling and witty, Woody Allen script type conversations. I remember him whistling Disney themes when the lights went out because he knew they made us both feel like there were no limits on romance and being in love forever.

I remember him tucking me under his arm, close to his side, so that I could lean on him because I had broken a heel and we walked in the moonlit city. I remember him telling me what the stars we couldn’t see looked like.

I remember listening to St Elmo’s Fire (not the world’s most modern nor deep song) with him and feeling that just breathing the same air as he would make life perfect. I remember him dropping me off at my house and using his coat to shield me from the rain, and feeling his body heat and breathing him. Then I remember the kiss and the all body hug that lasted for a long enough time for me to compare every other kiss and every other hug to it and finding that it can’t.

Of life recently of discovering a new (for me) poet

Feylian — Wed, 26 May 2010 14:23:06 +0000

Ok, so half the title is inane; but it is apt. I haven’t written anything other than proposals the past blog-silent months and because of this I am rabidly hungry* for success. Not the kind of success where you go to your school reunion bursting to tell, modestly/humbly, of your career choice and sporting pert breasts and a post pregnancy inverted belly (3 year old math/violin prodigy & delicious Himself in tow) and downplaying it, nooo. I want the kind of success that has you not attending school reunions because you are too busy being consulted by Steve Jobs. Or @Mashable or @TechCrunch or a few hundred Forbes level CEO’s…

Let’s leave the beaver-cheek-causing frustration that is work, aside. Just thinking about how badly I want to make it makes me sympathise with reality show contestants and that, dear readers, makes me want to lash myself 15th century style.

So, consider me hobbled until one of the 3 options I currently have pays out. And I mean pays, as in cash money, preferrably in monthly installments so that I can get an iPad*** and be featured on it, eventually.

1. Word of the day: esurient – The Sage: 1. devouring or craving food in great quantities

2. Insight of the day: Suppressing frustration and want makes Feylian a rabid little ferret.

3. State of the pool: furiously churning and rebelliously sloshing against the shrinking walls of the pool

4. Joys of the day: Rives (I skipped the TED intro, you should know it by now), 2 meetings which went goddam brilliantly**, dinner with El the Legend and our Taye Diggs look alike neighbour****.

5. Awesomest lines: Kite by Rives

And so I made for you a kite, enormous,
out of coat hangers, brown paper bags
and the masking tape from that drawer in your kitchen,
and I hung it in the hallway
where you couldn’t hardly miss it,
and I tagged that kite with my words,
I wrote:

Just so you know–

My weird mind wanders and my brave heart breaks.
I’ve nailed some milestones, but I’ve made mistakes,
Cuz I got more faults than a map of California earthquakes.

I am taking a nap beneath your covers.
Wake me if you like me.
Wake me if you want me
Wake me if you need another poem.

Your once and future lover
has made himself at home.

*Hungry is perhaps not the right word. Look at the word of the day. That’s me, baby.

**If it did otherwise I would’ve dragged its sorry asses to the corner of the room and hissed it into submission. Mama ain’t playin’ nice no more.

*** A legitimate wish and don’t you eyeroll at me or call me a fangirl. I am not. It is just bloody cool and I want one.

****I would like to point out that he is funny, articulate and smoking hot.If she doesn’t flirt I’ll be forced to stab her with the salad fork. Which we don’t have. The plastic handled cheap fork then. With hot sauce on it.

Thoughtfulness

Feylian — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 12:23:15 +0000

My normal response would be to wrap my arms around you

cradle the nape of your neck in my hands slide my fingers in the thumbshapednooks behind your ears and kiss you

(while the rhythm of your pulse resonates in me)

Kiss you until you have no breath left in you and the air rushes back in with a swoosh

But since I can’t do that,

Instead,

I sedately scribble on you using the ocean swirls of your irises.