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russet woman: July 2009

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Friday, July 24, 2009. Keep falling for boys that can't love me,. Trying to salvage what's left of us,. Children of the age where the war is never won—. Like backroad trucks pulled by magnets away from ourselves,. Sold for spare parts. To distant from that loss, of being wantneeded in the world,. Cedar planks by the railroad tracks. Where bone-thin birds nest—. These once were a barn,. Held sweet hay, thickropes calmcows. Some young man's livelihood. Piling them in my truck, each splinter. And words that...

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russet woman: "this is what summer should be"

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Wednesday, July 1, 2009. This is what summer should be". A blackwinged brighthearted fairie ladygirl said about this poem. Not so sure. I know I'm free when I let the wind dry my hair on a sunset bike ride, some ghost-transplant from a mother-tea-tree-teacher time, a city truly connected finding roots in this sun-burn suburbs, let the summer storm air tie knots in my hair and leave them—as markers, a fence against fingers, tokens of a brook-smooth lightning-laced affection. When the first thing. 8211; ro...

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russet woman: October 2008

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Sunday, October 19, 2008. The paralyzing commonsense notion that everyone,. Even the most radical of the radical, plays a role in the status quo. Hides the subversive possibility that all of us- even the radicals-. Can refuse our roles." - rtmag. A lot of stuff that's been buzzing in my head lately in terms of society has been voiced in the issues of " Rolling Thunder. And while anarchy may strike me as a particularly angry and destructive way of reform, aren't rage and destruction part of the balance as...

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russet woman: June 2009

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Wednesday, June 3, 2009. After taking the "quiz" - mostly an interesting look into vocabulary and identity involving HELLA checkboxes - you can view the "who chose what" statistics. The interestingest thing I've done in a while - thanks to Sinclair. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). The constant balance: poet-hippie-activist like an acrobat, chasing Beauty in every form. This is where the poetry lives: pieces that are either too long for publication, or too damn good not to share. View my complete profile.

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russet woman: women, poets: do not do this

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Monday, May 11, 2009. Women, poets: do not do this. 8220;Do I fall for men not this girl’s father—as fuel? As a tonic for the waiting? As a way to ruin? As a way to subvert some painful remnant? It is so easy to abandon the self—-as the lover becomes the constant daydream which life interrupts. From Kimiko Hahn’s “After Opening her Text” – from The Narrow Road to the Interior. Dammit, is there something on my skin? Cut the mane, cut the cords, I look into menboys eyes. Love is the chain around my heart,.

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russet woman: March 2009

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Friday, March 20, 2009. Poem that bubbled up from a friend's poetry and the fond memories I only barely have of "canning season". there seems to be a theme with putting puzzles pieces together. if only I could glue them in place. His poetry right now is. A sweet sigh. In silk-steamy morning. Light it shines sometimes, like. Then fall. such mundane breaking,. How we like to have things. Put together— the simple contentment. Of the top of a jar of jam—. Crushed jewels of berries and. My front step, waiting.

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russet woman: May 2009

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Monday, May 11, 2009. Women, poets: do not do this. 8220;Do I fall for men not this girl’s father—as fuel? As a tonic for the waiting? As a way to ruin? As a way to subvert some painful remnant? It is so easy to abandon the self—-as the lover becomes the constant daydream which life interrupts. From Kimiko Hahn’s “After Opening her Text” – from The Narrow Road to the Interior. Dammit, is there something on my skin? Cut the mane, cut the cords, I look into menboys eyes. Love is the chain around my heart,.

russetwoman.blogspot.com

russet woman: November 2008

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Saturday, November 1, 2008. A response to: people who say I worry to much. To worry for her,. Einstien of strings and written word,. Is to fall into a groove- my addiction to. Defending what I hold dear. A high school career spent in. Worry and wonder,. My stomach flips when her parents name. Flashes on the caller id. Hoping it isn't time yet. It's a habit habit habit I can't break-. Spent hours last night staring at. Our empty phones,. The clock in my head -. He whispers in the dark. Have you seen her.

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russet woman: July 2008

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Sunday, July 27, 2008. Write a poem, a book with how I've not. Your body knows what you do not, and my desires don't line up with my needs. A desire that goes deeper than sex or death, deeper than your fingers around my wrists or my lips on his neck. Skin on skin is soul on soul, desires and needs I'm still trying to reconcile. It is only touch—it is only through. Pianist hand between my knees,. Fingers long enough to. Crush love from down the road and even. Those caresses I savored; massage chair. So th...