When I was just a thought in Someone’s mind;
did you, “Someone” know just what that meant?
Perhaps you joined for pleasure you might find;
They join, disjoin, That Seed so hasty sent!
Then I arrived all wet and softly crying.
You introduce Me to this World forever s t r e t c h i n g . . .
Four-Hands then pass Me, still denying;
their Two-Mouths never usher out a blessing!
It’s “okay now” and let my “Strong Bones” B R E A K;
let me rise and fall to know those “deeper smiles”.
Sure, lovingly and all “for learnings sake”,
send Me out to walk cold roads for m i l e s . . .
I learned where Fire-Burns and I will not go.
Four-Hands will not reap from Me what they did sow!
© Reneé Marie 15 OCT 2015
My face slid across your slap
like a glass hydroplaning on
the counter and slung me
straight-on in a frozen glare
that would never be softened.
We broke that day.
My face slid across memories
of how we met; revisiting the joy
of dancing off-duty. You were
the best White Boy I ever saw
do the “Snake”!
We loved those days in
My face slid across the cracks
in your ice, which followed me
like warnings under skates that
the thin-skin I was on and in
could not hold this weight.
But wait, we promised!
My face slid across our timeline,
backward, forward, to infinity and
beyond, and I imagined you
remembering to come back
to say “I’m sorry”.
I truly hoped for that.
My ears landed on Tracy Chapman’s
song, Humming like a cool omen;
“Sorry, is all that you can’t say,
but you can say Baby…”
I knew that day
that the blue-gray ice finally
cracked and we are ALL frigid still –
yes, frozen shards of ancient
hunters and gatherers
© Reneé Marie, October 14, 2015
Living Proof in a Dead Tea
The oblong basket with brittle bands of veneer
in shades of sandy brown,
perched atop her antique refrigerator,
looked like the bottom of Noah’s Ark; our long, long ago love affair.
It cradled, warm conversations yet to be and her herbal tea,
nearly two-by-two and so many more that any space left,
on the fridge, or in the mind’s eye lies more
un-opened chats and cellophane-sealed boxes
for a connoisseur’s careful rotations.
When she takes the basket down
it’s a perfect orchestration;
“I’ll fix us some tea”. Or, “would you like a cup of me, honey?”
Then, I wanted to be the honey-dipped spoon.
I remember stirring in her warm, vowel-consonant songs,
slipping on her teasing tongue.
Her oblong eyes still swim in soothing shades of brown.
Her lips still perfectly arched like the basket weaver’s tale.
She too was: Tension Tamer, Joint Comfort, Delicate, Sweet, Spicy,
Fragrant, Earthy, Smooth, Organic, Egyptian, Green,
Black, Gray, Vanilla, Mango, Hibiscus, Eucalyptus,
Mint, Echinacea, Chamomile, Detox,
Honey Comfort, Caffeine Free and
“yes, I’ll have a cup of Breathe Easy”;
living proof, you took my breath away
like every good sip had, it doesn’t stay on the tongue.
Photo and Poem, © Reneé Marie, 14 OCT 2015
(Yogi Tea message; “Your soul is your highest self”
First World Problem
With Overwhelm, we’ve overstayed the feast.
Side-by-side we gorge until we’re sick!
They, starving still for crumbs; we feed our beast.
Who spread those soiled linens and silverware;
yet claim that all is fresh and fair this time?
Lured-in by promises we won’t pretend to care.
There’s nothing short of Heaven for you here;
pull up a chair and order all you want!
Wanting more of nothing – is nothing now to fear!
As peasants span the Globe with squalors’ rage;
the sellers pander more of nothing, cheap!
And those who reek of Overload claim “safety’s cage”
insist that all along choice is our noble feast;
we slave along to feed our one, collective beast!
Photo and Poem © Reneé Marie, Oct 12, 2015
Massive Action Plans ~ MAPs!
Some say, we ALL do a reconnaissance of our journey
before a single cell arrives in the womb!
I never would have chosen THIS Super Highway without the proper, protective equipment.
I screech along like a loaded city bus on rims!
I don’t even have a warning device;
no horn, no flashers, no bright orange emergency triangle,
NO JUMPER CABLES!
I offer the sweetest “Ode to MAPs” so meticulously drawn
that no one ever, anywhere, at any time, ever beCOMES – LOST!
Yes, I offer “Ode to MAPs” showing the true typography of the land
yet never swallows a single soul down craggy ravines or cracked
and ravaged deserts!
I arrived WITHOUT “a Plan”! So Ode to MAPs that lead to treasures leading someone, somewhere, smiling; for I am told they DO exist!
Photo and Poem, © Reneé Marie, 8 OCT 2015
Broken is the New Beautiful
If OUR “good intentions” could save it all;
precious things, they always fall.
Of course I “trust”
and “hope”, WE must
but do YOU, in truth recall?
poem and photo, © Reneé Marie, 7 OCT 2015