Barefoot

Half of my soul is a hippie
A Fleetwood Mac loving, Allman Brothers singing,
pretty gypsy tattoo slinging, I can’t remember if I cried
when I left on that midnight train to Georgia
kind of girl
All free verse
Living fast out of a suitcase
(One of the best times of my life)
I went to an Eagles concert last Wednesday
Joe Walsh is still a badass
I feel underfed
Baby, I can’t tell you why…

The other half is everything they read to me
in school,
Swift and Keats and cultivated sensibility
Art, wine cellars,
Vocabulary tight as a key
A little black dress that looks like it has the answers
Literary criticism
Bobbing for buzzwords
Hair gathered with a pin
Too few syllables to call it dreaming

I’d rather read Borges and Freud
And spend my time pecking at the letters
My intellect is barefoot
Part hippie, like an angry bird
I want to shake the shoes off of everything I know
And cast stones at it
Get muddy in it
Let it get into my skin
Like getting fresh ink on a Friday night (the forearm on the right)
A feather that refused to frill
I knocked it till its teeth fell out
And we both bled
Do you think we’ll be in love forever?

I am full of questions that aren’t good for me
Questions that have no answers
Questions that only I can answer
Shhh…I’m building something…
A woman must be an artist in order to fully understand herself
Eroticism is poetry
Desire is diffuse, ekes possibility
What would Rollo May say? (I’m six books in.)
I’m constructing a theory out of holes
With a worn out sole and a string

12 thoughts on “Barefoot

  1. There are some who claim the function of poetry is mere selfe xpression and others who claim for it a larger meaning. This is an exquisite selfportrait for many reasons, they are points in it of such brilliance technically speaking, too many to list, but the point is for me, you claim a place with your words in such a way that that place becomes yours in the sense that she is human, real and yet resonates, through the sharper details of the objects, of the light, they are highlighted by the way the words meld the thoughts seemlessly together, if it was a painting, i see that guitar neck, i have seen musical instruments in paintings, picasso, manet, many, and i saw your guitar and heard your song, there are some who claim that poetry has a function beyond words, you are proof of this.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you for the kind words. I enjoy writing poetry very much. When I was younger, I wrote almost constantly. I am now picking it back up again after many years. A few observations, to your point: I find that creating those images, that playing with metaphor becomes far more natural with a bit of practice and a lot of reading. And, there is a world of difference between poetry (or prose, for that matter) that creates its own internal rhythm, as a song, in the writer’s mind and that which does not. To me, the former is the stuff of “beyond words.” It makes me happy to know that you’re enjoying my poetry so much. I have been thinking recently that I should write more of it, or at least piece together the fragments that are in my notebook. I also think it’s cool that you experience the musicality of the visual and literary arts. That is a gift, for sure. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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