Ode to an Everyday Poet


I remember the night she left.
Her dress, nightgown, brush.
How each quivered in your hands
when you lifted them
from a hospital-scented suitcase,
replaced hers with mine.
A silent drive followed.
Me too small to ask questions.
You wordless in your guilt.

Her cousin's wife's sister took me that first time.
Held me tight,
my heels drumming her skirt,
fists beating her arms,
while you walked away.
Raising a little girl...
It wasn't something you could do.
It wasn't something I allowed you to let go.
Every time you handed me off, I believed you back.
Sometimes it took months, but you always came.

Memories rub like sand
get under my skin
in my eyes.
Your voice still with me,
filling a lifetime of hours
with story/song/fable.
Mending bee-sting to broken heart
with everyday poetry
rolled up in your John-Wayne drawl.

We walked the beach,
my sunrise into your sunset,
the lacy edge of the Atlantic ribboning my ankles.
I can see us,
the goosebumps pebbling my skin.
Hear us,
soprano squeals rising above baritone roar.
You keeping watch, swinging me high
so the big waves couldn't knock me down.

No matter what you do
some waves are gonna knock you flat.
Even one you see coming a long way off.
The last time I saw you,
I did what you never could--
I let go.
I hoped Her arms would wrap around you,
lift you up
when I walked away.
It was the right thing to do.
For you.
I wish I could believe you back.

~Nara Malone

This  is my response to the dVerse Poet's prompt for an Ode to a Poet. Drop by to see what others wrote or to join the fun yourself. Happy birthday, dVerse. Happy birthday, Daddy.


Waltzing the Muse

Armed in white tie
and cultured southern pearls,
we're civilly suited.

Stepping into the word waltz,
an etiquette of circle and tease--
stalk in, scurry back.

Manufacturing rhythm in plot turned inside out.
Sexy repartee confined,
to tidy essentials.

I stumble, tripping on decorum,
bread and butter foreplay
consumed with knife and fork.

Corseted in propriety,
confinement's keys
unlock cheeky fantasy.

Him robed in moonlight,
hard body surfing
a dew soaked meadow.

He's caught me out,
saw mischief dance naked in my eyes.
Or tasted whine-laced hunger behind a chaste kiss.

Leaning in close,
his whisper hot against my ear,
he digs in.

Ravishes with words.
Parts me with devil's tongue,
thoughts spread like a meal.

Devour me, sugar.
Consume me.
Eat with your fingers.

~Nara Malone

I started writing this three years ago, had the ending then. I found the first stanza a year ago. The middle has been that hard struggle between writer and word to get past the formality and down to the raw heart of what needs saying. I'm still not sure it's done.When I saw dVerse Poets are having an anniversary ball tonight, I thought what better dance partner than the muse I've been playing hide and seek with these past three years. Drop in to see who the other poets brought or to introduce us to your partner for the evening.

This was also a contribution to the Sunday Whirl.


Friday 55: Spotlighting

Flickr Photo Download: Lonely


I like keeping my secrets,
tucking my thoughts away.
It is so easy with you,
keeping my shades drawn.
I can listen, ask, and never tell.

But then in a moment,
a brief glance up,
I’m captive.
Your eyes search every shadow, every secret.
I freeze, hypnotized,
until you look down and set me free.

~Nara Malone