Don't Come Around

Don’t Come Around
©carol voccia 2011


Don’t come pressing around me
When the mood strikes
And then leave
Taking with you my salt
Where do you get the grit thinking
I will be there to catch you with each whim?
I lost my net a long time ago and my edges
Are slippery
Think twice about
Dividing your time without the “giving back” part
Your web will be without one of
Its prongs soon enough

Proof of Happiness

Proof of Happiness

© carol voccia 2010 july....

.. ..

In a pile of letters with X’s and O’s

Scratched and worn out vinyl discs

Hours more play in them

Causing distorted memories


Blurred reality at its best


Baskets of cards


Certificates of a job well done, pay stubs and tax credits

Holiday get a-ways

Just in time, finding time, if we only had time

Port wine spilled and stained


Permanently affixed on moms favorite table cloth

Hide it under the turkey so she won’t see

By the fire, you kneeling on silk

A wish


A plea

A soft glow moment

My to-do list, your I’ll get’er done list and the

Quiet times admiring the triumphs of

All done


Half done


Never got done

.. ..

Inspiring flics, baby pix, the friends and family mix

Quilts, finger paints, the urn with daddy’s ashes

The time we slept naked in the yard


Regrets -bins of them ordered in priority

Sins taken lightly

Left on the curb

....

My art, your poems


Your art, my poetry

Tucked in books

Tucked in sack lunches

Tucked inside my veins

A new me, a new you, a re-invention out of the old version


Jewelry given

Pressed flowers

Letters from your mom

The dog’s baby teeth in a jar

The cat claw marks on the back of the couch

Your photo

Your eyes smiling


A warm hug and passionate kiss

A mirror inside me shinning for you to see

Slips

Slips

© carol voccia 2011

.. ..

My fingers slip

Under your

Shirt

My face pressing your fabric

You roll the tips of my hair

In your absent mindedness

We ride fogged and tired

When the night sleep creeps

The designs of the day

Are creased on my face

Sliding away into the hard night

You evaporate in mystery

.. ..

Standing alone

Blue tumbles

From the belly of me

The Lie

The Lie

I slept with your potential and found it a corpse my arms on awakening
Your ashen outline desinigrated within the linens
My eyes suddenly clear
I woke discovering your dream was a lie
Loyal only to your own demise

For promise and charm fell to its knees and choked
Gulping its own narcissistic spew
In reality your potential’s breathe
Was only thinly lined against silver
And glass
Mirrored too insincere to last
Too thoughtless to weather truth
Too empty a vessel to rely on



My thanks to Aliester Crowley for the inspiration

JMH

The Illusion of Potential

The Illusion of Potential

for JMH

carol voccia © 2011



It took one and a half circles of the sun with you

To see friendship reduced to tough text

And insincerity scratched in political correctness



Now when the sun shines on potential

I will quickly

Anchor myself in reality



You see

Potential is only a word

Reality is your face in the mirror



Potential is illusive

Reality burns any clouds of doubt away



If looked squarely in the eye

You will know truth

And it will sting with harshness

Or sing with sweet



It depends on your hearts loyal compass

And your willingness to actually know

Its message in your reflection

Men Are All Just Little Boys Grown Older

Men Are All Just Little Boys Grown Older.
© carol voccia....


Capturing starlight in jars

While the wind catches their sails

Rockets keep the tail wind jetting

Only to crash in deep oceans

.. ..

Pick them up and

Dust off

They roam in assertiveness

Searching to land in the arms of soft verse and

Sweet milk

.. ..

Never venturing too far

From safe thighs

* Aug 18, 2010

His Jazz
..........

.. ..

I know his jazz

It plays under his breath

I smell his zeal in simple

Tasks done with care

He listens with intent

He smiles wide drinking

Up the sun

Catching the stars that

Are in my voice

.. ..

I hear his jazz that

Plays into his day

Like surf and sand shifting under

His feet

Bring'n it on

Each move calculated but natural in its

Delivery

.. ..

I see his jazz in artistic paint

Strumming his beat in red and

Wild streaks

Catching the wind in sails that don’t

Yet exist as he pulls his canvas taut

Nothing escapes his wandering eye

Lay'n it down in puzzle form

.. ..

I opened his jazz
Like a map

Once folded tight

Now spread out
Arching vain trails to the wild adventure

Each step inching toward

Destination rewards

Solid moving along each path

Unearthing surprises

.. ..

He wraps this jazz around

Each day

Watching and waiting for

The sun to set

Oh, not on the west
mind you

But on his crown

An amathyst mast head
Of prayer and some dumb luck

Wielding the wide world of attraction

In his flow'n grov'n Jazz


for jmh