This is a daily exploration of creative energy. We post every other day "in response" to each other.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Monday, October 26, 2015
Houdini in Chains
Houdini had been born in a time
when belief in magic was strong and common place
like water to wine
and the mystery of electricity
Handsome and devilishly deft in the ways of human nature
he sought not so much as to trick, as to astound
subtle manipulator, but not enough strength
to escape the binds
of wife and mother
Both laid claims to his body and soul
Mother by birth Wife by fire
neither one cared to untangle the chains
of female bondage
encircling his heart and mind
with duty and desire
Houdini escaped the obvious magician props:
Those ropes never held
These chains are child's play
The Chinese Water Torture; a gift of life
His mother preceded him in death
but he never escaped his wife
who continued to call his name
and summon his body
until she too reached eternity
Desire always wins out in the end
But Mama got there first
Labels:
bondage,
Harry Houdini,
Houdini,
Houdini mother,
Houdini wife,
love,
magic
Tru Dillon has been involved in art since she was born. Drawing, painting, singing and writing have captured her interest above all else. She wrote her first book of poems at 12 years of age and has since written many more poems and is hoping someday to create another book of her poetry. For now she is content to write on the World Wide Web. To contact Tru Dillon please go to her web page http://poemandprose.wordpress.com/ and send her a comment.
Saturday, January 18, 2014
The Art of Closure
Walk
Don't run when you see the signs:
eyes that never really look at you
a luminous body that does not glow
words that speak of nothing
If you are young it will be hard
to see and read these signs
Age can help define
and justify the leaving
Walk
slow but deliberate;
if you run you will get away
too fast and wont learn the lesson
On the other side is
light and sound and air
Don't run when you see the signs:
eyes that never really look at you
a luminous body that does not glow
words that speak of nothing
If you are young it will be hard
to see and read these signs
Age can help define
and justify the leaving
Walk
slow but deliberate;
if you run you will get away
too fast and wont learn the lesson
On the other side is
light and sound and air
Labels:
eyes,
in response to you,
love,
poem,
take a walk
Tru Dillon has been involved in art since she was born. Drawing, painting, singing and writing have captured her interest above all else. She wrote her first book of poems at 12 years of age and has since written many more poems and is hoping someday to create another book of her poetry. For now she is content to write on the World Wide Web. To contact Tru Dillon please go to her web page http://poemandprose.wordpress.com/ and send her a comment.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Golden Gate Park
We have made our way into San Francisco.
All around us is hushed.
Those sounds do not sing,
your eyes are not blue.
Hold my hand Reptile.
Walk our storied path to Golden Gate Park
and try to remember
when I ever loved you.
Labels:
golden gate park,
love,
reptile,
san francisco
Tru Dillon has been involved in art since she was born. Drawing, painting, singing and writing have captured her interest above all else. She wrote her first book of poems at 12 years of age and has since written many more poems and is hoping someday to create another book of her poetry. For now she is content to write on the World Wide Web. To contact Tru Dillon please go to her web page http://poemandprose.wordpress.com/ and send her a comment.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Pouilly Fuisse
We have spent the day at the beach
(my lover—my mistress—my paramour)
our towels merely feet from the tide
as close as we can get is what we want
We lay side by side and fall asleep
(the heat—the sounds—the mist)
the tides creep closer to our slumber
bodies paralyzed by liquid dreams
Washing out to sea with no cares
(divorce—family feuds—sunburns)
floating on the endless sea grass
we finally crack open the Pouilly Fuisse
Drink my love, drink
and I will drink to thee
Labels:
amniotic dreams,
dreams,
love,
lover,
ocean,
pouilly fuisse,
sea grass,
sleep,
wine
Tru Dillon has been involved in art since she was born. Drawing, painting, singing and writing have captured her interest above all else. She wrote her first book of poems at 12 years of age and has since written many more poems and is hoping someday to create another book of her poetry. For now she is content to write on the World Wide Web. To contact Tru Dillon please go to her web page http://poemandprose.wordpress.com/ and send her a comment.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Conception
One conceived in ignorance
One conceived in trust
One conceived in love
Two conceived in lust
Labels:
baby in womb,
conception,
conception poem,
love,
lust,
trust
Tru Dillon has been involved in art since she was born. Drawing, painting, singing and writing have captured her interest above all else. She wrote her first book of poems at 12 years of age and has since written many more poems and is hoping someday to create another book of her poetry. For now she is content to write on the World Wide Web. To contact Tru Dillon please go to her web page http://poemandprose.wordpress.com/ and send her a comment.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Silver Squirrels
Without you alive, We have a complicated relationship
Guitar, keyboard, multi track console no longer
react to your fine strong musician hands
Just as the Silver New Mexican Squirrel
tries to select a host that is the least toxic
we sought that in each other and tried
to mitigate the poison in our work environment
When you come to me now
as a Ponderosa Pine Loving Squirrel:
It feels to taunt me!
Was it you who stood in the doorway
dressed in Silver Costume?
Was it you who slowly crossed the kitchen tiles?
Was it you who spread the contagious
but necessary spores into my new life?
When my mutation is complete
we will encircle the Gila Forest
pupate in the secret Kiva
adopt Mimbres culture
and slowly return to Being Human
Guitar, keyboard, multi track console no longer
react to your fine strong musician hands
Just as the Silver New Mexican Squirrel
tries to select a host that is the least toxic
we sought that in each other and tried
to mitigate the poison in our work environment
When you come to me now
as a Ponderosa Pine Loving Squirrel:
It feels to taunt me!
Was it you who stood in the doorway
dressed in Silver Costume?
Was it you who slowly crossed the kitchen tiles?
Was it you who spread the contagious
but necessary spores into my new life?
When my mutation is complete
we will encircle the Gila Forest
pupate in the secret Kiva
adopt Mimbres culture
and slowly return to Being Human
Labels:
love,
mimbres culture,
mutation,
ponderosa pine,
silver new mexican squirrel,
squirrel,
squirrel poem,
tree
Tru Dillon has been involved in art since she was born. Drawing, painting, singing and writing have captured her interest above all else. She wrote her first book of poems at 12 years of age and has since written many more poems and is hoping someday to create another book of her poetry. For now she is content to write on the World Wide Web. To contact Tru Dillon please go to her web page http://poemandprose.wordpress.com/ and send her a comment.
Monday, September 12, 2011
degradation of memories
Standing in the Big Box sliding memories into the grey plastic machine
It is kindly and tries to treat me well
When it eats one it is usually a monument I want to forget
The machine will collate, replicate, index and transmutate
My memories into bits and then back into light
Disseminate them onto disks that will store and protect
What will not be taken into account
Is how the degradation of memories will still occur
Until someday my grandchild will look at a picture of me holding her
And ask: Who is that?
It is kindly and tries to treat me well
When it eats one it is usually a monument I want to forget
The machine will collate, replicate, index and transmutate
My memories into bits and then back into light
Disseminate them onto disks that will store and protect
What will not be taken into account
Is how the degradation of memories will still occur
Until someday my grandchild will look at a picture of me holding her
And ask: Who is that?
Tru Dillon has been involved in art since she was born. Drawing, painting, singing and writing have captured her interest above all else. She wrote her first book of poems at 12 years of age and has since written many more poems and is hoping someday to create another book of her poetry. For now she is content to write on the World Wide Web. To contact Tru Dillon please go to her web page http://poemandprose.wordpress.com/ and send her a comment.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
wee wee wee all the way home
when I went to ask him
who loved you as a child
his back was already to me
heart black
genetics pressed in on him
a blanket of coal
to warm him frigid
"momma did"
mementos arrive quickly
flicker older brain cells
that rush together with
pictures of stained glass hugs
he is agile yet aged
pretends the neglect
is tolerable and normal
for the times
when he thinks of love
it is empty as empty
as the old trinket box
he keeps on his shelf
who loved you as a child
his back was already to me
heart black
genetics pressed in on him
a blanket of coal
to warm him frigid
"momma did"
mementos arrive quickly
flicker older brain cells
that rush together with
pictures of stained glass hugs
he is agile yet aged
pretends the neglect
is tolerable and normal
for the times
when he thinks of love
it is empty as empty
as the old trinket box
he keeps on his shelf
Tru Dillon has been involved in art since she was born. Drawing, painting, singing and writing have captured her interest above all else. She wrote her first book of poems at 12 years of age and has since written many more poems and is hoping someday to create another book of her poetry. For now she is content to write on the World Wide Web. To contact Tru Dillon please go to her web page http://poemandprose.wordpress.com/ and send her a comment.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
In the drawer
In the drawer
it lies
no pretense to greatness
just a mass of hair
long with a band
still keeping it secured
after 20 years
and it still
glows with purpose
Once it fell across
her breast or lashed
her thighs delightful
now stilled — yet alive
who touches it now
what imagination
can bring you back to life
who knows a part of you
patiently lives in my drawer
Tru Dillon has been involved in art since she was born. Drawing, painting, singing and writing have captured her interest above all else. She wrote her first book of poems at 12 years of age and has since written many more poems and is hoping someday to create another book of her poetry. For now she is content to write on the World Wide Web. To contact Tru Dillon please go to her web page http://poemandprose.wordpress.com/ and send her a comment.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
I'm a fool to want you
You are not happy to see me
your face pale
countenance ghostly
is looming
I have been here before
welcomed
at least lately tolerated
With your body burnt
to cinder
our playground exists
only in my dreams
In casual reverie I steal
those cinders and
put them on my mantle
covetous of your charred
hair and your ashen
sibilant lips
I'm a fool to want you
your face pale
countenance ghostly
is looming
I have been here before
welcomed
at least lately tolerated
With your body burnt
to cinder
our playground exists
only in my dreams
In casual reverie I steal
those cinders and
put them on my mantle
covetous of your charred
hair and your ashen
sibilant lips
I'm a fool to want you
Labels:
dream,
fool,
ghost,
love,
spirits of the dead
Tru Dillon has been involved in art since she was born. Drawing, painting, singing and writing have captured her interest above all else. She wrote her first book of poems at 12 years of age and has since written many more poems and is hoping someday to create another book of her poetry. For now she is content to write on the World Wide Web. To contact Tru Dillon please go to her web page http://poemandprose.wordpress.com/ and send her a comment.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Fool for Love
I am a fool for love
I respond to it
I am warmed by it
it pops the cap off my tears
and they flow,
my heart softens and opens
love spills out
flood waters enter
the cracks that separate,
and great glaciers calve into
the salty ocean of tears
Monday, August 1, 2011
I was not mad
Labels:
heat,
love,
my response,
poem,
red
Tru Dillon has been involved in art since she was born. Drawing, painting, singing and writing have captured her interest above all else. She wrote her first book of poems at 12 years of age and has since written many more poems and is hoping someday to create another book of her poetry. For now she is content to write on the World Wide Web. To contact Tru Dillon please go to her web page http://poemandprose.wordpress.com/ and send her a comment.
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