Life in Iambic Decimeters

Meditations, meanderings, and musings.

[cienmilgrullas]

[i-hate-the-beach]

I spent way too long looking at and enjoying this collection of photos to not reblog it.

[justpetie]

I miss my multicolored hair :/

[dizzydarling-blog]

Wannnnt.

[dizzydarling-blog]

As I Sat in the Rose Garden

It's disaster season and my head rains heavy with corpses and cacophony. While Spring has thrust herself beguiling in full skirts and tap shoes, the rhythm is too patterpace for my feet to muster. I'll dance but let me one-two-threea waltz, gliding along with shadows and self-doubt. I'll glow but allow me moments of dampened flame, reprieves of breath fuel to stay alight.

[dizzydarling-blog]

Moss

In dreams moss collects on the inside of my thighs, strangers from the last time they touched and on the outside of my eyelids, heavy with the salt that marked their last opening.

My mouth opens, avalanches tumble out burying you and your piano fingers, music hands weights by their own sadness.

Weight in my thighs is my own anguish as I dream of thin limbs and ballerina body lifted high between your hands. I'm gathering moss here, my body garden verdant and still, dreaming of rolling through waves of melody, dreaming of tasting sky while held above the ache to be smaller and to be more; to be enough in this overstretched canvas I call home. I wake and sometimes my hands feel you like we are strangers, and our eyes too heavy to meet and shrinking or growing or lifting high will never be enough. ©dizzdarling 2014 (An experiment with repetition and attempting to make the poem visually mimic some of what it's saying.)

[dizzydarling-blog]

Of age and aching (draft)

Even now, I’m getting old, I can feel this skin lining itself, slow caverns carved around my mouth, cornering my eyes against my nose, Cellar noises creak through furious knees and irritated ankles, hips leading spine, keeping it woven, puzzled together while gear grinding and wishing winter weren’t knuckle deep in exhausted marrow.

©dizzydarling 2014

[msmensen]

a list poem for working-class girls trying to grow up and into themselves

1. It is okay to leave anyone and anything and anyplace that makes you feel like shit. It’s hard, but it’s okay. And fuck explaining anything to anyone, unless you want to. Let them fucking wonder.

2. Know who the fuck...

[dizzydarling-blog]

THIS.

[dizzydarling-blog]

Your poetry is beautiful.

Goodness... thank you so much. :)

[dizzydarling-blog]

House Red (draft)

Sometimes we need 
the teeth stain 
 wine drip 
to toddle us stumbling 
 toward the shore,
 smiling broadly, 
declaration of our 
imperviousness. 

Beneath the overhang of green glass and cork cover, none of this heavy rests on our shoulders 
as great musting pelts, 
sundrenched 
tanned 
reeking of our own 
crossbreed of death
 and delirium.

 None of the laundry is piled 
against the closet doors, 
not a mote of dust
 perches in any corner--
 certainly no cobwebs 
or skeletons keeping company. 

No, 
for now the pearl children 
resting in our gums
 shall blush
 as our sloppy grins careen
 gently forward. 

Here, the earth is always
 simply palms’ length
 away from impact. ©dizzydarling 2014

[dizzydarling-blog]

(draft)

She said,
 I am an island. I said, You are a beachfront.

 She said, it's solitude. I said, Rest comes in loneliness.

 She said, I am the only shade. I said, The trees cast different shadows 
depending on which way the light beats them. ©dizzydarling 2014

[dizzydarling-blog]

Clothesline (1st draft)

You were fresh sheets in sunlight. You’d laundered your demons until they shone bright white blinding under summer’s golden rays. Crisp and windtossed, hanging there for any prying eye to prod and push their own muddiness in to, thankless. My wine stained lipcorners pressed into your purity, your self-made shrine to all of the good you’d become, 
and I dirtied your sheets with my idealisms 
and imperfections, splashing burgundy against them as I danced to songs plucked from the street traffic cacophony for you. ©dizzydarling 2014

[dizzydarling-blog]

Update:

I've been off the grid due to staggering writer's block. This bottle of red wine and I intend to battle that ever formidable opponent tonight.  The goal is 3 poems, at least reaching draft form.  Baby steps, people.  Baby steps. It's been a crazy year.  Maybe I'll get around to writing some profound ruminations about just how crazy.  Maybe it won't be for a while.  Hope you'll love me anyway. Oh, also, I'm on the ground floor of a really amazing reading event series.  I don't usually share any "real" info on here, but I'll tell you this... The series will be in Portland, OR.  And will be groundbreaking.  Just started our tumblr for it...  ODEpdx.  Open Door Enjambment.  Stay tuned.

[dizzydarling-blog]

I've been missing.  I'll share this as means of resurfacing. Also, Happy 2014!

[dizzydarling-blog]

Echo

I don’t quite remember your eyelashes anymore, or the way your cheekbones gathered the moonlight through an open window, or the way we clutched each other as though the night could never be cold, or even the way your fingerprints felt against my shoulderblades. I don’t remember details anymore. But sometimes I’d swear I could smell the hint of a memory, a canyon song from someone I once knew a long time ago but not anymore. ©dizzydarling 2013

[dizzydarling-blog]

Just say no to sad drunk Tumblr posting. It can be better said later when life isn't such raw hamburger.

[dizzydarling-blog]

Jaw picked vulture bait, I've rattled with the ghost dance lullaby since coyote sang his last song to a lonesome moon. Carrion ache permeates my nostrils laid bare. Desert bounty, sand wrestles through my teeth, a gritted solar soliloquy to shoulder shrugging grasshops on their daily wander toward oblivion, marching against the sweat, clinging to the wish for the clear, crisp vacancy of shell. I've bleached myself ancient, I've stretched myself canvas under glimmer reach startbeam. Paint me yesterday, paint me bonepick, paint me skinsick.

©dizzydarling 2013 ______________ A work in progress for a collaborative effort with my friend, seeing-eyelesbian, a killer visual artist.

[alphieralphie]

[dizzydarling-blog]

Because music.

[dizzydarling-blog]

Too long, too long, too long. Distraction and disintegration take hold of me as a bone thick exhaustion, as a sunshine diversion, as a heartbeat elation. And I don't write. And I don't sleep. And I don't sing. And I don't and I don't and I don't. I'm done with undone.

[dizzydarling-blog]

Battleground

"The basic difference between an ordinary person and a warrior, is that a warrior takes everything as a challenge while an ordinary person takes everything either as a blessing or a curse." -Carlos Casteneda

This flesh is terrifying me.
I’m growing spots, like a backward dalmatian, or inverted alien freckles, as my skin rages revolution against me. The coup being staged by my furious cells is waging battlescar on my sanity, making me complacent, readying me for inevitable defeat, when I’m not even certain there’s anything wrong. (There must be something wrong,
it feels like something’s wrong, this body’s all wrongwrongwrong). Boastful fragility might be the single best way I’ve found to describe this odd frame of mind I keep picturing myself in. Health is such a meaty word for something so fragile, when the food that I eat can turn the tide in an instant, when the gap between myself and how it felt not to be ill is growing wider each day, when my financial situation means I’d have to give my left leg to try to save the patch of epidermis near my collarbone which is connected to the ribbone, which is connected to the bone I have to pick with the fear factory surrounding any treatment that might make my breath come more easily. And while I’m stuffing supplements and herbal homecare down my throat in an attempt to feel less lethargic, more productive, and better nourished, I’m counting the number of spots that surface, the number of times I’ve felt faint, the number of pounds I’ve gained or lost or maybe just misplaced somewhere.
“It’s not a problem, it’s a challenge, it’s a challenge...”
And this too shall pass.
Right?  Those cliches will fill the cracks for me, and there can’t be anything THAT wrong. I’m young.  I tend to be active. I won’t ALWAYS feel exhausted. There’s nothing to fear?