A Meanwhile Obsession

Poetry

is my first obsession,...

I'm blindsided by

the crimson in its color wheel,

I'm taken

by the unexpected thrill of

truth in stardust expression...

Though your fruit I'd never steal,

I inhale you deeply;

I want to feel your essence

*

Try not to judge.

I simply cannot help myself -

This is an unquenchable need...

It comes to me in hypnotic breaths,

Flows from my pores like sweat,

Innerstands the outer wept,

I just sit back like a boss

smiling at the stuff

I still don't get

*

Remember the plan,

I tell myself,

Read and POST

the post you're supposed to

Yet, sometimes... still I don't

Perhaps because I'm taken

Taken by a love so hard I've gotten lost,

Caught up in the feel,

Toasted like a fly in its honey libations

Beauty found to feed my zeal,

*

Compulsed to confession,

Like resonate riffs

and the cosmic gifts of the

Real,

The wise, life-roasted poets

are they that I always hope to bade,

And to this passion,

I am slave

*

Meanwhile,

I'll slow it down and make it quick,

I'll just keep diggin' the call

to make love and do it well while

overcoming the clearly neurotic paradox

of scheduling

my fix

*

Poem: MO (A Meanwhile Obsession) © Arkay Evans 2014
Image:  Microsoft

The Wild Blue

I’ve been running on to
For a very long time;
It’s just what you do
in the wild blue
Once sprung from
What kept you safe when green and young,
It disgusts me
failing change, as it is my nature;
Or to find myself too preprogrammed
To execute
A full, simple easy reboot,
You do what you can…
Not all about loot,
It’s just what you do
When you want to do better
And have the sheer will
to go for what you want to know,
One’s eyes can only hold so much water…
And for this strength,
They will chide,
Swinging wild wicked spells and incantations,
Mashing on a destiny
But what can tadpoles know of me?
Clinging to the moving floor
Huddled like food in leaves of the vine,
As if they could know mine.  Ha!
They know nothing of destiny -
They have only seen the river,
They know nothing of the sea

 

 Poem & Image: The Wild Blue © Arkay Evans 2014

A Buoyant Mind

 

 

I duly write,
to open the eye,
to spit the tannins
to taste the wine,
to ready the ink -
my lids to wink,
Pens to parchment
hearts to think,
Lights get through,
paradise hues,
Shining
With, and not AT you,
Listening
connects the link...
In this realm
my ship don’t sink,
I stare down fear
 I do not blink,
I raise the goblet of
Knowledge
And Drink

© Arkay Evans 2013 -2014

A Ravenous Toast

 

 

For those whom the pen tolls,
ravenous like Pavlov's dogs
who hear its bells and hunger, ...
We feel the urge and lose our slumber,
Rise from caves awakened
to focused and scatter
like a house of cards
in the verbed Saharas of our minds,
And beyond spent, may we love too long,
Content to be the blissful victims
of a red compulsion to creation
and expressions in the midst
of this sweltering chaotic breath....

Ravenous, am I.

© Arkay Evans 2014

Farewell To Goodbye

 Who knows what God
will send to me?
I bid no farewell to fire's flame,...
What I want, I clearly see...
Perhaps love cannot be,
though a blessing strong and true;
and this I rue,
For aspartame will never be sugar
There's no one like me
Anymore
Anywhere
than there can be
someone like you,
But as a woman who prays,
Pursues to care
Support your claim!
On this I'm sold....

You WILL find true love
Billowing clouds of it -
And all the love your heart can hold
will forever bathe you,
Kiss you like Sun,
Strong through seasons of
ice and snow

Like you, I claimed this
for us both,
A long time ago

© Arkay Evans 2014

Image:  Microsoft

 

Midnight Coffee in a Rollercoaster



Beyond the pale aura
of a full moon high,
I found my own vocation,...
Our dap ascension fell in love
and it is here I linger,
My red-stained lips pressed to your mouth
spell you in dreams upon my pillow,
A ride not for the faint,
this sweet bloodletting grind
is how we make it; Love -
There is one ride...
One ride at a time, yet
My restless mind insists on moving faster,
Surfing new syllable seas and waves of words
Just when I think the last is real,
It’s odd
This too, was the calling of my father
Dying like an art as a very young man,
My mirror thinks of him,
Screams, at times,
His silence somehow louder
than my mother’s song,
So I listen in earnest for the light,
I taste the grape of my soul
And I write -
Cradled in rollercoasters
of hope, to bloom like Monet,
Harlem like Hughes
And frighten like Poe

© 2009-2014 Arkay Evans