Jessica

charybdis83 @ 2003-12-14T10:31:00

2003-12-16T21:33:03Z

Ruth I am
At the feet of one older, one wiser.
The truth is
I am frightened by the size of submission,
Beyond the point where tears come,
So that all I can do is lay myself down and hope for some corner
Of that garment to fall upon me.

Once I was Bathsheba and did not take into account
Your eyes, what they might find,
What hungers your fullness might betray.
Perhaps in my feminine flesh, even weaponless,
Danger still clung like a glove at my curved hand,
And I poked a bit at your tender heart until it began to tear.

(Maybe I was even Jezebel, or would have been.)

But thank the sandstorm for where it found me,
As in its moment, my mouth was filled with sand
and rendered wordless, soundless, a desert within to the desert out there.

In the moment I saw you were a man, my knees also
Went weak and there I stood before a desert tree, holding blind for balance.
Disconcerted, centerless, my heart flipped over underneath my breast,
Unveiling things never seen, like seas upon which I could stand and
The will to place myself in your hands.

Ruth I am,
At the feet of one wiser.
Today you turn older
Than me.

And I hand over the key.

new draft, a little more perfected

2003-12-16T21:26:58Z

Everything in me is growling
Is this what your words do?

Everything is wanting taste, but taste awaits hunger.

Hunger is bitten, and bleeding, helpless.

We looked into the window-turned-mirror,

I saw you beside me: What two things ever fit together so well?

This I dream to see every ever, not just morning and not just night

and so upon your opening mouth,

I find myself daring and darkened, like evening with fire

And I lean in to hear you just a little bit more certainly.

Everything in me is humming with fireflies
Is this what your words do, and more?

Another work in progress, also started tonight...

2003-12-16T06:59:18Z

Everything in me is growling
Is this what your words do?

Everything is wanting taste, but taste won’t come until hunger.

And hunger is bitten, and bleeding and blessed, helpless

Where we looked into the window-darkened-to-mirror,

I saw you beside me: What colors, what shapes. What two things.

This I dream to see every ever, not just morning and not just night

and so upon your opening mouth,

I find myself daring and darkened, like evening with fire

And I lean in to hear you just a little bit more certainly.

Everything in me is humming with fireflies
Is this what your words do, and more?

A work in progress, started tonight...

2003-12-16T06:57:13Z

December 13, 2003

Ruth I am
At the feet of one older, one wiser.
The truth is
I am frightened by the size of submission,
Beyond the point where tears come,
More like all I can do is lay myself down and hope for some corner
Of that garment to fall upon me.

Once I was Bathsheba and did not take into account
Your eyes, what they might find,
Or what hungers your fullness might betray.
Perhaps in my ghostly flesh, even weaponless,
Danger still clung at my curved hand, like nails,
And I poked a bit at your tender heart until it began to tear.

Maybe I was even Jezebel, or would have been.

But thank the sandstorm for where it found me,
As in its moment, my mouth was filled with sand
and rendered wordless, soundless, a desert within to the desert out there.
In the moment I saw you were a man, my knees also
Went weak and there I stood before a desert tree, holding blind for balance
Disconcerted, centerless, my heart flipped over underneath my breast
Unveiling things never seen, like seas upon which I could stand and
The will to place myself in your hands.

Ruth I am,
At the feet of one wiser.
Today you turn older
Than me.

And I hand over the key.

charybdis83 @ 2002-07-31T00:06:00

2002-07-31T04:06:19Z

just testing this thing out

a poem i just found from june 2000

2002-06-05T19:42:22Z

As your dreams drip dry,
you are pacified.

Strings of sleep
wires of surprise:

They wrap around you
when your eyes clap shut.

The chapters that chastize. the milk bottles that atomize
exoskeletons that fossilize. campfires that
baptize. bent forks that appetize. the diets
that dogmatize. climates that magnetize. cotton
sheets that disguise. velvet curtains that dramatize.
aluminum corners that galvanize. the stopwatches that hypnotize
the teardrops that vaporize. the mountaintops that
urbanize. the tongues that verbalize. the peoples
that uprise. pixels that systemize. hues of
blues that rhapsodize. Pigments that publicize:

They are the strands of justice behind your eyes;
the methodical moonrise.
The manipulated strings that play
with alibis.

updated

2002-05-10T02:04:17Z

Calligraphy

You are sharp as calligraphy.
You’ve scorched my auburn eyes lavender
with one capricious poke into
the starry flesh of my past.
Agony is frivolous. Still the bliss of tears is
scrumptious on my tongue.

Under the warmth of your whims
sleeps a scissor-legged fairy,
the blood-red edge of her caresses
hidden by the shadow of today.

Jessica T. Lockwood

ok, tyler, here you have it, what i have so far

2002-05-10T01:47:09Z

Calligraphy

You are sharp as calligraphy.
You’ve scorched my auburn eyes lavender
with one capricious poke into
the starry flesh of my past.
Agony is frivolous. Still the bliss of tears is
scrumptious on my tongue.

Under the warmth of your whims
sleeps a scissor-legged fairy

Jessica T. Lockwood

i still need to incorporate the word "today" and i dont like the second versy thingy much

2nd Draft

2002-04-23T03:07:38Z

Thinking about the lights
and queen of the land.
Purple and orange and green, she explained the lump
in her bed above the pine trees.

And the breeze went to breakfast,
the prince flowed in through the open doors,
found her very sleepy with

some kind of monster that God had
with peas
for dinner that night.

But mine, mine were frozen.
One hand had everything she could hold
with the thumb in my pocket.

Everyone else’s were clapping
that she lived a happy life.

Exactly.

But... I wasn’t really with her mother and
father, the king

of my thigh.

All the music was
this life of luxury,
so one was pure or it seemed so like a church
with all those perfumes...

The prince offered her a place and didn’t know just what
to do but that boy playing many mattresses

felt so big and so wrong about who she was.
(And not like everyone could see me.)

As the moisture filled the room, only a real princess was so delicate
to be bothered by

the melodies and harmonies and I now knew the prince
loved her.

She replied. But no one could understand.
With a “yes”.
And very soon they prayed for someone to touch

God.

And what? Was I supposed to knock on some stranger’s door?
Think about it, and it smelled

pure to everyone. Was God with the mothholes?
Was she there? That’s what I wanted to do.

Went out into the street as
me but no one came;
but nothing happily-ever-after happened.

And there were tears, too, of a pea under a pile of mattresses.

a poem i'm working on....

2002-04-23T02:33:24Z

[Rough Draft; untitled]

thinking about the lights
and queen of the land
purple and orange and green,
she explained the lump in her bed above the pine trees

and the breeze went to breakfast
the prince flowed in through the open doors
found her very sleepy with

some kind of monster that God had with peas for dinner that night

but mine were frozen
one hand had everything she could hold
with the thumb in my pocket

everyone’s hands were clapping that
she lived a happy life

Exactly.

but... i wasn’t really with her mother and
father, the king

of my thigh.

All the music was this life of luxury, so one was pure or it seemed so
like a church and all those perfumes

The prince offered her a place and didn’t know just what
to do but that boy playing many mattresses

felt so big and so wrong for who she was
and not like everyone could see me

as the moisture filled the room only a real princess was so delicate to be bothered by

melodies and harmonies and i now knew the prince loved her

and she replied but no one could understand
with a yes
and very soon they prayed for someone to touch

God
and what? was i supposed to knock on some stranger’s door?
think about it and it smelled

pure to everyone and was God with the mothholes and
she there? that’s what i wanted to
went out into the street as

me but no one came. but nothing happily ever after in a grand happened.

and there were tears, too, of a pea under a pile of mattresses

You Did Not Have a Home (one of my favorite songs)

2002-04-20T22:24:05Z

You Did Not Have A Home

Oh, You did not have a home
There were places You visited frequently
You took off Your shoes and scratched Your feet
'Cause you knew that the whole world belongs to the meek
But You did not have a home
No, You did not have a home And You did not take a wife
There were pretty maids all in a row
Who lined up to touch the hem of Your robe
But You had no place to take them, so You did not take a wife
No, You did not take a wife
Birds have nests, foxes have dens
But the hope of the whole world rests
On the shoulders of a homeless man
You had the shoulders of a homeless man
No, You did not have a home
Well you had no stones to throw
You came without an ax to grind
You did not tow the party line
No wonder sight came to the blind
You had no stones to throw
You had no stones to throw
And You rode and ass' foal
They spread their coats and cut down palms
For You and Your donkey to walk upon
But the world won't find what it thinks it wants
On the back of an ass' foal
So I guess You had to get sold
'Cause the world can't stand what it can't own
And it can't own You 'Cause You did not have a home
Birds have nests, foxes have dens
But the hope of the whole world rests
On the shoulders of a homeless man
You had the shoulders of a homeless man
No, You did not have a home
Birds have nests, foxes have dens
But the hope of the whole world rests
On the shoulders of a homeless man
You had the shoulders of a homeless man
And the world can't stand what it can't own
And it can't own You
'Cause You did not have a home.

Rich Mullins

Huayca?an

2002-04-05T22:39:34Z

Well, you're still in Huayca?an, without a drop of joy,
where all the lamps are dim all the faces hidden.

And i have left the corner of the street for the inner room
where i have locked myself.

Here i find my God in the silence.

I know that Abraham begged mercy for the cities set to be destroyed. And God heard.

And i know all i can do is pray that you might understand:
this love i have for you,
from whence it comes,
and what has happened to me,
what visions have passed before my eyes.

And God hears.

Note: Huayca?an is a Quichua word meaning "Path of Tears"

another one

2002-03-27T22:13:59Z

decapitated songbird in your pocket
still he flies like a seraph
toward the light.
fresh tangerine between your thighs
and the taste of silver on your knees
a buckle of flesh across the door
i turn the wheel and lock it.

waiting hummingbird in your pocket
still he knows how to live
in the dark.
black tangerine that rots between your eyes
taste of bronze makes you feel
a measurement of food, of love, of power
science takes off like a rocket.

saddened lovebird in your pocket
won?t be able to breathe
in the heat.
green and tangerine that make you finally blue
the taste of gold left from that flu i gave you
the end of everything we made.
the day i opened my mouth to the song

and let it be sung.

another poem i found of mine

2002-03-27T22:05:08Z

i washed the feathers from my face and sat down next to the ruins
i pulled my pockets inside out and wiped the dust off of my lips and slid my tongue across my teeth
i tilted my head back and watched the lightning split the sky into shards of copper silver gold and bronze
i can change my name but i can?t
change
who i am.

i put on your accent
and i pretended to be
you

i tried to be one of you but i am only one of me.

Going Home

2002-02-27T03:14:23Z

This is a poem I found tonight that I wrote a couple days before coming home from Ecuador...

Going home
is like dying sometimes
because dying
might just be another going home.
You kiss one mouth;
you want another.

Going home is like dying sometimes:
You get so close that you just want to let go.
You stop putting your underwear into the laundry basket
and put it in a plastic bag inside your suitcase instead.
You stop kissing so long, you stop kissing so hard, you stop kissing with your eyes closed.
You start to cry.
You see a light and you just run to it.

Time passes like birds through the sky.
You hold it back so hard it doesn't even try.

You love someone, but space can get to be a burden.
You can be together or you can both be home,
but you can never be together and both call it home.

Dying is like going home sometimes:
You don't know which way to go; which way is home?
You kiss one mouth,
but you really want another.
You cry one tear for leaving
& one for coming back.

charybdis83 @ 2001-09-11T17:51:00

2001-09-11T22:51:14Z

peace, please.