Soul:high*coo

NAPOWRIMO2013

Kitchen Madness 1: 4/1/2013

I have been in sorrows kitchen

and licked out all the pots

Been here wanting full of empty

long, for the soul’s hot sticky sweet 

Purged & prayed over the stone

grounds & the boiled down

to nothing

Hunger starved of thirst

love is…

cavernous behind the kiss

But, willing demons

must be fed

if not raised by hand, and

made to rest

in their self destruction of us

here and there are others like me—we

Who be, women, who bitches brew

consequence like the magnificent

light of day

everyday

extra,

Ordinarily

Recipes in the real we eat to live

and are dying for more

despite sustenance

hilarious though inadequate utensils

all the fire-seeking

and scattered supply

and, always the habitual want

over-browning our need

Some even romance burning it up

until all of it’s oils turn out, and

the idea slips freely from the lips

Blackened

I am
I am
I am not

Ordinarily spiced to taste

with a blend of one’s own

Homemade delusional measures

of common sense, and, bullshit

Simmer on low

Mostly, I cook, in the same

discontent little pot

my mother stirred

in her own cast-iron heart

reducing the blame by

half and adding succulents, I find

serves to be reckless

We Love, unloving love, unloved

and, in the drunkenness of

fallen intimacies, having

just eaten we sleep

And dreams

"the itis"

A mess ‘

leave the kitchen

to live
morning by

Day 1: Use the opening line of another poem.

One Plus One

The smell of exhaustion lingers here
Cigarette smoke and the sorry breath
hard stained costs on the atmosphere
should be some sense of humor left
Or the subtle humidity of after-tears
An honest breed of smile bereft
A heart’s content
Loves recompense

Day 8: Ottava Rima

Okay… Official NAPOWRIMO’S Sea SHANTY prompt threw me today so I am using Tiffany Chaney’s Wednesday: Stream Of Consciousness prompt.

Designer Prayers 2: 4/2/2013

This is not my story

I will tell it as my own

Because I have none

I have no story, because

I live in the glass house

you pass everyday, and

see through, clearer there is

the image of yourself, not the way

back from where you are, seeing

as my days flatten into afternoon,

and midnights, tossed with all

the dangers & opulence of

Unfolding origami, you watch

On your way to flea & meat markets

and back over the cool bridge water

where golden featherbeds once flew

And, leather-look encyclopedias

we thought made sense, although

we know now, still do

Where our nappy beret hats were

thrown in last year to fill the cracks

Where otherwise, good people, loose

Change, no-name stars, and the

Car keys would have fallen

it is in honor of this

state of things, the insidious

Black rivers underfoot

drawn comfortably into the floor

Plans of the cakewalk home

To make an offering up—down

to that muddied gulp, where

almost everything lost is found &

maybe returns to us unbroken

Forgotten, or both, let them wear

Their mismatched socks, yes

in the pretense fashion

In the advent of science

In honor of restoration

Come spring

Day 2: Write a poem that tells a lie.

Untitled

i will tuck the feathers from this line into my socks. warm feet, warm heart. better these against the cold than tenderness. tenderness of the soles is lord like, still subject to a stone crucifixion. humbles me in these ways. i heard once, eros was dying.

play the downfall of illusion in the background. slow promises. drape the silk of our existence over the ceilings, like mirror, like sky. were we careful enuf blackened in the fact that life will go on? and, there is still the expense of wings to consider. tell me this?!

remembering nothing. just the miscellany of landmarks on long roads. on warm nights, in the arrogance of darkness, what moves a mountain to feed a river? equally impermanent, love without a fortune of circumstances requires everything but…

the force feeling, the small red taste of something good. i push my belly and my reasons back from the table, before some thieving will comes and is gone with me. again and again.

i do, without the sweet ceremony of rosehips and tea light brewing, breed love faithfully. i can dance well in the place of flame, can bell a bell, ring, and solitaire while you decide.

Name Calling

a¡: azha irving (me)…
(愛)Love, (藍) indigo, (亜衣) nothing; in Japanese.

Not to be confused with AI, A.I., or Ai, which may also refer to:

Artificial intelligence: a branch of computer science.

Amnesty International: an international non-governmental human rights organization.

American Idol: a reality competition to find new solo musical talent.

AI: American basketball player, Allen Iverson (born 1975).

Ai (Biblical): a religious sanctuary founded by Abraham, the exact location of which, is unknown to date.

Ai Ogawa(poet) (1947 - 2010): American poet Florence Anthony.

Loving You: An ipoem

Life is good
Meu Bem Querer, My Good to Want
Simple Life
Se, If…
Contrast
I Loved You
One Dream
Calling
Tears for Mother Earth
So Far To Go
Spiritual Home
Muna Xeia, Full Moon
Love Tribe
Six Days
Consider My Love
Stratus
Chronic Intoxication
Lady Brown
Miracle
Vision Eyes
Linha Do Equador, Line of my Equator
Nha Cretcheu, My Love
I Miss You
The Disconnect
Born Feeling
a¡~