Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

She Laid Down

Posted: 07/08/2011 in Love, Poetry
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She laid down
the waves came up high
crabs dance across the sand

She laid down
cones fell to the floor|
salamanders slide under logs

She laid down
a foot of snow fell on the hills
the hares coat changed to match

She laid down
the sun set for hours
the coyotes sang all night

She laid down
traffic grid  locked  in every direction
the lights came up on Broadway

She laid down
the plane leveled out at thirty thousand feet
three hours to Paris

She laid down
the world at her feet

Be with me

Posted: 01/31/2011 in Writing
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Be with me in the moonlight,
shadows dancing seductively between us.
Passion pulses through our veins,
releasing long suppressed lust.

Hold me in the moonlight,
decipher the language of my soul.
Mental foreplay the inspiration
for the pleasures the night will hold.

Take me in the moonlight,
adrenaline creates a natural high.
Nothing perplexed, it all comes easy,
contentedly lost in you and I.

Copyright © L. Tripaldi 2011 All Rights Reserved

You…

Posted: 01/10/2011 in Love, Writing
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I focus on you and us and
the only clarity I envision is
my hand
your face
a mirror
I was lost somewhere before you
now I am
somewhere near you, yet so far away because I can never feel close enough
even when you are so close to me.
I ache for more
you are crimson
deep and beautiful
I am coal
this does not make me worthless
I am beautiful in silky black and silver ash, this temporary cloak of moments in time that surround me.
you call me yours..
and it makes me feel alive
When I yearn and miss you, willing to sell my soul to the devil just to simply touch your face, to feel your breath.
slipping through daydreams and memories
fingers tracing, tips and palms against heartbeats and pulses
your hands
wonderful
grasping
silky yet strong capable hands
grasping
at dust
While I am away
I feel you and can easily read
your simple sweet thoughts
and depth of being
you are glorious
I am glorious
your glory is shown through
confidence faith and love
mine~ through wind rain earth and fire
you~ through god and angels
me~ through elements and stars
you~ crimson transparent white
me~ gray in a black and white world
you fit well here 
I also..
At the same moment your smile and embrace makes me fit anywhere and everywhere.
I was born to that fate and element
it is the home of my birth
I suppose..
a place lately that travels far and often
seeking a nest to rest
always
fairing well just before and at sunrise~~

Copyright © L. Tripaldi 2011 All Rights Reserved

Wintering

Posted: 12/13/2010 in Poetry
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Winteringby Sylvia Plath
This is the easy time, there is nothing doing.
I have whirled the midwife’s extractor,
I have my honey,
Six jars of it,
Six cat’s eyes in the wine cellar,

Wintering in a dark without window
At the heart of the house
Next to the last tenant’s rancid jam
and the bottles of empty glitters—
Sir So-and-so’s gin.

This is the room I have never been in
This is the room I could never breathe in.
The black bunched in there like a bat,
No light
But the torch and its faint

Chinese yellow on appalling objects—
Black asininity. Decay.
Possession.
It is they who own me.
Neither cruel nor indifferent,

Only ignorant.
This is the time of hanging on for the bees—the bees
So slow I hardly know them,
Filing like soldiers
To the syrup tin

To make up for the honey I’ve taken.
Tate and Lyle keeps them going,
The refined snow.
It is Tate and Lyle they live on, instead of flowers.
They take it. The cold sets in.

Now they ball in a mass,
Black
Mind against all that white.
The smile of the snow is white.
It spreads itself out, a mile-long body of Meissen,

Into which, on warm days,
They can only carry their dead.
The bees are all women,
Maids and the long royal lady.
They have got rid of the men,

The blunt, clumsy stumblers, the boors.
Winter is for women—
The woman, still at her knitting,
At the cradle of Spanish walnut,
Her body a bulb in the cold and too dumb to think.

Will the hive survive, will the gladiolas
Succeed in banking their fires
To enter another year?
What will they taste of, the Christmas roses?
The bees are flying. They taste the spring.