Mountains away lives a poet
who cares whether roses live or die,
who knows fallen petals
are not trash but tears.

She scrubs her heart red and raw
so the scars won’t set.
She swallows the sun for her very own smile
and takes snapshots to prove it.

Glinty little brass key
sweaty from my palm
clicks quietly into her quaint lock,
just as I knew it would.

The ancient door that is her will
moans low as I push myself against it.
Never heard such a sacred sound,
nor been wounded with such longing.

The wind howls so chaotic inside her
feathers are torn from birds,
and the powdery ashes of old hopes
swirl to sting my teary eyes.

Her heart is astonishing radiance.
Need as pure as a pink newborn
crying so fiercely there is no sound
until she gulps that first sting of air.

————

rhon drinkwater © 2008

The Saga of Swagger, Highlights | No Comments »

everything is turning green
and the blue sky knows all
i am strangling my blooming heart
to quash its tender secrets

you are cocking your head at me
tiny bird
with any sudden movement
you belong to the sky

what visions lay under your eyelids
flying or dying or love
when my hand on your breast
slows your fast beating heart

————

rhon drinkwater © 2008

The Saga of Swagger, Highlights | No Comments »

I had a dream.

I was laying on my back
in a damp ditch outside of the walls of my beloved city,
a place of great feasts
where I once sat at the head of the table.

My terrible longing for home
tethered me to this familiar earth
and I could not stand and walk away.

I shivered in a bloodied torn shirt,
wet with the spit of strangers
and my own tears.

I stared up at the stars,
remembering youthful vision,
a time when this ground was nothing
but a barren field.
But I imagined music
when I looked out across the empty horizon
because I could picture all of you lovers dancing.

There is not one brick I deplore laying,
not one hour of labor I regret.
I forgive your spit and your scorn
and will always remember you dancing.

I am going to begin again,
with love.

———

© rhon drinkwater 2008

The Saga of Swagger, Highlights | 2 Comments »

That fucking cracks me up.

Satire & Silliness | 4 Comments »

Pic of the Day | 3 Comments »

I was invited by the author Lee Lynch to contribute to The Butch Cookbook. I am glad someone finally put it to print an idea that’s been kicking around the web for years. I gave ‘em my downhome southern recipes for chicken n’ dumplins and for cornbread. I will post an update when The Butch Cookbook is available.

Everyday Élan Vital, All Pop - No Culture | No Comments »

these hands were not made
to secretly smother such a sweet breath
to choke love until it is grey

hopeful seed never meant to rupture
tiny shoot stretching toward the sun’s glory

such beauty does not even know it is barren

I cannot tend you
even though you are mine

———–

rhon drinkwater © 2008

The Saga of Swagger | 1 Comment »

voyage unleashed & sails flapping
you billowed the curtains
you soaked the sheets
& set sail my exquisite yearning

slow ancient underwater movements
distort old sorrow & new hope so profoundly
dumb love holds its breath
when nipples are bitten, lips swollen, & belly taut

i swam drunk in your churning current
swilled your potent beauty foolishly
dove heroically down to your coolest depths
& drowned in your shadowy tenderness

sails torn & rigging cracked & rudder bent
i woke shivering & alone on the noontide shore
unclenched my waterlogged fist to stare at
the cherished gem, proof, plunder

but your heart vanished & all I held was a tiny dark stone
plucked blindly from the bottom of the ocean
now i roam the lonely black sea longing for lost treasure
& even night itself feels forsaken for ever having embraced you

….

© rhon drinkwater 2008

The Saga of Swagger, Highlights | 1 Comment »

My sweet friend Mo said this today and it so resonated with me:

“Forgiveness. Is angelic. Is enlightened. Is necessary for life. Is attainable. Is practical. I do not need that cage of bitterness to protect me, because it doesn’t.”

I feel good. When I feel good, I box and I make the Johnny Cash face.

Good to hope! Good to be alive! Good to be reminded there are sweet, fine women in this world, new friends, and brave people who follow their dreams. Good to begin again with love!

It’s spring and I am still here, fukkas.

Everyday Élan Vital | 10 Comments »

Finally, a KitchenAid mixer in my color.

Satire & Silliness, Pic of the Day | 3 Comments »