tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38142092011-04-21T19:32:52.609-07:00Yep. It's poetry. And some song lyrics, but really - what's the diff?Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.comBlogger451100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-1110562925224195522005-03-08T09:40:00.000-08:002005-03-11T09:43:28.103-08:00

Face red-rawshe stirs againPuts a hand on his chestto feel the subtle thunderto match her breathto hisin vain to feel a partof the man she feels a partof her

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-1110562813043600332005-02-10T09:38:00.000-08:002005-03-11T09:40:13.043-08:00

I was thinking this morningof the last time we metThe truth in your kissesI can not forgetTo get lost in that momentso sublime that I'll letthis feeling wash overany pang of regret

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-1065131715794584022003-10-02T14:55:00.000-07:002004-09-24T11:47:02.130-07:00

Goodbye Kiss Even as you entered I felt you leave With each breath I felt an exhale Each kiss was a kiss goodbye I can keep myself warm With blankets and bed sheets I can find others to laugh with I can convince myself that days were wasted Years squandered I can remain angry at nothings uttered And qualities left unappreciated taken for granted But when left to face this face Each morning

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-834236842002-10-23T14:04:00.000-07:002004-09-24T11:47:47.803-07:00

A Random Acts of Journaling Submission: October, 2002 Prompt: Taking the last train home The Last Train Home three a.m. again the window beside me is wet damp against my face and cool but not just from the moist air of an outside which speeds past too fast so fast I am unable to read the graffiti people’s words someone’s words and I want so much to be able to touch them to open for them to

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821653802002-09-26T15:14:00.000-07:002004-09-24T11:48:26.416-07:00

There doesn’t have to be a reason Sometimes it just creeps It seeps from my pores and infects my sheets Making sleep an impossible dream I pray the Lord my soul to keep Cuz I have no plans for it this eve’ There’s a black cloud on the horizon Taking the place of a moon that was so beautiful when risin’ Copyright 2002, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821652902002-09-26T15:12:00.000-07:002002-10-23T14:17:35.000-07:00

DOWNTOWN TRAIN Bright light opens my eyes to half a face backed by a whirlwind of passing buildings streets people The half face - sleepy or sensual? all vampyric hollows and high cheekbones and empty eyes The glass is cold to my fingers and damp as I trace circles in the fogged glass And the only sound is the rush itself Copyright 2002, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821652382002-09-26T15:11:00.000-07:002002-09-26T15:11:27.146-07:00

WILD LITTLE WORLD Where is that child Lost in her wild little world? Where is the place where the scars don’t show? Where is that face, not aged by every blow? Where is that pure soul, Where - does my heart know? And will it tell me, if I listen? CHORUS: Wash me clean, take me back to where I left my heart. Wash me clean, take me back to where I left my heart. Where is that child Lost

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821651732002-09-26T15:09:00.000-07:002002-09-26T15:09:57.910-07:00

THE CHANCE THEREOF Well, it’s three kamikazes later and I still know this must be greater than sitting at home, prob’ly alone maybe looking in a mirror. At least the one at this bar is a little too far away to see the lines on my face. Here the laughter almost drowns out the bass that resounds It surrounds, like a crown the heads of tonight’s royalty. The only thing clear is the taste of the

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821650962002-09-26T15:07:00.000-07:002002-09-26T15:07:52.910-07:00

ONE DOUBLE TOO MANY Although my head is pounding I can still hear the phone I know it’s you that’s calling But I don’t want to know that CHORUS: Last night I had one double too many Last night I feel into the deep end Last night I said just one word too many Put my foot in my mouth And drove straight ‘round the bend. Although I have brushed ‘em There’s still socks on my teeth I reach

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821649962002-09-26T15:03:00.000-07:002002-09-26T15:04:07.000-07:00

JOHNNY CASH There’s a picture on the night stand Could it be some old flame or is it the picture that came in the frame a black-haired beauty a face with no name? Your hair it looks longer, now it covers your face It seems so much darker, against the pillow case. A black-haired beauty, a face with no name. CHORUS: You were drinking beer between cigarettes And listening to Johnny Cash.

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821648572002-09-26T15:00:00.000-07:002002-09-26T15:00:01.633-07:00

JK Smear my lips with whiskey Put on some Coltrane I’ll close my eyes if I need to remember what used to be your name. Coltrane was a friend of yours you say so And close your eyes as jazz flies ‘Cross the room and out the window. Smear my lips with whiskey so my kiss will taste the same You can close your eyes if you need to try and remember - what’s my name? (There’s no need to say my name)

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821647812002-09-26T14:58:00.000-07:002002-09-26T15:04:26.000-07:00

HOW MANY How many times must I reach for you before I start letting go? How can a face tell me more than a word and more than I want to know? Though you’ve never belonged to me I can live with a lie. CHORUS: How can I turn away and not hold on? How can the weak have a love so strong? How can I stop when I know it’s wrong? I know it’s wrong. How many times can I lie to myself - seeing

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821646872002-09-26T14:55:00.000-07:002003-10-02T17:05:52.820-07:00

GOOD FRIENDS We dance well together, we know every move before it’s made. We can share this laugh if no one gives the punch line away. We know how it ends, but we’d sooner pretend this is just beginning. CHORUS: Don’t talk Don’t say another word I’ve already listened to everything I’ve heard If I close my eyes I can pretend What’s one more lie between such good friends? Is it easier to

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821646012002-09-26T14:53:00.000-07:002002-09-26T15:06:27.000-07:00

GIVEN AWAY Look me in the eye and tell me it’s not true You reached out to me, nobody pushed you You knew what I felt, or what I didn’t feel So don’t blame me, now, for breaking this deal. Say I stole your heart and broke it in two Tell yourself you hate me, now, enough to make it true. I’m not saying that I’m right in not loving you but I never was dishonest it ain’t my fault if you closed

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821634212002-09-26T14:25:00.000-07:002002-09-26T14:25:38.296-07:00

3rd OF JULY I heard the far-off pop of a firecracker last night - Coming attractions. My fingers run through long silky hair in my mind Each strand tickling as it passes. My lips taste yours My tongue can feel yours I can almost feel the warmth of your arms; The heat that always transfers between us, Communicating between us; The question that is always there. And I wonder what tomorrow’s

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821632922002-09-26T14:22:00.001-07:002002-09-26T14:22:25.370-07:00

JOHN'S HAND I notice your hand - such a hand - as it holds the sheet the way it held me last night and smile; remember the thrill the chills it leaves behind as it tickles trails along my thigh; think of the warmth the powerful warmth I feel when that hand holds mine; and the tenderness when it touches my face. I wonder if that hand is strong enough to call my bluff and hold me to you while I'm

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821632722002-09-26T14:22:00.000-07:002002-09-26T14:22:01.606-07:00

If you could know the sound of your own voice You would see how it loves me. If you could hear your words the way I do You would know why I love you. If you could see through my heart what you need in your own hands It would all make sense. Copyright 1999, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821632492002-09-26T14:21:00.000-07:002002-09-26T14:21:30.840-07:00

IT'S DEAD As I look in the mirror and wonder what you might have seen I realize it must not have been much Or I'd see you in the background. Copyright 1999, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821632152002-09-26T14:20:00.001-07:002002-09-26T14:20:43.133-07:00

AND HOW I'm sitting Drinking, of course, and thinking about the day we met And how I fell in love with your black hair and the way it reflected pert-near purple as it draped your face while you played your guitar. Must be the vodka - no olive, please - which makes me remember your hand on my knee as you asked me which brand I prefer The look on your face as I sang "Amazing Grace" - Michael

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821631992002-09-26T14:20:00.000-07:002002-09-26T14:20:19.400-07:00

You kissed me on the lips last night, Tongue tasting words unspoken, mistaking their bitterness for stale coffee. Copyright 1999, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821631792002-09-26T14:19:00.001-07:002002-09-26T14:19:53.260-07:00

I thought I heard you cry last night But I woke to find the pillow dry A new wrinkle at the corner of your eye So silent is your face. Copyright 1999, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821631622002-09-26T14:19:00.000-07:002002-09-26T14:19:31.133-07:00

SOMETHING IN SPANISH The man down the hall sings --keeps singing-- Something in Spanish every morning each and every hazy morning as I lay as I stare Put up my hand to block the glare bouncing from my window sill. Copyright 1998, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821631172002-09-26T14:17:00.001-07:002002-09-26T14:17:35.226-07:00

Beat it off Beat it off Just don't let it fall off In the process of eliminating me. Copyright 1997, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821631132002-09-26T14:17:00.000-07:002002-09-26T14:17:12.036-07:00

Could it be that lips moving against a palm say more than those whispering in an ear? The heat from a hand caressing a shoulder warms also from the inside the coolness of cotton sheets does not chill. The sound of rain Coleman's jazz a heart beat, mesh in perfect time. The scent of you blends with the scent of me. Copyright 1999, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821630932002-09-26T14:16:00.002-07:002002-09-26T14:16:43.990-07:00

A TOAST Here's to bein' tipsy Okay, here's to bein' drunk I'll take another vodka And I'll wish myself good luck. Here's to bein' corny As I listen to George Jones Um, that's corny - that's NOT horny; Here's to drinkin' all alone. Copyright 1999, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821630772002-09-26T14:16:00.001-07:002002-09-26T14:16:21.600-07:00

A DANCE Someone singing in Spanish outside the door as a finger dances across my collar bone to the tune. Copyright 1999, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821630632002-09-26T14:16:00.000-07:002002-09-26T14:16:00.566-07:00

DEAR DARLIN... I guess it's been some time but I heard a song this morning that made me think about your smile. I'm OK these days still sing that song in the same ol' way changing the words like I did that day we laughed until we cried. Funny, but no on else seems to get such a kick out of it. I often think... of that twitch you'd get in your eye when you were high; of the way you'd flip over

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821630442002-09-26T14:15:00.000-07:002002-09-26T14:15:33.660-07:00

WILD BILLY WAS A FRIEND OF MINE There's a song we used to sing about a White Girl our voices dancing a pas-de-deux As I watched you Enveloped by the power you held in that guitar, In your hands. Did you ever own a pair of shoes Other than those well-worn black boots that would peek out from beneath your blue jeans? I can still hear you laughing, a cigarette perched between your fingers. You'd

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821630232002-09-26T14:14:00.002-07:002002-09-26T14:14:58.863-07:00

HOT "Hot" is the key word, here. You say I am. I can see you are - Your breath coming now in gasps The sweat from your forehead wetting the pillow beneath your head, Wetting my breasts against you. You kiss the lips That, minutes earlier, Made you shake Made your hands grip my hair, Pulling until I thought I might scream, might even bite down so that you, too, would scream. You use words like

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821630062002-09-26T14:14:00.001-07:002002-09-26T14:14:28.846-07:00

Fingers pass over hot skin on your back that does not warm me. Tongue and lips and teeth over neck and belly, thighs tasting but not relishing. In the mirror a reflection of two bodies - ghostly figures - One passing through another taking no time to know her. Copyright 1998, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821629912002-09-26T14:14:00.000-07:002002-09-26T14:14:08.456-07:00

“Perhaps it's better" You say to yourself as, each day, it gets pushed further and deeper to the back of your mind; swallowed like a large ice cube that hurts, going down, but eventually melts just like the one before. Copyright 1998, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821629812002-09-26T14:13:00.001-07:002002-09-26T14:13:39.486-07:00

POOR EXCUSE The heat of the sun licking patterns over my chest into my fingers my forearms as I drive, the radio up high to drown out the sound in my ears - my internal whispers of words you never say. Copyright 1998, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821629632002-09-26T14:13:00.000-07:002002-09-26T14:13:16.533-07:00

ALONE, WANTING YOU Mid-eighties, here and I can't help but wonder how much cooler it is where you are and how long it would take to hitch-hike from California. And I can't help but wonder when I'll get used to the heat and learn to love it ; lay naked on a rock and drink it up like some lizard you always see, in the desert, alone taking in the sun's warmth. Copyright 1998, Howl-at-the-Moon

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821629532002-09-26T14:12:00.000-07:002002-09-26T14:12:52.346-07:00

I'm back to not writing and I hate you for that. The amount of thought it would take to put two lines together Would inevitably lead to thoughts of your laugh and the fact that when I wear my purple bra, now I have nothing to match Because you still have my underwear. Copyright 1998, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821629342002-09-26T14:11:00.002-07:002002-09-26T14:11:53.173-07:00

Simply sweet The way you rub my feet and tickle my ankles with your mustache. Copyright 1998, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821629192002-09-26T14:11:00.001-07:002002-09-26T14:11:30.470-07:00

You fell in love with a smile which, while mine, lasted only a while Copyright 1998, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821629032002-09-26T14:11:00.000-07:002002-09-26T14:11:12.233-07:00

I don’t know what to say feeling lied to and betrayed by a mind which whispered “stay” and a heart which yelled “Seize the day!” Copyright 1998, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821628522002-09-26T14:10:00.000-07:002002-09-26T14:10:03.123-07:00

“I trust you” You say, with an edge in your voice A look in your eye I’ve seen before, some place “But who’s this guy this smug little prick who talks like he knows you and I don’t know dick?” And why does it matter what I say? Copyright 1998, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821628412002-09-26T14:09:00.001-07:002002-09-26T14:09:42.153-07:00

“And you don’t even know how to give head” were the last words you said and I laughed, tears of rage for a while, at least, replaced. Thank you for making it so easy to wonder what I ever cold have seen In your broad shoulders and long legs. The power of your forearms -a contradiction to the softness of your skin. You kept your hands so well protected by wearing rubber gloves at work and

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821628252002-09-26T14:09:00.000-07:002002-09-26T14:09:18.276-07:00

Your once soft hand clenches, as does your jaw. I can tell by the twitch and bulge of that muscle by your eye as you lie and tell me that you believe. Copyright 1998, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821628032002-09-26T14:08:00.001-07:002002-09-26T14:08:55.606-07:00

Your black hat disguises The grey in your eyes as the line of your sight seers bullets through mine. Copyright 1998, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821627912002-09-26T14:08:00.000-07:002002-09-26T14:08:31.386-07:00

“But I love you” you say. The end-all, be-all of answers. Mankind’s greatest excuse for violent tirades and verbal abuse. Copyright 1998, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821627552002-09-26T14:07:00.000-07:002002-09-26T14:07:24.806-07:00

The silent red of sunset Cries for the truth of noon which now seems a lie - The warmth of your lips The content of your sighs. Copyright 1998, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821608162002-09-26T13:25:00.000-07:002002-09-26T13:25:51.000-07:00

FOR JOHN, 11/20/97 Like ink of an indelible kind You’ve made an imprint on my mind Your words, your touch the sound of your voice Have all caressed me and left me no choice But to love you. Copyright 1998, Howl-at-the-Moon Words ***

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3814209.post-821606112002-09-26T13:21:00.000-07:002002-09-26T13:23:33.000-07:00

I COUGH I cough The smoke swirls drifts our of your nose and mouth As you talk and barely seem to notice. Your hand lays in front of you palm up On the table and I wonder what you expect to fall into it. The lids of your eyes so grey are moist and they’re all you’ll show me as your words fall on me, pelt me, seem to chip away at the pores of my skin. I lean back The hardness of my chair

Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10703181478728752097noreply@blogger.com0