Nameless City

nameless-city
“Nameless City,” mixed media, Clare L. Martin, 2016

 

 

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Blackbird

blackbird

 

a memory: leaves in piles
a kiss
hazel eyes
a rotten picnic table

soft hands
the hands of a philosopher
the hands of a seeker, a poet
children of the Universe

lover
kisses the curves
under a soft blouse
undoes buttons
the chill of autumn
his sweater / her shoulders

blackbird spins the ochre leaves
(itself a leaf), the blackbird—
a burnt leaf at nightfall
spun from the soot of dreams

This memory evokes tears
This memory
a ruin across a ruined landscape

salts the earth of her life
sets fire to her harvest

The blackbird rises
and scrawls
a brutal truth skyward.

 

 

©2016 Clare L. Martin

Rose

rose

She bathes in rose, an old scent. Cold water at the base of her neck. She shivers, cold, rose on her skin, pink, rose, again. Rose to her mouth, her cheeks. Rose in her hair. She breathes and is transported. Her body: a garden. Her breasts suckled by bees. Her eyes alit with butterflies.  Night falls and she is a dark rose spread open. Rain spreads her more open, more vulnerable, more succulent. Her most-willing heart exposed. Her scent lusts the air. All night she is laid upon, until dawn, when she glistens—wanton with completion, the expected restiveness of near obliteration.

©2016 Clare L. Martin

Obsessed with memories…

descent

 

autumn afternoon
glass room led
zeppelin that room
led zeppelin his kiss
love making my jeans
no braces hazel eyes
so many years
youth love years
melting away sunlight
glass love music
guitars love glass
kisses love glass
melting years love
melting music melting
glass sun glass
sex melting music
sun melting glass
sex music sex
glass never ending
love my lust
never died
my breath still
gasping now
coming now
coming
that memory

now

passion
my love
lust
my sacred body
woman
body
hot tears
my love-lust
my heart

ache
bondage
my eternal bondage
promises
etched in dust
a vow, a lock
rusted chains
grit, cut flesh
gritty metal
shards of my lust

his touch erased me
god help me
his touch erased me
his touch erased me

I was never protected
I was never stood up for
god help me

what is left to cherish?

his touch erased me
I was never protected
I was never stood up for

god help me

 

©2016 Clare L. Martin

 

Poem after Angel Bath series by Dennis Paul Williams

Angel Bath

after a mixed media art piece in the Angel Bath series by Dennis Paul Williams

 

The fetal heart stops
in a globe of light
bones work
their way through flesh
flesh-in-water
her cheek depressed
a doctor’s thumbprint
bruises aorta
gray washes into amber
soft, blooded veins—
her mother bears
the crown of thorns.

Desiccation we know
is truth
because the artist
layers each dream
upon the other
the artist dreams
these dreams for us
to show us
what happens
when waters rise
when rains fall.

When mothers suffer
up to their necks
reach for the ceiling
pray for lightning bolt holes
through the roof: a delivery
of a different kind
the ever-ghost children
quickly go to ground—

Beloved, loved,
still-hearted and all.

 

©2016 Clare L. Martin