Sunday, January 11, 2009

An enigma - unto herself - it's what I love about c

I came upon a real treat tonight; surfing, surfing, surfing my sea of cyberfriends,, trying to catch up with the comings and goings, trials and tribulations and mental meanderings of soulful, provocative & sensate individuals - who enrich and inspire us all - to higher, rarer realms of thought and imagination.. ahh.. and how I love swooping in on All the Elbows: the bend of them, their grease, poke and of the tennis variety - all are welcome in the house of c.. she will bend your mind, grease your creaky heart, ..and poke you right where it hurts with her fine-tuned, fertile verbal ferocity which has the power to ferry you across vast expanses of feral fields of cerebral imaginings like a pioneer imagist seeking new and untenable frontier. c is for cosmos, coping, commentary, caring, stream of consciousness, control, life changes, clean and color - which make up the cornucopia known as christine. And, we certainly can't get enough of c, see?

~ a little see of c ~


longer than not
i forget our separateness, was it ever
did i even exist before there’s only togetherly

you still melt me
in my belly like lava
and laughing and crying and
those times on our knees crawling

scraping and making
you me much forgiven
loved more than forgave less than adored

you’ve made me
good good good man so good
saved me so good

so good to me you godgiven you


bad penny

This is what I say when there’s that feeling in my chest-
cold, metallic.
Coppery like old dead blood.
That’s why I say it.
Bad penny’s what I call it.
A bad place outside digging at our insides.
It spreads out slow and steady from that place we call heart.
It’s that place that is your heart literally:
life-giving blood muscle,
and that place we think of as our heart meaning the heart of our being.
Our quick.
It spreads out,
pushing everything aside and filling you up with bad penny.
You breathe deep.
You have to in order to fill that space,
to make it good again.
You breathe so deep,
so deep,
but can’t be filled.
There’s not enough air to dislodge it.
And when you got bad penny,
ever notice how on the exhale,
you’re shaky?
The breath trembles,
starts and stops on its struggle outward?
It’s a bad way, a deep hurt,
shock anger love hate.
That’s because Abe’s hands don’t want to let it go.
Abe’s hands want to keep the air and bend it,
make it sticky,
And that sound!
Terrible sound that I can’t directly describe.
It’s not a cry so much as a tear,
a rendering,
wrenching and primal.
An escape-
desperate escape from the hollow where you once were.
Choking up the bad penny is what I like to call it and once that sound comes out of you,
the bad penny begins to melt.
Molten copper filling,
then spilt from eyes and suddenly!-
there’s room!
So the bad penny’s tossed up upon the ground,
like so much nothing.
Worth something so worthless…

Like myself.



i hear you whisper
what shall we wear this year

the classic look of course

golds reds browns oh you beautiful hands
resplendent and reaching
handing down cooled breezes to the forest floor
giving thanks in moonrise
reflecting warm light from the sun

ushering disguised children begging for candy
shading speckled fawns
bearing apples mmm the apples shapely pears

dappled walkways whirling dervishes tapping and miraculous
time for honey cake darling
scarves long nights brittling and starred
full of the odor of leaving short chilled days

and you
a sudden burst of color
banners of welcome only to disrobe in preparation for the season of rest

autumn trees
a dazzling show of dying

(copyright 2008 ) c A Hughes


The Tao of Laundry

*If you wish to comprehend the Infinite, consider Laundry.

*Like all things eternal- God, Time, Space- Laundry was, is and shall ever be.

*Laundry is something done that is never done.
Meditate on this and achieve enlightenment…


regarding the stars

what do they do up there,
stars, winking like tipsy eyes-

they look down on us and make wishes

she floats above in her star spangled bodice
and collects eyes for luck

the ocean is her treasure box
and filled with them, with bones

nibbled on by white lobsters
smoothed and the salt of the sea

clumsy, falling
where do you land?

you don’t.
you disintegrate, become dust, vanish-

are forgotten.

thorny stars or we are dead?
a million years when your light is met-

in contemplation, study, an accidental happening
wish on our faces, wide and light as memory,

we are the dust

(copyright 2008 ) c A Hughes

me, in the only dress i'll ever wear

will you be my dress

and he is
and he looks good on me
clings to me
beautifies me

in him, i am a vision

his color compliments mine
he feels good on me
and i am aware of my hips
i move hard

(copyright 200 8) ) c A Hughes

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Reading these few poems ought to make you drop everything and tear over to All the Elbows for a longer visit. You will be treated to good/honest writing in a genuine, down-to-earth from-bird's-eye-view voice. c is an excellent writer of prose and poetry; no topic is too tough or taboo - written from a very unique perspective by a very unique voice - unafraid to dig deep into your soul, grab your heart and squeeze or wring your mind like a mop head. You will think differently than when you arrived, you'll see things from a different perspective and you will definitely feel the passion and depth of c's emotion wrung out in every word she writes. Guaran-teed, indeed!