poetry

immortality

My books are laced with cocaine, I’ve been told–
the natural eventuality
of any paper product
that exchanges hands so often.

They don’t mind.

They tell the stories of
mind-bending drugs,
and mind-blowing sex,
and mind-altering
punk rock villains.

Books, like boys:
I’ve loved all types, at different times,
and sometimes at the same time.

But I’ve loved my love-books through the ages:
I am addicted–
shameless in my devotion
to their pages.

They say
reading about love and sex is dirty, but

delving into the dark mind of a killer
is ordinary,

digging into the dark secrets of the universe
is intellectual,

placing yourself at the scene of a crime
or feet of God
is thrilling.

They say a lot of things,
about a lot of things,
but until they find the strength to write,
I ignore.
I skip.
I fight.

I seek the gritty texture of dark novels.
The sharp stab of a short story and the
meditational effects of a
sultry,
sexy poem.

I crave the gritty smack of a
well-timed,
well-said
swear word
or two,
or twenty-two.

I dive into the bitter pain of betrayal,
the suffocation of isolation, and
the panic before the calm.
The pages soften the blow.

I rub against the scribed stubble of a man’s face,
the soft satin of sheets,
the slick heat of skin.
The letters warm, and glow.

I bite,

holding onto the words that taste
like sandpaper or bitter toffee.

They soften my edges
and leave a bit of themselves behind.
It is building a darker me,
a more open me,
a me that understands
everything.

Literature is my favorite song
and I listen to it
in utter silence.

It resonates in me and every fiber of my body
dances.

No one hears it, but me.
No one sees what I see.

I read books that break the laws of genre.
They’re rebellious– angry–
and my reading only fuels that fire,
spreads it throughout
my mind and soul.

I kiss, I glare, I love, I hate
and it spreads the fire…

and these books I own,
own me.

I organize them in ways that make sense only to me.
The me
who has tasted their insides.

I have explored,
but they have conquered.

They live inside me, they love inside me
and spread to everyone I meet.

I am contagious
and
they
are

immortal.

____________________

poetry

A very old post that seems to be WordPress-jinxed as this is the fourth time I’ve posted it for safekeeping.    I get a little lazier with the formatting each time, but then nothing beats my favorite format “oh no, here comes the morning“, or my second favorite “lies for love“.

What is your favorite genre of reading?  Do you carry any books or characters in your heart?

46 comments

  1. I carry some books in my heart, and their pages are weary from frequent turning, and their words echo in my heart and throughout my life, phrases peppering my thoughts as I experience things. Prominent among them is Anne of Green Gables. It’s beautiful how other works influence your life. I love your little poem, it’s wonderfully enchanting.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Oh, Anne! I love her. I thought of her just the other day when a Little Foot asked me about how syrup was made. She’s a brave little companion to carry around. 😀 Thank you for reading and sharing!

      Like

  2. There are some books that just holding them makes me feel safe, and others that I open to a random page when I need a hug. They range from history books to urban fantasy, with a stop by nature sciences on the way, so I can’t really say what is my favorite genre of reading is.
    I can tell you that Kapu, a wolf from Julie of The Wolves, had made a home of my heart when I wasn’t paying attention.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Kapu! I keep promising the Little Woof I live with that we’ll grab a copy of Julie of Wolves but I keep forgetting. I’m making a note right now. 🙂 I know what you mean about just holding some books. I was desperate for a copy of The Princess Bride in prison, and when it finally arrived, I didn’t even read it. I just tucked it into my arms and fell asleep. ❤

      Like

  3. There are books in my heart and there are characters behind my eyes. They come and go, peering out at my life with their eyes. Some of them only stay for the duration, and some linger longer and longer until they live within.

    Liked by 2 people

        1. No such thing as jumping into a conversation when books or involved. Or really, anything. (Besides, the #ButterflyBrigade is always in one long conversation.)

          But nope, haven’t read Consider The Fork, but I’ll add it. I read the Henrietta Lacks book and it blew my mind, and one about city fairs, and this hilarious Appalachian trail book, too…

          Like

  4. I carry Roland of Gilead and Tasslehoff Burrfoot of Krynn. I carry Merlin the magician and Robin Hood the noble-hearted. I carry Doby the free elf and Ender the much too young. I carry a drunken cowboy who redeems himself, a ghost backpacker, a mystic who I’ve only shared with a handful of readers, and a thousand other immortal characters waiting for their time to be inked.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Happy new year, Rara. I’m with you in craving the gritty smack. I will steal that line now, and use it to title a story or something – one with much cussing and depravity, I should hope. You have to be good at something, after all.

    Wishing you all the best.

    Liked by 3 people

  6. Love a good book…really is true about them being good friends and so well expressed in this poem. I’ve come to believe that my favorite genre would be realistic fiction although maybe that genre is specific to juveniles??

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I just saw a poster about realistic fiction, at a school I visited for work, and the poster featured a little boy walking a dinosaur. I told my boss, “A leashed dinosaur?! That’s strangely realistic. #TooSoon?”

      But yes, I love realistic fiction… and I love books for juveniles. It’s almost impossible for me to walk away from the children/YA without taking home an adventure.

      Liked by 1 person

  7. Ohhhh SCRUMPTIOUS!

    Hmmm books I carry in my heart. The Corfu trilogy by Gerald Durrell, and The Medusa and the Snail, and Lives of a Cell, both by Lewis Thomas.

    And somehow, a little-known book called ‘The Earth Hums in B-flat’, which got under my skin and gave me the most atrocious book-hangover that my mind nearly snapped. It was astonishingly painful and almost tempting to let it happen.

    And Homer, but you know that 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Ooh, mind-snapping book-hangovers are the best thing ever! 😀 I love it, and now that I am really truly reading again, not glossing mindlessly over words– I will read Lives of a Cell and truly simmer in it. ❤

      Liked by 1 person

    1. I do, because we are. And, it helps that you and Dave pretty much ate up the exact same types of words. 😀 Which reminds me of something I meant to say but didn’t when Wes Craven died… I am sorry for your loss. I know Dave would have felt punched in the gut, so you must’ve as well. *hugs* and belated love. ❤

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I think I remember him sparking with glee when I mentioned Nightmare On Elm Street or something one time. 😀
        He certainly was a favorite of mine & a huge inspiration. ❤ Dave would've loved the 31 Nightmares thing. I am most likely bringing it back again next year. Now I know what all of your Peppers feel like with all of those days!! (November has always been a bad month for me schedule wise. Always cooking for someone or something that time of year too.)
        Anyway,
        I love ya.
        You know this.
        xxxx

        Liked by 1 person

Rawr?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s