Welcome to The Pen Bleeds where poetry is more than rhyme, more than reason, more than words flowing with rhythm; it’s a combination of jagged thoughts, feelings, actions, and a unique language opening minds to see the world from a different perspective.
Do you recall the first time a succession of words played like a heavenly melody in your ear, stimulating your senses, causing you to hunger for more? I do. At the shy age of four I was seduced by Christina Georgina Rosetti’s poetic work of genius “Who Has Seen the Wind.” It’s amazing how the method of simplicity used to describe the wind as this epic force to be respected, could move a person to build deeper connections with people, nature, and the world through written word.
This month we’ll be exploring things that we love. Actually, the theme of the month is entitled “Things That I Love” but who cares about technicalities, right? Now, has someone ever written something that enlightened you, opened your eyes, and altered your thinking? Well, I’ve been inspired by two of the poets featured in this month’s issue. Keeping with this month theme, I’ll be introducing you to three sonnetists whose rhythmic flow and depth of subject matter, challenges your views on love addictions, soul mates, and how love can be equivalent to a natural disaster i.e. the Mexico City earthquake of 1985.
First up to bat, is Seven’s own bashful resident rhapsodist, K.S. Pratt., the current EIC (Editor in Charge) w/ADD of “The Pen Bleeds.” She composed the following poem/spoken word piece Untitled which chronicles one persons addiction to the idea of love, and how one can rehabilitate a broken heart through the discovery of self love. This poem also happens to be one of the Editor In Chief’s favorites. Next, Is D.D. Wright a mother, educator, poetess, and Author of Poetry 2Life: Youth. Struggle. Love. D.D. Wright is our first unknown featured poet who submitted Solid an ode to how love between two souls connected can surpass life’s circumstances, distance, and even time. If you’re not familiar with the name, then you need to make yourself familiar. Stop by www.about.me/ddwrightfor more information on this inspirational woman. She’s a bad mama jama! Finally, our pièce de résistance You Bring Out the Mexican in Me an elegy composed by famous Mexican American novelist, poet, and short story writer Sandra Cisneros. If you’ve ever been in love with someone who brought out the feral passionate side of your persona, then you can definitely relate to this masterpiece.
In closing, I would like to thank you for stopping by “The Pen Bleeds”; hopefully I’ve cajoled your brain to embrace literature, poetry, and perhaps inspired you to create a piece of poetry of your own.
Untitled – By K.S. Pratt
My obsession with the person I manifested you to be,
Spun me into a temporary state of dysphoria.
I became unwell.
The euphoric highs of immersing my being around your world,
Soaking up the essence of you like a sponge,
As if hanging on to your every word would quench my thirst.
I was so gone.
Unable to discern between reality and truth,
Caught up in my addiction,
Being mind fucked daily by your lies,
Knowing very well in my heart of hearts this could not be love.
I am partially to blame.
What wasn’t love was lust lurking in my loins,
Leading my heart to believe this lingering sensation was genuine,
So, I fed my fixation.
Why everything that’s supposed to be bad makes you feel so good?
I knew better.
All common sense flies out the window when you’re thinking with your heart instead of your head.
If ignorance published bliss then I became their number one subscriber.
I had issues.
Believing in fantasies of prince charming on a white horse,
Climbing up the side of castle walls,
And if you kiss the frog he’ll be the one.
Then he and I would ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after.
I fell for that.
Never heeded the warnings that read like prophecies before my eyes,
Yet I still refused to see the truth in your intentions; because I was leaning on my own understanding.
I was blind.
Truth be told, this knight in shining armor turned out to be nothing more than a fallacy,
The virtues I sought after in him with my spirit evolved into unrequited adoration.
I woke up.
Realizing the love I had for self, was far greater than the bad habit I developed for my addiction,
I made it my mission to take steps towards loving you from a distance.
I entered rehab.
Still at times this bitter pill is hard to swallow; I crush and take it in small doses,
Slowly working you out of my system.
I am better.
With the passing of each day,
I move on from my faux pas,
Taking in every lesson learned from this life experience.
I let go of my beautiful, twisted, dark fantasy.
I am free.
Realizing that the greatest gift you’ll ever learn is to love yourself first, then accept love in return.
Copyright @K.S. Pratt 2012
By D.D. Wright (Author of Poetry 2Life: Youth. Struggle. Love.)
For love to live through storms and distance means
it must be as real as the deep breath it takes to survive the pain,
not to be left breathlessly in the rain,
not to live fragmented, fighting to maintain,
without the one that holds the umbrella.
Often times, the one that reigns,
not with love lost,
turning lackluster with the wind is not for royalty,
unable to embrace the reality
of you and me,
I feel the need
to re-write history,
ever grateful for a pen and poetry.
all of the caramel drizzled chocolate in the world
can not compare
to the sheer sweetness of us as a pair,
united, our story draws blank stares
on faces of non-believers.
How has it been over 300 days and
I have to pray,
that this soulmate-less nightmare
simply goes away
and I awake to you holding me…yes, you.
Destiny does not say that
I am to be cold or alone or
that my hot other half would flow
right out of my reach.
It is unfathomable for me to see
sand without a beach or
you and me without the “we”
figuratively nor literally
In my stubborn heart,
I will never accept this sick twist of fate,
never, ever ponder a date,
without my imperfect mate.
The door will be cracked,
or if locked,
the key will be in that special place,
where only you know the space.
A whisper inside of me just convinces me
that you will return to me,
safe and ready,
Copyright @D.D. Wright 2012
If you loved D.D. Wright’s poem, check out her book. Click the picture above for more information on where to purchase a copy.
You Bring Out the Mexican in Me
By Sandra Cisneros
You bring out the Mexican in me.
The hunkered thick dark spiral.
The core of a heart howl.
The bitter bile.
The tequila lagrímas on Saturday all
through next weekend Sunday.
You are the one I’d let go the other loves for,
surrender my one-woman house.
Allow you red wine in bed,
even with my vintage lace linens.
You bring out the Dolores del Río in me.
The Mexican spitfire in me.
The raw navajas, glint and passion in me.
The raise Cain and dance with the rooster-footed devil in me.
The spangled sequin in me.
The eagle and serpent in me.
The mariachi trumpets of the blood in me.
The Aztec love of war in me.
The fierce obsidian of the tongue in me.
the berrinchuda, bien-cabrona in me.
The Pandora’s curiosity in me.
The pre-Columbian death and destruction in me.
The rainforest disaster, nuclear threat in me.
The fear of fascists in me.
Yes, you do. Yes, you do.
You bring out the colonizer in me.
The holocaust of desire in me.
The Mexico City ’85 earthquake in me.
The Popocatepetl/Ixtaccíhuatl in me.
The tidal wave of recession in me.
The Agustín Lara hopeless romantic in me.
The barbacoa taquitos on Sunday in me.
The cover the mirrors with cloth in me.
Sweet twin. My wicked other,
I am the memory that circles your bed nights,
that tugs you taut as moon tugs ocean.
I claim you all mine,
arrogant as Manifest Destiny.
I want to rattle and rent you in two.
I want to defile you and raise hell.
I want to pull out the kitchen knives,
dull and sharp, and whisk the air with crosses.
Me sacas lo mexicana en mi,
like it or not, honey.
You bring out the Uled-Nayl in me.
The stand-back-white-bitch in me.
The switchblade in the boot in me.
The Acapulco cliff diver in me.
The Flecha Roja mountain disaster in me.
The dengue fever in me.
The ¡Alarma! murderess in me.
I could kill in the name of you and think
it worth it. Brandish a fork and terrorize rivals,
female and male, who loiter and look at you,
languid in your light. Oh,
I am evil. I am the filth goddess Tlazoltéotl.
I am the swallower of sins.
The lust goddesss without guilt.
The delicious debauchery. You bring out
the primordial exquisiteness in me.
The nasty obsession in me.
The corporal and venial sin in me.
the original transgression in me.
Red ocher. Yellow ocher. Indigo. Cochineal.
Piñón. Copal. Sweetgrass. Myrrh.
All you saints, blessed and terrible,
Virgen de Guadalupe, diosa Coatlicue,
I invoke you.
Quiero ser tuya. Only yours. Only you.
Quiero amarte. Atarte. Amarrarte.
Love the way a Mexican woman loves. Let
me show you. Love the only way I know how.