Sharon's Muse

Sharon Cullars Coffee Talk at 7/19/2011 08:54:00 AM Permanent Link | | Home

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Monday, July 26, 2010

I'm on the cusp of immortality...

...well, if immortality is around five years. Anyway, I started a poetry game thread at AbsoluteWrite in April, 2005 and it's still going strong. That thread is going to outlast me. I found a couple of poems I wrote specifically for the site and had forgotten all about them. The themes are dark and I can barely remember writing them. Read them below.

Like Mommy

The child stares
at the shadow
'round Mommy’s right eye.
Or is it the left?
She's confused,
not sure which
is which;
she's only just learned
the letter Z.
Mommy mumbles,
swipes at a tear
as she clears the table,
then shouts "Go upstairs!"

The child slinks
quietly
from her chair,
drags Sable
'cross a jam stained floor,
stumbles on the headless
Barbie splayed naked
on the stairs.
DJ has knocked
its head off again
and she can't find it.
Upstairs, she
stops at Mommy's
bedroom door,
sees the
treasure chest.

Daddy's singing
in the shower...
the shouting is
over for now.
She sneaks in,
listenin' out for
Mommy, DJ.
She loves these
stolen moments.

She opens the
box of powders…
searches the lipsticks.
finds the blood red,
dots the color
across Sable’s
cheeks, lips,
just below the nose,
Sees
the eye shadow,
black,
cakes it around
Sable’s right…
or is it the left?....
eye.

She smiles
at her handiwork,
adorns herself
with Mommy's
familiar colors…
red, black, blue…
Stands back from the mirror,
smiles wider.

Yes, just like Mommy...

Untitled

Rummaging
through
the hazed
gin-wine-vermouth
bottled years
of his existence,
on occasion
fortified
with
lines of
white,
(anything
to mute the
silences, but
Lethe
is elusive these
days)
his
will to forget
crumbles
beneath
the weight
of damnable
regret,
and in
sorrowful
hindsight
retraces
paths forsaken,
never taken,
and finds
her there
waiting.

Labels: Poetry

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Sharon Cullars Coffee Talk at 7/26/2010 07:35:00 PM Permanent Link | | Home

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Thursday, January 31, 2008

Alley Reflections

The surface doesn’t tell much,
reflecting up only what the rain gives,
its myriad cracks and fissures
drowning in detritus
delivered by irreverant bodies.
The neon strobe inhales, exhales
ambient light,
bathing her
as she finds solace
against the wet brick,
contemplating
his words.
She knows the smell
of this alley,
its summer haze,
its winter chill,
knows how hard the wall is
when he’s in his throes
and forgets that she is soft.
She’ll remember
this night
when she’s old,
the reeking garbage,
the teasing smell of
moo gai pan
from the restaurant next door,
the putrifying death
of desire
in a wet alley.

Sharon Cullars, 2007

Labels: Poetry

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Sharon Cullars Coffee Talk at 1/31/2008 06:39:00 PM Permanent Link | | Home

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Saturday, April 07, 2007

And yet another poem - "Celebration"

Soft and bold,
with no apologies given,
they move joyously,
their motions flowing
where blood merges
with the life-earned songs
of mothers
and grandmothers
carried forward to them
on the winds of time.
Venues change,
but the dance
remains unaltered.
It moves them
from village to stream,
with water jars
balanced defiantly
on proud heads.
It sends them
"shouting"
down church aisles,
amens tumbling
from praising lips.
It sashays them
down urban streets
daring naysayers
to say a thang.
It sets their stride
down corporate aisles
drowning out
echoes of
"you don't belong."
This dance
keeps moving them,
keeps flowing them,
keeps raising them,
and one day
it's gonna soar them
straight across the galaxies

Labels: Poetry

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Sharon Cullars Coffee Talk at 4/07/2007 08:39:00 PM Permanent Link | | Home

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Still Another Poem

Island Song

Caribbean blue,
cerulean waters,
azure skies,
the taste of plaintain
on my tongue
sticky on my fingers,
smeared on my thighs.
I laugh,
listening to the intoxicating
sound of your guitar
strumming to the rhythm of
the waterfall nearby.
Sing to me an island song,
soft and sweet,
lift your lilting tones
to the sun,
serenade me,
and join the melody
of the flowing river,
and waving palms.
The yellow-winged parrots
try to steal your tune,
and carry it soaring through
the skies.
But you grab it back,
and flow it off your lips
for me to taste.
I take the song in my mouth,
and savor its pomegranate sweetness.
Sing to me an island song,
my love,
while I lay my head on your lap
and listen to your tale.

Some music to go with:

Labels: Poetry

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Sharon Cullars Coffee Talk at 4/07/2007 06:10:00 PM Permanent Link | | Home

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Old Poem - "Temptation"

Oh, how am I to pass this day
and not give in to the compelling sway
of all that would pass my lips
and make their home my abundant hips?

Though try I do to ignore their call
and just be strong and toss them all,
each chocolate-covered, each fat-swathed bite,
teases my tongue and brings such delight

That my mouth bids them all to stay awhile
and let the decadence of each defile
the righteousness of my inner will
that damns my appetite to just be still.

But my stomach hails them and says "come in"
and speaks to me, "what is life without sin"?
And again I succumb to temptation's pleasure
whose pounds and inches I am loathe to measure.

Labels: Poetry

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Sharon Cullars Coffee Talk at 4/07/2007 05:35:00 PM Permanent Link | | Home

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