The life and times of Deborah Spake

my poetry

Blue Ravine

Walking across the broken chards, puzzle pieces of mirrors under my blistered defeat.  Yet, I am still breathing.

Familiar juncture, still walking from bus to train.  Finally landing in a soft silence my ear reaching out to the ringing buzz of the air as I see another ring fall down the ravine.  Even as it tumbles clinking on the bars unseen, the edges and sediment, erosion and sentiment.. like a heavy rock slipping uphill, defying gravity to slide on the occasionally slick desert floor – so this ring travels into your hands alone.  

Hands that held the world.  Hands that create, design and comfort. Melt the gold and see… what you find… the layers of us which remain in this valley over time.

Meandering in forest, mushrooms spread out on the ground to nurture recovery… myself on the ground recovering.  Love making and us upright like the thin tree as our covering, echoing like nearby dogs barking.. a rediscovery.  This azure lighting the path anew… out into the world…

it is     just      blue.

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Cinderella

And he who gave me the shoe that fits and by midnight took it back and returned it…  he will remain my prince long after the foot  impresses the sand and tides have shattered the hour.  Long after the cinders and ash have covered the hearth..  And will linger like coals to reignite the dancing silluette, reflections that round the edges of my empty corner.

(Rochester, NY. Winter 2009)

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Post It

You make me feel beautiful and sexy – even when my face is puffy and my hair is messy.

You make me feel loved and pretty whether we see each other often or un–intentionally.

You make me feel smart and like I should be dancing..

Whether the music is on or off, We’re just bein friends or romancing..

Even as words get lost –

When my mind’s a blank – the way you remember little things I forgot I’d said, a “post it” smile and you rise to the top of my “to do” pile.

Thank goodness for you!

 

 (Rochester, NY. Spring 2009)

 

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Open

The photos in my head flip fast – love of the present, love of the past.

Hot showers, touch on my back,

Your hand on my throat, the way your mouth stays open,

Moist in your stare – I am soaking.


Lips that stop breath, soft suction to nipple like flesh.

My branches part to  make room for what you awaken,

Our limbs to intertwine into the tree, roots we allow down below are shaking.

Leaves fall and leave me bare and willing.. for you grasp me with palm open and I am held and freely giving.

 

(Rochester, NY. Spring 2009)

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FLINT TO THE RHYTHM

I didn’t ask for much .. and got side swiped in return.

And yet the gravity of us keeps me strong.

What do you do when you meet the end of your sentence –

In the essence of another person’s presence?

And he’d have you in pieces while your heart is big enough to hold him whole..

Tic tic, running with a handful of sticks,

Don’t lose your footing as you loosen your grip.

Pat, pat – he had you at ‘keroac’ –

As your thoughts fire to the same heat,

Flint to the rhythm – daring you to speak..

Fast catch to the fly – our minds sync and bait..

Illuminate and singe the sides.

To collide and spill over me .. my other, my other certainty undenied.

 

(Rochester, NY. Spring 2009, for my ‘other’)

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