This night is
a fuzzy, fleshy peach
which I aim to take a bite of
just knowing that
it won’t be long
before I am covered
in sticky, sweet juice
dripping from my fingers
running down my arms.
This night is
a sultry dream
a far-away jazz tune
brought by a wayward breeze
an offering laid at my feet
a promise I intend to keep.
This night
is ripe.
Please, let me kiss you
before the summer bids us adieu
while its glow still warms through your eyes,
while your mouth yet beguiles me with smiles,
and our youthful hearts still beat true.
Let all that has been done, undo
and let nothing witness it but the skies,
as we give in to the sweetest surprise
if you please, let me kiss you
like we fear no pain anew
with nothing to lose, we’ll gently construe
from lips to lips, with words implied
honey sweetness, on a rising tide,
imparting volumes with our sighs, how to
please, let me kiss you.
And with one
electric shock,
as the dawn
dissipates the dark,
I promise
I will do naught,
but kiss you.
Since Tony Maude over at Dverse Poets Pub introduced the rondeau I have been working on this poem. My biggest challenge was the rhyme structure, which for this rondeau is a 15-line poem with rentrement (aabba–aabR–aabbaR). I call mine a rondeau+ because the last stanza is not really rondeau form, more like a parenthesis or an afterthought, in a Cummings kind of way. I welcome your comments on how it turned out!
Beware the poets
they put all of their loves,
encapsulated in words,
in pithy boxes,
enshrined.
Little wolf-spiders
in sheeps’ clothing,
they hang out in corners,
unassuming spectators,
ready to trap you
in a moment
tangled, spun
into their invisible web.
Kind of dashing the image of the romantic poet here, and poking a bit of fun at myself. I do feel a little guilty sometimes, because all is fair in poetry and writing. Found this ickily beautiful banana spider hanging on its web above a street parking pay station at Spanish River Beach in Boca Raton, FL.
beautiful boy
I know just what you mean
There is no me without you
Hungry ghosts
Joined at the heart
The elephant in the room
Song of the tides
The hidden messages in water
I thought it was just me
(but it isn’t)
Inspired by Sorted Books Poetry in Book Titles by Samuel Peralta on Dverse
They met in the summer,
on the south end of Pawleys Island
where the waves slap high-fives
and the north wind runs free.
And on one star-filled night,
while the moon shone bright,
the green marsh fell deeply
in love with the blue sea.
You could feel it everywhere,
their love was swirling in the air.
She loved his blue intensity,
he loved her green positivity.
It was right as the tides,
so it came as no surprise,
when the dashing blue groom,
took the luminous green bride.
For the great wedding feast
came the turtles, from the east
and other privileged guests,
including the egrets from the west.
The mullets came from up north,
a procession of pelicans from down south,
and the blue creek crabs
just popped in, unannounced.
“I will love you when it storms,
and when its sunny, I will rejoice.”
“I will provide a place for you,
I will listen for your voice.”
“And whether the tides are high or low,
no matter how the wind blows,
we will ride it all together
so our precious love grows.”
As long as time will be,
every year on Pawleys,
all shall celebrate the day
the green marsh
married the blue sea.
Because Forever, the blue sea
will run his gentle fingers through her hair.
Forever, the green marsh
will whisper sweet nothings in his ear.
And when only sand and shells remain,
the air will still smell like champagne.
It was in a dream
in a low-light room
in a box of matches
from a pocket
It was a rapid friction
a flare of passion
reflected in dark eyes
It was in a dream
I sometimes tell myself
where nothing I touched
could touch me back
It was in my skin
in the evidence of
the scars, the burns,
the scratches
In a crying moment
in a chosen fashion
that a game of arms
struck like matches
in the beating heart
of a dream
pleasure & pain
are the same muscle.
Sparks
I wrote this poem in 1993. I was taking an Environmental Science class in college and it was so boring, and so long, that I would write poetry to help myself stay awake. It was inspired by a friend, and I was trying to write a poem from his perspective. This poem was originally published in the Garnet & Black Quarterly, 1994. Copyright Lupita Eyde.
An interpretive dancer,
digging deep a well-spring of emotion,
a rescue swimmer, conquering a deep blue ocean.
Coaxing waves of sound into the air,
lyrical arms, infinitely fluid,
life’s highs and lows, all in one movement.
You’re a mad painter, with a magnetic brush
a cool conductor, the master electrician,
invisible puppeteer of every musician
As your arms weave a tapestry of sound
gathering, tying, every strand wound,
I am lifted, elevated a few feet off the ground.
Yes-
vanquished, cajoled, and soothed, I am
because you are like butter, man.
This poem is about Michael Butterman, the conductor of the Jacksonville Symphony Orchestra during their performance of Franz Liszt’s Les Préludes on April 19, 2013. I was very inspired by the theme of the evening, which also featured Angela Brown singing A Woman’s Life by Richard Danielpour, which was inspired by poetry by Maya Angelou. During Les Préludes the words just started coming to me, inspired definitely by the music, but also by the conductor. I used the prompt for Day 18 of NaPoWriMo to get my poem started, which was to begin and end a poem with the same word.
Music & Poetry, April 19, 2013.
Update 4/22 – This made me happy:
Awesome! RT @lupitatucker Inspired by the #JaxSymphony: a new poem for NaPoWriMo: “Butterman” bit.ly/13HYBm4#napowrimo
— JaxSymMusicians (@JSOMusicians) April 21, 2013
Goodbye, Jersey
(inspired by Goodnight, Moon, by Margaret Wise Brown.)
The sun is high
The air is still
And everything that will be,
will.
Cars racing on the GSP
and the lady conductor asking, “tickets, please.”
Summer, trees, hydrangeas
Cool ocean breeze and jughandles
Every town in descending order,
and memories calling
from every corner
Goodbye, Jersey
Goodbye, Shore
Goodbye all the Wawa stores
Rt 35 & 36
Radio stations’ eclectic mix
Beginning in Red Bank, on the Navesink River
and traipsing around the state together,
Gingerbread houses in Ocean Grove
Twin Lights beaming from above,
Like an old, cherished love,
“You have not changed!”
(never will!)
Yet, the train moves forward, still.
Goodbye, Jersey
Goodbye, Al
Goodbye horses, farms, and cows
Goodbye ocean breeze, and salty air
and Jersey Girls everywhere.
Copyright 2012 Lupe Eyde-Tucker. All rights reserved.
Ocean Grove, NJ
I did not write ‘Goodbye, Jersey’ during NaPoWriMo 2013. I wrote it last summer after visiting New Jersey, specifically MoCo, and reconnecting with friends and places where I grew up. It was a great trip, and on the last day, as I was waiting for the train from Red Bank to take my mother and I to Newark Airport, all of the sudden the first lines of this poem just popped into my head, and I started writing it, literally on the train schedule. As we took our seats, verses and phrases kept coming to me, and I pulled out my notebook and started just writing it all out. It was a spontaneous poetic moment which I am still awed by. A couple of months later the entire state was slammed by Superstorm Sandy, and Monmouth County was devastated.
Lupita holds an MFA in Creative Writing - Poetry from the University of Florida, and has served as a staff scholar at Bread Loaf Translators Conference since 2021. She is a Vermont Studio Center Fellow and has received generous institutional support from Bread Loaf Writers Conferences, the Kentucky Women Writers Conference, and New York State Summer Writing Institute.
Lupita translates poetry from Spanish and is currently translating Venezuelan poet Oriette D'Angelo. She loves visiting the beach with her children, volleyball, word games, black and white film photography, dancing, darkrooms, road trips, and trains.
Not Enough Poetry 