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Shannon April Alice Poem
The Elephant Gift.
upon the elephant rode a boy prince,
his royal command, he was there to evince.
dark with grace and dripping with youth.
bringing his men, his crown and his couth.
town after town he strode fierce through the gates.
and any detractors were left to cruel fates.
and on one windy day, as they strode into town.
the faces where tenfold and a hush passed around
the grey of the creature with knowing black eyes
swayed left towards the crowd as if to capsize.
and the mass gasped in horror; bairns seized by their mam.
men flung at young ladies, babes pulled from the pram.
the bewildered and flustered
tired elephant sat.
in the center of all on the bald pastors hat.
the old pastor looked stunned to see such a disgrace.
until he remembered, and composed his face.
'your highness' he bowed. his manners restored.
but the poor prince was toppled his mighty seat floored.
they gasped for the prince, just really a child
dressed in fine silks on this elephant wild.
pastor said, 'here now' extending an arm
hand wrinkled and gnarled from the land that he farmed.
then the guards sprung to life as if sudden awake
guns point to the man of whose life they would take.
and just as they squinted their eye for the aim
a boy sang out sweetly, 'sire he's not to blame!'
and the prince from street where he lay in pool
held up his hand and recovered his rule.
he looked at the crowd and he said 'boy now speak'
the boy said, 'prince it is the prayers that you seek.
the prayers that you'd visit. the prayers that you'd stay.
lord must of heard them and granted this way.'
his eyes wide with truth and the love of his church
the prince laughed a beautiful belly filled lurch.
the carriage was called as the prince shared a feast.
and even some water was splashed on the beast.
such a good time as he danced and he spun
till the horses arrived in the dust of a run.
to thank the town and the lovely haired boy
the young prince gave up his own precious toy.
the beast stays quite put in the center of town...
but prayers? Say no more...
so the prince won't fall down.
Copyright © Shannon April Alice | Year Posted 2014
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Shannon April Alice Poem
A thousand tumbles takes a bottle in the sea-
a thousand tumbles and whirls and swoops.
A million grains of sand takes that bottle in the sea,
to break apart,
and fragment like a snowflake fractal.
How many waves carry it like the ocean taxi?
How many mermaid miles till she hands that glass to me?
For I've taken out my very-ness, for you.
- And my crossness.
My judgement and wrath.
I've taken out slight hot breathe
(for you to melt the ice on your whiskers.)
I've taken out my toes when they are reaching for yours in the cavernous blanket world through the forest of our lazy limbs.
I've taken out my righteousness
and my second guessing.
I've taken out for you (a surprise, a gift)
all the times you were going to be wrong to me-
and to wrong me...
taken them out to sea, you see?
In that bottle, pretty bottle. Broken now like too many vows.
I've taken out my knowing best and finding better.
I've taken out the half moon of your thumbnail as well
...I will miss that in my night sky-
(perhaps I'll keep that after all.)
I'll take out the complacency of holding your hand getting out of a chair.
and the mindless strokes
as you explain
my commonplace crazy
to
simpler minds-
I'll take out the very-ness of me, and the we-ness of us.
and fill a bottle with a the brine of a thousand tears from hundred slights not slighted quite yet.
I fill the bottle and gift the sea
with the softness of you and the brashness of me.
A thousand turnabouts it takes to reach you on the beach,
a sea glass diamond ring, engage me you engaging man-
and the tides tickles my feet in anticipation, marry me. marry me.
just a sea glass promise
for a mermaid bride
waiting for the sailor man to sing her sweetly with salt on his lips
Just a sea glass lullaby from the man who loves me so.
Marry me, marry me
And we drink sparkling water from a sea glass flute
and we drink all the us and we drink all the we
for sea glass could never hold a second in,
sea glass is far too vain not to shine in the sun fanning
your invite out in a spectrum of color that
a small child's hand creates when he holds it up to the rays.
Spills out all of my intentions
Spoiled child, loved child,
Spills out all of my intentions carelessly on the sandy floor for the tides to swallow whole.
My sea glass prism chucked unceremoniously back to sea
and me the mermaid bride left at her own alter...
But a seashell to your ear and her my wailing sorrow calls,
'marry me, sailor. marry me.'
Copyright © Shannon April Alice | Year Posted 2014
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Shannon April Alice Poem
come to me.
to the floor where i kneel
in front of you.
follow me- pay attention close
and bend.
your will.
your beliefs,
your promises.
your boundaries.
your comfort.
follow me with your stare as i slither back above the floor.
and crawl over
your expectations
your judgments
your rehearsed words
dripping like drool from a baby's lip.
delight, devine
as i slide off this good girl's skin
contain your
greed
disbelief
desire while i
take you up mountains in your mind, lover.
i raise you from the center of the sky.
while i blind you with lust
'till you feel silken places inside-
so fragile they will tear
ill bring the goblet to your mouth sir-
and the richest ruby reds slither down your throat as if it were alive.
oh yes, we will climb,
feel the mount behind us holding us up... wind up so high must be stealing our breath
I will give you touch, lover.
the kind you never found in all your searches.
the kind that does the touching with it's shadow not it's skin
and the shadow dances to tickle in the most promising of places.
yes ill give you whispers up here-bounce them around
like a helium star
slowly whisper here, bouncing, slowly whisper there.
rake what used to be my fingers....
now though they are sticks from the forest bound together to
glide through your silky hair and leave their beautiful piney scent.
come to me, and share old magic
just a baby of the woods-
lay you on a bed of branches
cold leaves, borough in your naked skin...
bring to me now your empty pallet
and fill my sorrow with your fight.
sahn.
11/23/2018
Copyright © Shannon April Alice | Year Posted 2014
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Shannon April Alice Poem
Just Your Average Sinner
I am just your average sinner,
sly glances say, I am second chance, time around .
I spin mediocre wildest-dreams
in rundown hope hotels
I am just a pretty sinner with a
dusty trail of lust
like green pollen in my wake.
A vehicle of possibility
to all the places we can drive our devils,
with cocktails and vague musician
who lean back on wooden chairs, against walls of fading paint.
with tables for sins
to be laid out like Thanksgiving.
My sins are neon signs in yellowed rooms,
My sins are rusted cans kicked in old beach towns.
My sins are hot pavement under cracked rubber tires rumbling above.
My back arched in a prayer to the sky.
The rise of my hipbones like majestic mountains.
My sins leak from my eyes. First one, then another.
Down, Down they fall
I fall to my knees.
They fall and I curse them for leaving me too.
I fall to my knees like the traveler who has journeyed too long,
On my knees and I kiss the dirt of home.
I am humbled and groveling...within my sinning.
And I pray a much louder prayer. I am a much humbler servant, with much to forgive.
I wear my sins like a raincoat to keep me dry from all the
good intention and 'well-deserved!' that might be coming my way.
I twist my sin into a paper flower and wear it in my sinful hair next to my sinful eyes by my sinful mind.
I am just your average sinner
Dreaming of living a better life someday.
Praying to be a better me, someday.
Someday is a funny place to live
With towering hopes
and skyscraping desires scratching at its sterile walls.
No, not for me.
I am just your average sinner...
with extraordinary sins.
1/1
2014
Copyright © Shannon April Alice | Year Posted 2014
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Shannon April Alice Poem
I missed you today.
With an suddenness, a bereft slap across my skin.
When that familiar hair ahead of me on the sidewalk
turned.
And it wasn't you.
I missed you in the hollow of the moment of the stranger who wasn't you.
And with resounding howl
Like a grieving mother
I missed you.
I remember in the sheets we'd tangle,
I smelled them. I smelled summer air and my perfume
I smelled the your soap and your musk in that minute second on the street.
I stopped and I breathed in deep. Inhale, Inhale.
Before you turned and it was not you.
Like a sailor's wife on the shore
I watched as the stranger who wasn't you turned back down the street
Growing smaller and smaller in the distance.
And a thousand piercing stinging blinding pins of light forced themselves.
They stabbed my soul, and took my breathe.
Took your scent and the bed we lay.
On the street, on the street
as you walked away, the stranger.
Paralyzing me with your nearness only to be someone so very much not you.
I missed you and i stood in the street and gravity gave up it's pull to laugh at my foolishness
and my eyes filled with tears to celebrate their perfect deception.
and my bones forgot how to hold on for dear life
and i slid to the ground
to the ground
because
I saw you today on the street. The stranger that wasn't you.
I have learned the art of hiccuping you inside.
Memory, hiccup. There you are now tucked away inside.
Kisses on the soft hairs at the nape. Hiccup that away too.
And all of the hiccups came out in a swallow of your name...
A hundred swallows, truth.
They flew wickedly around my head gleeful in my faux pas.
And ten hungry vultures came to take the remains of my hope.
Pick away greedily at my anticipation.
Satied on the last of my blind faith and now they are too fat to fly.
And I am too weak to run.
Because I saw you on the street today,
The stranger that wasn't you. My beloved. My adored.
Such a peculiar street.
I will not pass this way again.
sahn
04/09/2014
Copyright © Shannon April Alice | Year Posted 2014
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Shannon April Alice Poem
I have burned the church yard down
danced on every hot red mound
and dug out wells with pales of red
and to the children gave stoned bread.
I watched the sea swell with delight
Gave hope to those with endless night
I grieve by every paupers grave
like lovers tears for the newly saved.
I have sold off squares of skies
to melt off in poisoned pies.
I have squander endless gold
from rich men's purse where I've cajoled
And I will drink my whiskey straight
and make a list of what I hate.
I will jump off areoplanes
crashing through cathedral panes
And I will topple endless trees
upset the nest of surly bees.
And if you don't contain my spill
keep your promise in good will
For I am simply lost at sea
waiting that you come for me.
For I am simply biding time
waiting for that love of mine.*
sahn 9/9/2014
Copyright © Shannon April Alice | Year Posted 2014
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Shannon April Alice Poem
Don't, then.
If you don't love me the stars will no longer be flickering fairy dust
just dots of light that I can't comprehend.
If you don't love me the ocean will not play it's violin sing-song for me.
Just the tide sigh as she follows the endless whims of the moon.
If you don't love me the city won't be cradling me in kind looks and baskets woven from the crisscrossing of streets, the city will burn me with it's cold dirt floor and endless vacant eyes.
If you don't love me the song on the radio won't be winking at us as it croons our story, just a song on the radio for some other lovers. If you don't love me, I'll just turn the dial.
If you don't love me my fingers will still tap, words will still spill, the paper will burst but the content just vague ghosts of conversations we used to have, prepositions and verbs.
If you don't love me wine will not paint faint blush on my cheeks, make me clever and coy, twirl my hair round it's stem. She'll be wicked and horrid as she whispers the truth to my heart. That you don't love me.
If you don't love me my feet will keep up their silly game of one before the other. If you don't love me my heart will keep instructing the band inside how to move, to beat, to flow.
If you don't love me my eyes will blink from the dust of the road that you left on.
If you don't love me I will wake up with you on my mind,
If you don't love me I will still wake.
If you don't love me I will.
If you don't love me there will be no more reading poetry to a firefly audience, if you don't love me the sounds of the crickets won't whisper, "kiss her. kiss her".
If you don't love me and the hollow of my shoulders,
and the yellow light of my eyes, sway of my walk, and the cut of my jeans and the hue of my hair and my skin against yours.
If you don't love my eyes that flirt and my sleeping tossing form, if you don't love me, then don't.
If you don't love me. Don't, then.
Sahn 3/24/14
Copyright © Shannon April Alice | Year Posted 2014
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Shannon April Alice Poem
I Would No More
I cannot sleep, and perhaps I'm weary.
But I will not dream and chance I might
somehow shift,
the blinding grace of this day.
I would no more alter this beautiful man
then change my beautiful mind.
I would not send this man, this moment-
onto the woeful way without me.
And I will not risk these open eyes to
only to find in the spaces between one days dressing -
all of the ceaseless hours thrown casually to the floor like last nights silver gown-
in that one speck in time where I cannot see the freckled hollows
(I will not risk it, I cannot risk it)
of your shoulders
and the subtle rhythm of your chest. A day
that is not locked in this very now as
I cannot lose you
by a pause
or a nod. I cannot.
I will not rest my mind
and find when I've returned
you've gone on ahead without me and
and I cannot breathe, I will not breathe for if I do
I might breathe out some of us,
I might breathe out some of you
Holding my breathe, holding my faith-
Pulchritudinous
Dire thirst,
Digestion of you.
7/17/14
Copyright © Shannon April Alice | Year Posted 2014
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Shannon April Alice Poem
Storm into that room so you will be seen, and
hold up high, sun salute
that body, that vessel you got!
Take every vertebrae, mmm pull it taught
Pull it.
Pull it as twine itself
wrapped around my words-
each bone
creaking like footfalls on old wooden stairs.
And look directly at your soul-
Do not squirm in the shame
of your nakedness -
beautiful lustful abundantly naked-
Instead
Crest, oh lord,
White swirling madness of intentions.
and take these old bones, baby-
take this body
Take these old bones of mine and pull them up,
Stretch, find the strength! and pull-
Take those limped shoulders and throw them back to the gods!
Oh your rusted soul, fill it with water from the Darma Dirty Crick.
And it might
burn-
sting and sour.
Make you cough, choke and sputter.
But oh
Renewed, Renewed!
And you start out with the feet, kicking rocks on the road, mmmm.
And end with the head bowed back with a psalm bouncing on
red berry lips, mmm
Oh, yes! Hands out to glory, oh feet moving, dancing
hot pavement below like Hades.
Step and another, another.
Until your out of frame...
Oh glory is the road.
Cleaned and cleansed as you go,
Hear me? Cleansed as you go, down Sinner Lane.
Cleansed and cleansing is the road
of the
revival parade.
sahn 8/25/14
I write. Whenever anyone reads my work? I'm always just a little bit amazed .
Thank you, as always.
Copyright © Shannon April Alice | Year Posted 2014
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Shannon April Alice Poem
A waiting doll
in your waiting corner
where you left me to love me later.
Your jointed, painted playmate
stilled,
eyes wide and thrilled
where you left for solace someday.
I am timepiece.
mantel placed with Christmas lace?
I am mark the date
your ticking tock tock knock
three chime movement, seconds flat
chiseling out time to spend
Am i your singing cherub child?
Red faced ruddy,
trilling and wild
Am i your avec la voix des fleurs?
a note that waits here on all fours
patient to be heard
to sing in lazy ear someday?
waiting willing wanton woman
serving sarcasm
and delivering indifference
to the audience that's left behind
two cents to the dollar now
and the floors electric with the sales
of mighty stocks and mighty bales
and two cooper, two
is what i gave you.
for the love of a girl
in disgrace of her moral path
shall you advance her
or will she be placed below.
two pennys two.
between her and i.
avec la voix
avec,
la voix.
sahn shannon april alice 11/24/2014
sahn 11/24/2014
Copyright © Shannon April Alice | Year Posted 2014
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