Write a tribute poem to another DU poet

 Be careful, you might steal my heart
with lines of poetry so sweet!
Your rhymes and metaphors so smart
will have me captive at your feet.
 
If glimpses of your soul you share,
be careful! You might woo my heart.
Your self in songs or canvas fair
can slay me like a magic dart.
 
If down that soulful road we start,
of you, I’ll never have enough.
Be careful! You might hold my heart,
and keeping that beast fed is tough.
 
If authenticity you bring,
I’ll dream of you when we’re apart.
When with your brokenness, you sing --
be careful! You might steal my heart.
 

The poem was posted on the board,  
feeling sad and blue,  
it hadn't gained a Like or Comment –  
not even one or two!  
 
'I'm all unloved,' the poem said,  
with a tear-filled eye,  
and sitting down upon the ground
it then began to cry;  
 
but soon there came a clipping sound  
and a clopping too,  
and when the poem raised up its head,  
there stood your horse and you.  
 
You clicked on Like and said nice words,  
then went upon your way,  
so thanks, Honoria, for being so kind,  
you made my poem's day.  
 
🎠💚

 
chiaroscuro woman ~
ov pastel chalk {&} charcoal,
subtle lines & razor angles  
an echo ov the dichotomy
that lives in my track marks;  
she is a beautiful sickness
a fever'd consuming_  
lustful hangovers,  
2am texts  
from vodka soak'd fingers  
{a scream ov vulnerability
wrench'd from bravado}  
allowing us to drink  
nak'd truths from her lap ~
... mistress ov decadence,
daisy chain'd flower child  
wearing
the tattoo'd skin ov night  
& midmorning light  
in the valley ov her breasts ...  
she walks pockmark'd pavements
& summer meadows
with equal grace  
//

     
You flinch when the tweezers      
click against the last few      
pieces of egg shell      
in your heel.      
I raise an eyebrow      
and ogle your junk.      
That red apron      
leaves nothing to my      
imagination.      
     
I try to be      
gentle.      
     
But I don’t have a lot of      
gentleness in me.      
     
You lean forward for a kiss      
and make a point to      
look down the front of      
your t-shirt while      
I feign indignation.      
     
You pulled the shirt      
off me earlier      
like it was      
redemption      
I put it back on because      
it smelled like you.      
And I’m tired of crying      
     
I’m so tired of crying.      
     
A dick joke gets trapped      
on my lips because      
     
fuck!      
fuck me.      
     
My eyes track      
the purple bloom      
on your shoulder where I      
threw the mixer;      
the cut on your bicep      
from the flying metal spatula;      
the circle of holes on your chest      
that look like a perfect      
match to my nails.      
     
And the bloody footprints      
that led you back to me.      
     
I look away,      
breath hitching,      
because I did that      
     
and I flash back to that moment…      
     
I stopped in mid panic,      
in mid freak-out,      
right in the fucking middle      
of telling you to get the hell      
out of my kitchen,      
my place,      
my life,      
while throwing everything      
I could get my hands on at you      
     
I stopped.      
     
hot tears      
melted my cheeks      
because      
     
You didn’t pin me      
to the counter,      
tell me to stop,      
or throw shit back…      
     
you just…      
     
got hurt.      
     
you just…      
     
stood there      
     
and opened your arms.      
     
I watched you bleed.      
     
watched you bleed…      
and then you opened your arms.      
     
So I stopped dead.      
made a broken sound and      
crashed into you      
shaking,      
sobbing,      
sinking my hands      
into your hair as      
you caught my lips      
with yours      
     
I found something      
gentle in me      
after all      
when I held your face,      
and watched you,      
broken and bleeding      
for no other reason      
than my      
caprice,      
enter me slowly      
     
I didn’t close my eyes as we      
murmured love words,      
you still on eggshells,      
so I could see the      
pleasure-pain      
of me on your face.      
     
And there was something      
gentle      
in me      
at the feel of our      
broken hearts beating      
against secret bruised skin.      
     
I swallow hard,      
as I dig the last piece of      
eggshell out of your foot      
and bandage it up.      
     
I crawl up your body,      
tell you to stay the      
fuck off your feet,      
     
and there was definitely      
something      
     
gentle      
     
when I squirmed      
and finally make a dick joke      
as your beard tickled my neck      
     
something gentle      
when I      
reach behind you      
to untie
the apron      
so my skin      
could find      
home      
against yours    
   
 
Tribute to Sugar-Britches2  
 

I didn't know you, but I'm sure someone did & maybe you met each day that way, chaotic & intense like an unexpected, sideways rain.

you shoved your stories in your pocket & walked away & it makes me wish I'd read them one last  time.

you'll live the details I have an eye for & I'll write about them to remember what I never knew, your absence slowly replacing what's been written.

all those little bits 'n' pieces we leave behind, there's always someone out there, hanging on to at least one of them

& they'll rest in that place, where stories turn to legends & images are so clear that we'll remember them until our very last days

 because people come & go like rain clouds
& and disappear without a sound...

bouquets
of words  
with twists  
of rhyme,  
elegant,
in perfect  
time --  
movements
of a heart  
so free  
are captured
in her
poetry  
 
emotion  
photographed  
in lines  
and phrases
deft
and verse  
refined --  
a pleasure  
whether  
dark or bright,  
this dragonfly's  
poetic  
flights