.Heartbreak Hotel.

Sorry Poets, but this isn't a comp about Elvis just about Poems dealing with Heartbreak...Any style...Any genre...No Entry Max...New or Old writes...One Week to Enter...Good luck!

         Middlemist Camellia


I ride to the sound of thunder & the glory of battle
I wear your kiss in a pendant around my neck
and make my way through the dark night
by the light of your eyes.

give your service & your sex to a man who works
in a bank, who is stable & well groomed
make him a home & cook his meals.

I will keep a record of the adventures that seduce me
the men that I kill & the women who weep for them
my suffering will become scandalous poems
and the remembrance of your comforting embrace
will soothe my fever.

my missives will come to you by pony express
you must keep them in a hidden place
read them by candlelight when the house is quiet
and shield them from your tears, as you curse
the goddess who bequeathed your heart to a wandering poet.

I do not request of the angels to lighten my burden
nor to rest me in the bed of your deepness & fire
because they hear not the prayers of the wicked.

carve upon my gravestone, this epitaph:

that I loved you

that you loved me once

Scourge

leaves shuffled along
from breezes gone bitter,
scatter across a river

blackened
with maternal blood
from my thighs that merge

with the onset of autumn,
and the scourge
of our union

clay soil darkened
with cooking oil, carcasses
and human waste

decomposing
in the dying light
of day, and a life

the way summer
promises,
only to turn away

Mangoes

Running barefoot down
narrow paths sodden by
a deafening downpour
through mangroves and palms

in this land where
no corn grows, and
sugar cane rows blind the view
from un-tilled slopes of
low-slung emerald hills.

I don't recognize the rain,
it smells of volcanic ash
and sea salt burning

as I search for the stain
hopelessly trodden,
changing its course.

If only I could find a tree
that bears familiar fruit,
and see colors or hear sounds
that point me to you,

but I'm a stranger.
This path wends to the shore
where the island comes full circle,

offering dead things in the sand
and no escape
because you're not here.

I return to the fields
as rain fades green to grey
where no one else goes,

and I pray the way
back to you will be
in an armful of mangoes.

Just incredible. The scenery is so vivid -- tropical, yet bleak and barren. Excellent.

Memories of California and Him

California
Always beautiful
Always out of my grasp
A place
No one could ever
Really embrace
Sensually abundant
With pink sunsets
Orange poppies
Growing in between
New parking lots
And crimson strawberries
Ripe with juice

He was
Always beautiful
Always out of my grasp
A person
No one could ever
Really embrace
Sensually abundant
With warm temptations
Knowing desire
Growing in between
New thoughts full of emotion
And fiery smiles
Ripe with passion

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Posted recently:  http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/220812-memories-of-california-and-him/

Prairie Fire

She was ten years younger,
and stars of hope still shone
in her eyes.
 
Her hair was a beautiful  
red, and her ivory skin
stretched over a slender
whisper-thin frame.
 
She saw in me,
a future, all that
was forsaken  
and stolen from her  
Mother, a solid, honest,
loyal man who would  
deliver and support forever.
 
But she did not know,  
she was too young,
the burned crust of  
my soul was unseeable  
through hopeful eyes,
I was refuse, drifting space  
junk that had gotten  
snagged onto her life.
 
I had drifted into  
town from Europe,
so drowned in sadness
from having to leave  
the seed of culture and  
wine, to the barren,  
frozen solid,
indian-blood soaked  
ground of Wyoming.
 
Where another  
woman had left me,
to be marooned into a
cold attic apartment,
in a brick building on
the Avenues.
 
We finally connected,
and swore each other
to the hot-lustful
alliance made naked  
in sweat-soaked sheets,
to love and live, with our  
lives bound by the dire hope
of desperate desire for  
connection.
 
It worked for awhile,
we made the attic warm  
with our bodies,
I sang to her, the songs
written for other Women,
with a smile instead of  
tears, hoping she would
see through the  
screaming hopelessness
that bore the stanzas into being.
 
She met my parents,
who could barely suppress
their horror, at the young girl,
who shared their scarred son’s
life, it must have taken all of
their restraint, to not call the
Police.  
 
My work took me away  
for days at a time,
I hoped for fidelity,
based on the smiles and embraces
gifted to me when I returned,
but her youth moved within her,
and it was soon apparent,
that I was a bad bet,
my age was no longer  
a positive influence,
I was just a plain
slave to my service,
and that my money,
could not stir her to remain,
while her dreams pressed her
into action.
 
I stood stupefied,
at the left-open door to  
the attic, some man’s
muddy footprints
showed me the the way,
tracked up the stairs,
across the light carpet,
into the bedroom,
where pulled out shelves,
left-behind clothes,  
and a broken mirror,
sang clearer than any  
note could, the pure ringing  
truth sang deafeningly off  
of the faded wallpaper,
I was alone, alone, alone.
 
I called frantically,  
to make sure she was alright,
and found out through  
her Mother, that she had  
moved in with some young
boy.
 
She would speak to me,
but only for a few minutes,
enough to confirm what was
already known.
 
I collapsed,
spending three days on  
my living room floor,
listening to Pachelbel’s
Canon, her favorite song,
one she had planned for the wedding,
she wanted with me,
until the notes bled together,
while I puked up tequila,
taken to dull the pounding
hammer-strikes to my heart.
 
It took a mantra,
of saying her name
a thousand times,
to exercise her fingerprint
from my heart,
I swept out the ashes,
of her presence,
along with all of the rest,
before I could sleep.
 
This happened in 1998,
in 1999, I returned to Germany,
never knowing what happened  
to her…..
until yesterday,
I saw her face in the book,
with a little blond daughter,
and a man that was not the
Father, swearing eternal faith.
 
I was frozen for a moment,
then clicked away,
dragged back to my reality,
the feelings of time
flooded back for a second,
I re-lived a year's pain in
five minutes, then looked  
around my house, grounded
myself back into the moment,
and listened, to the gorgeous
rain, fall into my heart,
and extinguish an old flame,
that could burn me no longer.
 

Solo .
 
 
The hail beats the tin roof of this old house  
like a previous century stoning  
the ice crashing on the corrugated steel  
is reminiscent of a  
Rick Allen solo  
The idiot in me keeps looking up  
as if the steel pressed ceiling is taking the beating  
The angle these golf ball icicles are coming at  
concerns the large glass window panes    
they look like they’ll shake themselves  
into cracks of disaster across  
the wooden floor boards
 
I fold myself into a ball  
on the leather couch    
covered in last night's jacket  
and comforted by my latest Amazon acquisition  
“Mockingbird Wish Me Luck”  
I suffer the noise to read magnificence  
then realize    
this house echoes without you  
 
It’s been far too long, I need you    
just to sit here and say nothing    
just to be here and touch  
just to make this book worth reading  
I find the poem  
the poem I wanted to read, the one  
“Girl in a miniskirt reading the bible”  
that poem  
 
As I edge into the page    
I realize
I don’t remember what earrings you wear  
how many gold bangles rest on your arm  
or how long your legs are  
You don’t move to my symphony  
move to my rhythm  
and I don’t play it for you  
I don't play it for you, any longer
 
You were once god  
 
 
[.]  
 



Note: This is an Old Write entry.
 

tirasunil said:Just incredible. The scenery is so vivid -- tropical, yet bleak and barren. Excellent.

Why thank you so very much for sharing that with me.

She Moved In

should she blame the bloom of blood
stained droplets on the white sheets
because it did not cover a wedding bed
t'was a night not lighted with blushing cheeks

should she point fingers at them
those that judged the unholy communion
should she blame the law of the cross
that sentenced her to eternal hell

shame on the wanton abandon
shame on the itch still waiting
for more of hot fluid sins
made her sign the papers

she had her very own comforter
that wrapped her eagerly in adventures
feeding the ever burning needs
between the damp soiled blankets

she checked into her own prison
tied in gold with a handsome man
Adonis with hard fists and harder feet
loose belts and frenzied loving

blooms of blood on soiled sheets
blue blossoms around her eyes
she held the key
Could she ever leave....

she blew out the city of lights

borne in the deconstruction of catacombs  
filled with a thousand empty promises and languid kisses  
 
bellows stoke caramel and nutmeg embers  
pressed between her chapped fingers  
her skin is ignited with the same insanity  
unwrapped and drawn on by my parched lips  
until I gnaw on her marrow  
 
she tells me don't start crying for her  
and I tell her that's easy  
 
I never stop  
 
she leaves on her chariot  
and I'll take mine  
she takes the laughter  
I've stolen over time  
I lie to the devil's reflection  
and say that's just fine  
 
I was breathing through her eyes  
and seeing through her skin  
standing in the stone garden once again  
 
she warns me that angels can't love beasts  
 
playing in the silhouette of His crucifixion  
I take her  
inviting the wrath of two millennia of sacrifice  
she submits damning us both  
 
she tells me don't start crying for her  
and I tell her that's easy  
 
I never stop  
 
she leaves on her chariot  
and I'll take mine  
she takes the laughter  
I've stolen over time  
I lie to the devil's reflection  
and say that's just fine  
 
we move further into the shadows  
further among the dead  
death kissed in darkness  
her beast once more fed  
 
she tells me don't start crying for her  
and I tell her that's easy  
 
I never stop  
 
she leaves on her chariot  
and I'll take mine  
she takes the laughter  
I've stolen over time  
I lie to the devil's reflection  
and say that's just fine  
 
Inspired by Riders on the Storm (Jim Morrison) ~ The Doors