‘Wanting & Waiting’ is up @ Untitled With Passengers here. Many thanks to Matthew Bevington.
Also wrote on desire and it can be found at Yareah Magazine.
Tag Archives: love
Kiowa Song
Kiowa Song
I was taught to hold my tongue,
not show my emotions.
My wife is a Queen
to treasure and protect,
at all cost to keep happy.
Shower her with love and gifts
no matter what it is.
Sorry sweetheart that’s a Kiowa man
Now let me say this….
When your man asks what you like,
you’re supposed to say what you like.
It is an insult to him when you don’t.
Its part of the taking care,
making her happy.
Part of the relationship.
The husband agreement.
I will never fall away from you.
I will love you until I die.
You will be what I see and think of when I take my last breath.
I saw you in a dream,
I did not touch you.
I felt your heartbeat and we were one.
You are what makes me live.
My heart, the blood that flows through my veins,
the air I breathe.
You are so beautiful.
That’s what I am going to say now….
I promise to cherish and worship you first.
Then I will love you forever ever and ever and ever
until infinity stops. Infinity doesn’t stop.
That’s going to be my love for you.
© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved
This is most closely a translation from the original. It is also a compilation from personal letters.
___________________________
Tomorrow
(an Osage song)
I will forget
The sound of your voice
As you read to me,
The tightness and the way it catches
When you laugh hard.
That thick slur on your tongue when you drink,
Telling me you will love me forever.
Making me tell you again and again
That I am your wife.
That I would have your babies.
I cut my hair off in mourning.
© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved
4 Pieces
My Favorite Home – Yareah Magazine
My Favorite home, Yareah Magazine is running a couple of pieces of mine, with two more later in the week. Thank you Isabel!! You may read my poems here.
That Night
That night
Together
In quietude
We saw the moon
Rise slowly above the lake
Paving stones on path
Worn smooth
With secret walking
Waterlilies edging water
© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved
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Mourning Figure
A mourning figure walks alone
his heart wont let him rest,
it seems he held just yesterday
the one his heart loved best.
He walked the wide world searching
time drew on he was worn numb.
Tried everything to draw her back
his love, she would not come.
She was not here, nor was she there
But lingered somewhere in between;
Lost in a tangled web of memories
haunted by the things she’d been.
It’s the way love binds a broken soul,
our dreams so slow to bleed.
It’s the way his scars will never heal
and no one but her could fill the need.
© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved
_________________________________________________
Rain Falls
Whenever rain falls
On a wind swept desert
It is like the coolness
Of dreaming in
A blue green shade
Rivers of sacred mud
Bring the dead
To life once more
Like a sudden downpour
You startle me
From distractions
Of grazing sheep
Lingering like
Lovely ladies
In flowing shawls
On their lips are stars
With tongues like rainbows
In the rumble of thunder
I remember the way
You moved inside me
Your fingerprints here
Footprints there
Before the wetness
Washed it all away
© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved
Indian Country Today
Indian Country Today is running one of my poems in honor of National Poetry Month. They are showcasing many talented people you would really enjoy reading. I will have another poem or two as the month progresses. Special thanks to Josh Robertson for asking me to participate.
(this particular poem will also appear in the printed version for subscribers)
________________________________
In My Verse- New Poem
Bed Yourself In My Verse
I love the way
you bed yourself
in my verse
making each song
one about you.
Earth’s sweet perfume
fragrant on night air,
your memory
the breeze that caresses.
A muse, my delight
from whence such craving
springs forth,
like swollen fruit raised
up in offering.
Under your skin
the moon is shining alive,
like the light that
radiates out from you.
I love the way
you bed yourself
in my verse
like awaking to the suns
of our ancestors.
Something so primal
and natural calls
and if there were
but a moment,
i’d hide in you
To be carried close
buried deep in your soul
like the warmth
of a sunbeam or melody.
© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved
______________________________________________________
Remembering
Remembering
the past
only makes me
miss it more.
All the old places are gone.
People and attitudes have changed.
Sometimes the memories
are more painful than
the joy I remembered.
I still find the need to embrace
out of fear that we would forget.
(those we loved and cherished)
We can let them know
that they are still loved,
our heart remembers their lives &
aches for their passing.
They come back
to console me when I mourn.
© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley and Carlos Guevara, All Rights Reserved
__________________________________________________
Also they were kind enough to inclue my poem 1st Rain in “That’s How Romantic Monday Goes” here:
http://edwardhotspur.wordpress.com/2013/04/08/thats-how-romantic-monday-goes/
I Won A Contest!
There was a poetry competition in honour of Emily Dickinson over at the Political Poet website for National History Month. They let the readers vote and somehow, my little poem won first place!!! I didn’t know until now. You are the first to know!
It was announced here:
http://frankandpoe.blogspot.com/search?updated-max=2013-04-03T13:00:00-07:00&max-results=7
The poem is on my blog here.
How I Knew
How I Knew
There was the way
I felt you moving inside me
From the beginning
And the way
I knew the heat
Of your touch
Against the suppleness
Of my skin
The exact weight
Of my body leaning into yours
As we stand on porches
Looking across plains
That reach with
Eternal fingers stretching
Everywhere prairies
Roam and roll
But never as far
As this beauty we share
In these perfect moments
Meant only for us
I know the
Way the smell
Of coffee mixes
With your kiss
On cold mornings
And the sound
The plate of bread
Makes as it hits
The table I happily
Prepare for you
The way newness
And knowledge open
And grow in you
Excited like a flame
That will not
Be extinguished
There was the way I knew
Where you were always meant to be
No magic or ritual
There is no ceremony for love
But the birthing & growing
Of the visions we see
Bringing blessings with us
Into the waking world
As well as the
Houses we build
In the places of spirit
Things put away
On the other side
© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved
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I Recall
the way your secret
brook swells like
oceans of
the skin as I kiss you here
there & everywhere
You are soft
streams rippling beneath
fingers that
have memorized the number
of breaths between us
The spaces
that separate and
divide us
Until we have figured out
the way together
© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved
Started the job …
Finally started into new job as literary editor for the magazine. Let me tell tell you, my boss rocks. He is THE NICEST guy. So attentive, appreciative, and respectful. APPRECIATIVE about EVERYTHING. How unusual is that? But, there is this ….. this poor guys has 101,000 something messages that need going through. (not exaggerating) Mind you this is not meant to be my full time job. This is nothing in comparison to what my job description with the publication actually entails. In a couple days time, there are still around 95,000 some odd messages to go! Have also started going through my section, contacting my lit, art, and music friends to include them in this as well. Have things in the works there. I am just saying this is really going to be an adventure. I think i’m already addicted and will probably love every minute of this, but i’m seeing already how not easy this will be. I have learned the most beautiful things in this world are true LABORS of love. This is something i’m ready to give birth to and watch grow! So much potential. I love those moments in life (so few and far between) when something can be exactly what you make it. As big or small, as good or bad, as grassroots or global. What is more expressive than the arts, literature, music, painting, dance, fashion? Who would not appreciate and enjoy the job of “discovering and introducing of beauty and talent to the world”? How cool is that?
Oh! None of this even makes mention that i’m suddenly feeling all Neal Boulton-ish. hahaha I wish, right? If I possed a quark of HIS genius i’d be dangerous. (picture devil horns here lol)
Also this means all you art, music, literature, and fashion forward type friends of mine, including photographers, please come forward if you’d like to be featured online and possibly in print too! But do it mostly please because you love me and wanna help me out by supporting my latest venture! 🙂
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I heard a song/soul today that both broke and healed my heart at the same time. The breaking was not the bad kind. It was not a breaking of body or spirit. It was a freeing and it was like when you are breaking a horse. When it is scared and you are a bit uneasy as well, because this is just before you figure that horse out. This is just before the two of you lock eyes, share breath, and really see each other for the first time.
(understanding this is after a few approaches, must dust, and many tears lol) This is the moment when your heart tells you what that horse needs to be whole and to be settled. To know just the way to proceed to prepare that glorious beast to be bridled, saddled and eventually the reward in riding. It was a breaking like that, if the horse were a man and the whisperer a heart. Like that also if you could understand a heart that desired to be ridden every bit as much as a man or horse. We could call our heart woman. The more I think of it, it was like a brook that has become so full and flowing that the water, which is joy, just spilled over the edges. Not enough to cause damage, only enough to let you know there was room for no more. It had found what was just the right amount for the ripples to tickle the bank lightly, before retreating.
Sometimes we see magic in life, sometimes we learn the divine can be found in the simple and ordinary. Sometimes something just feels like it has always been a part of you or you of it. Before and after lifetimes it had found you, the way you find it now, and will continue to …….. because this thing was meant to be.
* an exerpt
