Waking Dreams (revisited)

Your eyes haunt me

as I wander in this waking dream

the way you look at me

the way you look into me

seeing everything I keep hidden

everything that I keep close

you never look away

 

Your lips haunt me

as I wander in this waking dream

hypnotic, they spin words like diamonds

like rubies

like pearls

that you breath into my mouth

with your cinnabar kiss

they sparkle with your light

as they make their way to my heart

 

Your hands haunt me

as I wander in this waking dream

the way they caress my face

with aching tenderness

mold my curves

remake me into a shape

that fits perfectly against yours

 

The waiting haunts me

as I wander in this waking dream

the calendar on the wall

marking the days

an eternity passing

until your anticipated return

when we will together create

new dawn

 

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

 

 

 

 

 

 

No Ordinary Love

Inspired by You + Me’s haunting cover of No Ordinary Love


Reaching across

a distance

more formidable

than miles

fathoms

leagues

you reached out

your hand

to where I stood

alone

in all my protective titanium armor

trembling

afraid

You offered me nothing less

than your beating heart

Nothing more than this moment

this chance

You said

Jump

I won’t let you fall

Your eyes holding truth

your sweet smile steady

your voice so full

of strength

hope

trust

that even I

believed I could fly

That we could fly

So I jumped. . .

 

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

 

Ivory Brushed with Starlight

This piece was originally published by the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective


are you angel or demon

man with ivory wings

brushed with starlight

and indigo eyes?

you are still

silent

but your ancient eyes say

that you have seen the color

of my soul

have studied it contours

 

your nostrils flair slightly

scenting my blood in the air

you see the crisscrosses

carved deep on my palms

at your knowing look

the knife in my hand drops

from suddenly nerveless fingers

blood wells from the cuts

dripping to the ground

consecrating the earth

you gently capture my wrists

cup my hands in yours

as golden tears drop from your

otherworldly eyes

fall onto my damaged skin

transfixed I watch your sorrow

heal my wounds

 

you release my hands

to cup my face reverently

your kiss is honey and cardamom

i am filled with your light

and as your soul expands

to fill all my damaged places

i see the cosmos dance in my head

understand the mysteries of the oceans

feel the warmth of the sun

and in a flash of brilliant understanding

know that my humble heart

matters to you

and I am transformed

 

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

Young Wolf

My latest piece on Blood Into Ink

Blood Into Ink

pixabay 1

politics

sunk our adult friendship

my insistence

black lives matter

collided against

your thin blue line

shower of defensive red sparks

yet you still cross my mind

I remember

15 year old boy

dirty blond hair

spilling over one blue eye

snaggle-tooth smile

crushing hard on another girl

on our island of misfit toys

can’t remember when

ground started to shift

on tectonic plates

pushing us onto the same continent

until we were stealing first kisses

in blue twilight

mosquitoes feasting on our legs

seamless transition

from you + I

to us

your hackles raised

police dog on alert

every time he was near

didn’t need to tell you

you instinctively knew

something was wrong

the way he looked at me

talked to me

baited me

punished me

for my rage-filled self-emancipation

in my tweens

sometimes I would still fold up

an origami fortress

after he was gone

a lesser…

View original post 62 more words

Harvest of Stars

She is the humble handmaiden

of the goddess of the moon

Luna

She who bathes the night

and all that dwell in the darkness

in her silver-white radiance

which eats the deepest

slithering dark

that brings heart-thudding

wake-up-in-an-icy-sweat

nightmares

and mortal peril

to her beloved children

Her acolyte

who might have had

another name once

now long forgotten

is simply called Poetess

She loves and worships

her goddess fiercely

does her goddess proud

Maintains the old ways

walks the hidden paths

writes the sacred truths

bringing healing to Luna’s

special ones

the humans and

other creatures that

only emerge

when the sun has set

Luna hums in pleasure and delight

when Poetess’ careful labors

yield the first harvest of stars

that fall gently into

Poetess’ cupped hands

like snowflakes

like crystal tears

studding the inky canvas

of the midnight sky

 

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

 

That Which Was Awoken

Inspired by Old Punk’s Languid


I had been touched before

knots kneaded loose

from fibers stretched taut

until I flowed

like waves across

crushed shell

this laying of hands

this reverent cradling

awoke things unforeseen

forgotten  SNPS

of ancestral memory

knocked loose

from lumbar fluid

bathed me

golden

I awoke misty morning angel

stigmata of roses

bleeding from tender palms

lullabies long forgotten

in mother’s tongue

spilled forth in fervent whispers

novenas that dispelled the darkness

and banished raw chill

from the bones

 

Image Courtesy of Pinterest

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

 

 

For want of wings

the shortest distance

between two points

a straight line

the textbooks tell me

my restless legs

trace these strong diagonals

without hesitation

fingers rippling the air

as I stride

I am rarely languid

 

it is my heart

my soul

that hovers like the sandpiper

on sandy shores

drawn in by shiny flotsam

glittering jetsam

of  poet souls

but always I scamper back

to safety when they draw near

worried that the tides of my wistfulness

will wash away socially sanctioned image

of who I am supposed to be

revealing the endless ache

that drowns me

 

Image courtesy of Pinterest: Raven embrace | Amy Judd

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

Yes ma’am. That’s why we write. Because it fucking hurts

A deeply felt thank you to my dear friend Old Punk.  Your keen eye, wisdom, sense of humor, endless compassion and well-timed kicks in the ass mean more me than I can ever express.


I know that I apologize too much

for the things I say

for the things I write

for the things I do

for not caring enough

for caring too much

for bleeding a little too much

on the screen

for breathing

for existing

past the age of 30

which I never envisioned

and suspect that the universe

has never quite approved of

plans retribution

 

I am trying to stop apologizing

for anything and everything

and instead start expressing my gratitude

when you listen

when you read my words

when you forgive my actions

accept the caring I do have to offer

hand me the bandages

allow me the space to breath

encourage me to keep existing

remind me that I have gravity

that my writing speaks to people

thank you for holding vigil

while I continue this painful

wrenching rebirth

that is full of danger

tears

dark thoughts

darker humor

and for reminding me that we write

because it fucking hurts

 

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

 

Heart Shaped Box

lines of my heart

so crisp

clear

uncluttered

could sketch its contours

in bright sharpie against

stark white paper

at sixteen

when I was

definite

confident

sure

bold

when did  lines begin to blend

shift

disappear behind

opaque color wash

of midnight blue

amethyst

intricate complexity

painted fine black and silver

leaving more hidden

than revealed

when did this heart

become mystery

to myself?

i imagine precious rubies and pearls

locked in a puzzle box of sandalwood

fragrant

warm to the touch

but contents always

evasively out of reach

 

Image courtesy of Pinterest

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved