Lovely Penguin

So it’s been quite a while since I’ve posted…but here is a poem which somewhat connects to an earlier one I wrote, but has quite a different tone. Anyway, hope you enjoy

Amoeba floating
Gargling salty waves
Watching sweet O2
Slip from slimy cell’s
Invisible eyes
Feeling proximity
In a gasping glob
Imagining breath
Inside her green brain
Absent spotty eyes
Gaze at fluid lungs
Swallowing seaweed
Strands of thick sand which
Weave through hollow tubes
Opening eyelids
Dotted lenses seep
Wishywashy blues
Tiny eyes which feel
But do not believe
In their own blindness
Spots which atrophy
Into their blue gaze
Until no green is left
Until the threads twist
And she is the sea’s
Simple floating speck

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Grand Isle cherry
By R. Marie Gordon

The maraschino cherry
Sparkles sullenly
On a granite countertop
Sinking in the sludge
Of lukewarm phish food

In a crusting bowl left there
Hours before nightfall
Dimming forgotten sundae
Windows watch it melt
…
Kitchen, kitchen dark
Who let me quietly melt
Who watched me flounder
On this curdling liquid pile

I am dejected
I am glistening
Girl in the red dress
Someone devour me

Put the spotlight on my sphere
Pour out this liquid
My candied coat will glimmer
If you get the lights

I am the delectable
I am the desired
Waiting for midnight hunger
To captivate me

Do not go to bed,
Leave me sinking in the dark
I need you gaping
Desiring my existence

I need my red coat again
Open the closet
My synthetic red skin
Doesn’t tread darkness

I am your taste buds’ craving
A sunken shadow
The creamy ripple
Into my awakening

This is a poem I wrote several years ago. It was a transitional time in my life before I went to college. Reading it now, I find it resonates more with who I am today rather than the vision I had for my future self a few years ago…anyways, it’s a funny poem, kind of.

by marie Gordon

marinating in color clover green
in a glass tunnel hollow white
crowded in like currency in tubes
in the back of a fridge, another holiday trite

in the back of someone’s mind
thinks, a housewife, a mother, a hostess
of the little palindrome condiment
withering, peeling, sinking, into a vast darkness

I’ve lost everything, my heart, and my soul
My sexuality, for good, is gone
Pop me in a festering jar and tighten the lid
a sour, wrinkled olive raped of rations and of spawn

It’s so vile to be pickled like dessert
Then neglected like elegant gourmet
Who wants an olive strained of taste and seed
In a filthy jar, with a decadent mass of decay

My floating thoughts conjure ,breaking, escape
To compensate the frigate bitter cold
Under chilled Mt.Olive’s rusty cap I must conspire
Over piled turkey, staring out, my livid realm of mold

it’s time for change- for the little olive to rebel
It’s time for the Evil inside my dirty skin to repel
With odorous accord and violent rage
My stench shall free a wrath from this lucid cage

Those who mocked my taste will feel the pang
Of olfactory machinery firing like a tank
Rancid rage- like frigid fire
Salable air off the open door’s plank

Beware I’m sliding forward to say farewell
Ready to desecrate an aspiring pastry’s façade
Ready to break the barricade of chilly air
And teach consumers why glass bottles should be fraud

Here’s my fired warning in the stagnant air- a toast:
Bottoms up to vegetable vodka of freshness drawer
Here’s to my imitation kamikaze soufflé
Here’s to the pickling of destruction and leftover decay

Ah, the flood is rushing like a storm
Flushing out the floors and bleeding stench
Rapids of seedless olive and freedom’s scent
A suicide note written to a neglectful host/wench

I’ll tell you what a guillotine is now
You freaks, you ungrateful bloated swine
I’ll show you, the essence, of my spirit
My civil hatred up rise, reaped off a foreign vine

the olive has unleashed a searing fire
igniting senses and grasping bearings of desire
to rot in unmarked grave of disposal
the eulogy of this olive’s modest proposal

Farewell friends, lovers… neglectresses of a future gourmet dish
this evil olive repents not- but here’s a small goodbye
To the comet that will shine for me
When my memory is wiped and dry

I say to you with scorn:
You let me fester in a vial
A castrated vegetable rotting away
In a swarm of dirt and bile

Goodnight, bon soir
I hope your palate tastes my sour retribution
That your fridge of hatred resents my darkness
Caveat emptor to the insipid tongues which forced my execution

Technorati Tags: evil, olive, heteronormative, marie, gordon, poem, poetry, personification, alienation

By Marie Gordon

I am down here at the ocean’s vents
Pitch black and boiling in the darkness
Next to lampreys and slimy sea things
Mingling together in their sauna

The sponges soak slime from shooting eels
I float in the midst of their frenzy
Of attacking vikings and victims
Dipping in seaweed, wandering out

I hover, little octopus dull
Within this feeding swarm but not
Included in the festivities
Like the eels and the sponges that swim

They synchronize puzzles together
They are fitting, and sensible fish
Diving absurd, chaotic, trenches
Swooning heteronormative weeds

I am purple and invisible
Under a curtain exposed by glows
Neons and shining scales push me out
From my little cave into the blaze

I see eels wrapping sponges tightly
Basking in glowing darkness and depth
Unafraid of the unknown trenches
Soaking up steam and comfort from vents

This dark floor is their homey cabin
With its crevices, steams, alchemy
Mysterious creations tandem
With the banal process not unknown

I watch for other octopuses
While I hover over spectacle
An outsider inside their fury
Feeling the heat in my tentacles

I am polymorphous not squishy
Floating fingers, not straight dashing stripes
I am absorbent of my own kind
But I cannot soak up like a sponge

I like to hover in my bubble
My spherical body so purple
That it terrifies your swarming love
Only because I don’t soak or slime

A lonely octopus but gleeful
In good faith amongst green seaweeds
Don’t tell me I’m not an octopus,
That I dropped my glasses in the sand

I feel with my little arms the warmth
Of your hetero vents that freeze me
In my place to hover above you
Only to cloud your world with my ink

Technorati Tags: octopus, inky, marie, gordon, poem, poetry, lgbt, heteronormative, sponges, soak, eels, slime, duke

This poem is about identity and how we develop perceptions of ourselves. In relating the present to our history the wholeness of our identity seems to scuttle away.
By Marie Gordon

This isn’t the girl
Who jumped off her porch
With a plastic bag
For a parachute

Who with her brother
Downed a scope bottle
Barely suspecting
The consequences

She slept like a kid
The sun didn’t rise
Before she lay down
She didn’t check locks

I have left you now
I did leave you then
You are words and tales
Not my history

You trace rhetoric
Over smooth-skinned ears
That haven’t been pierced
But your words don’t spell

These words leave you out
Laying on the ground
After a high leap
From the porch shouting

You have lost volume
Given it over
Because I ruined
The words that we had

Like our paradise
And our red nightmares
The songs we danced to
I busted the tape

In thinking of you
I write you away
I write me away
Into breathless words

We sit on the porch
I stare at that ground
Parachute ready
My words won’t help you glide

Technorati Tags: marie, gordon, history, poem, poetry, child, parachute, present, rhetoric, words, written, identity

By Marie Gordon

I was a freshman girl
And you were a baby
Snuggling in a glass cage
With a red-eyed sister

Lonelier than I knew
Both of us had plenty
We would teach each other
I picked you for your spunk

Not for the loyalty
My traveling sweater pet
Snowy white gerbil puff
I picked you for your ears

I was acting at me
You were showing your charm
Both of us little clowns
I bought you on a whim

You slept between my feet
As I studied for class
French existentialism
I read Beauvoir to you

While we trained each other
We were readying us
We had yet to see wrath
We had yet to find us

I under-prepared you
Gathering companion
Neither quite ready for
Winter hibernation

When that lanky monster
Crept slowly to our room
Turned down the thermostat
And ended our childhood

We never asked for that
Neither had consented
Both of us felt helpless
We were stuck in our cage

Looking like princesses
Pretending to be us
When we’d lost our persons
My tears fell on your scruff

You weren’t a prodigy
An ivy-league girlfriend
But I took what I got
And what I got was you

Something that never spoke
Accepted all my gifts
Curled up on my stomach
While I tried not to sleep

We hibernated then
We did what we had to
Protected each other
From that cold monster’s hands

You were my little ghost
You were my paper towel
Nibbling cereal crumbs
Mazing through my blankets

I wish you were here, M
Wish you could have seen more
After I left monsters
And that winter behind

But you were spunk
During my grief
And you were soft
Throughout the trial

Spunky Boo soft and loved

Technorati Tags: booga, lil’ m, poetry, gerbil, marie gordon, duke, winter, memory

I take pride in passing down the principles of mass chaos to the younger generation (my little bro David).  I feel assured this legacy will far outlive me

i am sure he intended the dichotomy of the facial expressions…

this is a poem i wrote recently. it’s something of a change from the stuff i’ve been writing lately. i have some lighter poems to come after this…don’t worry, i haven’t gone emo yet. (and if you haven’t watched tickle me emo on youtube you really need to…that means you ferraro).
monster
by marie Gordon

I check my mirror
Watch the reflection
This is not a dream
I want to be sure

How long has it been
Since I slept quiet
Since my nightmares ceased
Into alertness

I sit up checking
The windows and locks
Scanning with my eyes
The monster is there

It never occurred
That it wouldn’t hide…
Enter through the door
To terrify me

To implant nightmares
Into waking hours
To stalk my night’s dreams
A fly on the wall

And I thought it buzzed
Like a little moth
Soft, but not leering
Monster watching me

I turn on my lights
Still I see its face
On every wall
It does not hide

I have seen its face
It will rip your mind
Crush your childhood dreams
Rape your every will

Wake me, wake me
Monsters exist
I say to you

No one told me either

Technorati Tags: dreams, nightmares, marie, gordon, poetry, poem, sleep, wakefulness, monster, fear

Tbis is a poem about waiting, about how it feels to anticipate, with both excitement, sadness, interest and pain. It’s not so much that I wrote this poem for someone, it’s important to me because it helps me realize how easy it is to lose yourself when you have unanswered questions. Ironically, it’s writing poetry that seems to anchor me the most, so here’s to that.
by marie gordon

this is me floating
belly-up in my pool
wondering

drifting like I do now
between hoping for
needing none

this is my question
for you if you ever
read this page

you will know that
i wrote this poem to you
and to ask…

when I left for home
you said to me I’d hear
from you soon

it wouldn’t surprise
but it would disappoint
to not hear

i wouldn’t be sad
perhaps a bit confused
i’ve waited…

if you didn’t mean
just what you said to me
why say it?

just because I was
maybe a bit too kind
maybe bold

Just say to me now
only the truest things
honest truth
nothing else will do

somehow I enjoy
this anticipation
just because it’s real

Technorati Tags: marie, marie gordon, poems, poetry, poem, truth, anticipation