Tag Archive | desire

4/21/2015 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Cup of Confidence

Cup of Confidence

I am unsure
of whether
you desire
the stimulation
of caffeine
or the no-bra spirit
of caffeine free,
but I know
the idea
of loving you
is brewing bitter
with infused jealousy
as you are distracted
by her other offerings.

I’m doubly sure of that.

4/21/2015 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Hopscotch

Hopscotch

I’m not my makeup
yet I draw
like child’s play
a path to find me
under my blood lip twists
and black brow turns
till the sidewalk of me
heaves
and the earth below
rises
as my dark desire
finds its joy
and double dares
the clouds to come.

6/03/2012 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Only a Sigh

Only a Sigh

The dark summer night
hid their desire
till the stars came out
and kissed their skin.

Her breath came slowly
only a sigh
but he inhaled it
till it filled his soul.

The rhythm of the night
lulled her to sleep
and he blew out the stars
with only a sigh.

11/6/2011 – Patricia A. Hawkeson’s Reflections – Framed in Blood Red

Framed in Blood Red

The Etch-a-Sketch
could draw me in
enticing my flexing fingers
to anticipate the feeling
of the erratic twisting
of its creamy knobs.

Hours would pass
before my neck would lift
in a final decision
to wipe it all clean
by flipping it over
and shaking it senseless.

My desire to leave
my artistic mark
with those jagged lines
of metallic entrails
retracing my thoughts
was again proven worthless.

2/18/10 Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Magnetic Repulsion is Published!

Thank You, Family and Friends!

I have been blessed by your support, and your kind encouragement was the first step toward the publication of my book, “Magnetic Repulsion, 100 Poems From Desire to Disgust.”  This books was years in the making as some of the poems were written years ago.  Many new poems were added this year while gaining inspiration from a wonderfully supportive online poetry community: Poetic Asides.  I began posting poems to Poetic Asides in April during their PAD (Poem a Day) Challenge.  I have stayed connected with that group for almost a year now and have been inspired and encouraged through the voices of the other poets who share their talents on that site.  You can look on my left sidebar pages to read some of those early postings that found their way into this collection of 100 relationship poems.  The finished book is now available online at Amazon along with Barnes and Noble.  The link to go to either site is: www.outskirtspress.com/magneticrepulsion

VIA TWITPIC: http://twitpic.com/141e7f

VIA TWITPIC: http://twitpic.com/141e7f

Chad Rogers, star of Bravo TV’s Million Dollar Listing, has already received his copy!  We chat on Twitter, and he kindly allowed me to share this picture and his comment, “I just received your book!! Thanks. Can’t wait to check it out!”

You can follow his latest updates on his blog:   Chad Rogers Blog

Chad’s talent is easy to see.  You may have to dig a little deeper to find mine. 

I hope you are able to get your hands on a copy of “Magnetic Repulsion!”

If you do, feel free to leave comments here.  If you would like to interview me, review the book for YOUR blog, or give personal feedback to your reader’s book group, leave your contact information in the comments, or email me at: phawkenson@ecasd.k12.wi.us

I look forward to your feedback.

12/27/09 Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Candy Kisses

chocolate

Candy Kisses

When your hands are small
it is easy to wrap
your fingers
around a candy bar
that you didn’t pay for.

When your fingers
have grown for forty years
guilt can become too heavy
to take.

No scarlet A,
just a white O
around your finger,
the shame of your mistake.

Till a new temptation
melts your loneliness,
and stolen moments
are all you desire.

O,
how uplifting.

11/24/09 Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Beyond Diversity

Incorrect

Beyond Diversity

The silence in the room
was the loudest noise,
each so afraid
to say the wrong thing.

They said nothing.

That said everything.

A Better Use for Our Sticks

My home is shut
to the approaching storm,
boarded up tight,
as you peek in.

I am only beginning
to see myself
through the window
you open.

Prop the window open.
I may not have the strength
to keep it up
alone.

If change
is allowed to blow in,
I must feel
the stinging debris
that hits me.

Help me
stand against the storm
with you.

Nobody Heard You Say That

Grandma says
that sun makes me sneeze
as particles rise
in the heat.

My head turns to the sound
that I thought I heard,
that wisp of a word
in the air.

Grandma says
that I should let it go
as words can never
hurt me.

Your eyes look to the dust
that floats in the light
as it settles
on me.

I am dirty
again
as you have brushed me
off.

(The following poems were written earlier,
but have new meaning when applied to the topic of diversity.)

Behind the Hidden Wall

Behind the hidden wall
a face stares back at me.

We strain as if to look
but neither one can see.

We stained the wall with tears
the hearts on both sides wept.

Our past is bound and tied
in memories still kept.

Our memories will help
to keep us close beside.

We cling to our desire
to reach the other side.

We wait the time away
till face to face we see.

Behind the hidden wall
a face stares back at me.

No More Than You

It is true I have suffered
but so have you
and we cry together
our common tears.

My tears with no more pain
than yours
fall onto the page
as I spill them out.

They land in drops
like Braille to be felt
by you who can’t see
past your own agony.

So I force you to look
at the page where I shout
and in your kindness
you reach out to me.

And in that moment
when you reached for me,
you stopped your crying
and began healing yourself.

9/11/09 Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections

His Desire

The buffet was overloaded.
Steaming choices tantalized.
Her plate filled itself
with her eyes on the melting butter,
her hand on the spoon, unseen.
Jello mingled with hamburger hotdish,
cheese on the salad sliding into
chicken boldly touching peas,
breaking the sinful taboo of youth.

She ate with the wild voraciousness
of a belly knowing only water,
and he stared at her,
fascinated by the motions
of her fork and knife,
a choreographed dance
upon her plate,
the brazen licking of her knife.

But there was no embarrassment,
no shame in her gluttony,
only her head finally leaning back
allowing the last taste of tiramisu
to find its way past her tongue
where it lingered
to her stomach
now beyond satisfied.

He left the dining room
a beaten man,
whipped like mashed potatoes.

No possible way to compete.

7/20/09 Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections

Just the Facts

Some people
try to impress us
by their diplomas
and degrees.

And they expect
the rest of us to desire
all they know
about the world.

They lift people up
stacking them high
on their list
of who’s who.

But I will admit
that I must be
the slow man
on that totem pole.

For I am ignorant,
unable to read
the warnings on the back
of a box of chocolates.

And when the chocolate
is melting dense and sweet,
I expect to taste
all there is to know.

5/27/09 Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections


Veiled Desire

The curtain
soft and gauzy
was so thin
you could see
her fingers
retracing
sensuous
curves
against the glass
as she brushed
them aside
to wait.

He was coming home.

She opened
the window
allowing the air
to lift her
anticipation
and dance
the curl
across her
forehead
but she had to
tame it.

He was coming home.

He was coming home.
He was coming home.
He was coming home.

The curtain
hangs
its length
now long
and heavy
pooling
at the bottom
with the loneliness
she left there.

And she was going out.


Revamping an Old Dress

My mother has a tape measure
that she keeps in a cellophane zip lock bag
tangled among bobbins and sewing machine attachments
with spools of fading thread unwinding
unwinding
down in the bottom of grandma’s old buffet.

She takes it out to measure me
for she says I keep growing
growing
and she can’t tell by looking at me just where.

So I have to stand up straight no slouching
slouching
and she shouldn’t have to remind me how to stand still
because I should be able to tell that she can’t talk
with a hundred pins in her mouth.

My disapproving lip curls
matching the rick-rack trim
that my mother is using to cover the lowered hem
but I can’t hide
hide
that I wanted a new store bought dress.

And I try not to cry
cry
when a pin meant for the dress
finds the slip of my thigh
and my mother’s tight lip frown
shouts that I haven’t measured up after all.