Tag Archive | skin

4/29/2015 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Science Fair Project #3027

Science Fair Project #3027

Perhaps only my skin
knows the day
I turned old
as it sagged
with the sadness
of where it’s been
so readjust my legs
to a lifelike position
hold them in place
and my sagging gut
with further supports
let my abdomen rest
where the pins
now cross
but to be of scientific value
each specimen
must be accompanied
by information
include the location
day, month, year of its capture
the name or initials
of the proud collector
and another cemetery
is properly categorized
Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus, Species
God pins me to the ground
labeled in stone
shown off for a prize
he perhaps
won’t win

4/25/2105 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Femme Fatale

Femme Fatale

I may have known
the seductive song
but now rags
of shriveling skin
deceive my body
another clump of hair
clogs the drain
and I’m a siren
singing in water
trying to drown
my cracking voice
I wobble
with lascivious
contortions
ankle deep
on this island
with only a flimsy
curtain of days
to keep me
from crossing
the sea

4/10/2015 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – How to Kiss a Baby

How to Kiss a Baby

Her grasping fingers
pull you in
till closed eyes
absorb
the powdery
fear
that bullies
might torment her
if that rose petal nose
should ever grow
to match yours
so let
that tear
linger on your lips
and taste
the injustice
of the lover
who could ever
hook her
with thorny promises
then leave her
sobbing
dab and
dawdle
lip to rosy skin
until you realize
she’ll always be
too innocent
to tell you
that you just
did it wrong.

4/2/2015 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Miracle Grow

Miracle Grow

Her hollowed skin
is potholed
on old bulging
veins,
and when she
wrings her hands,
she breathes
in deep.

Her slow exhale
drips out
every secret
dream
she had.
Till all she is –
is a concave
bowl.

And if only
plants
could thrive
without sun,
she might have
need
for one.

4/2/2015 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections –

Your Buckle Left its Mark

It came with no warning.

You’d laugh.

Toughen up
you’d say,
so I held
my bruises
close,
and they
were only
mine.

Till old age
restrained you
with tubes
and warning beeps.

In your stupor,
I could see
your paper thin
skin
thicken black
with karma.

And if you thought
I could hold back
my tears,
you’d be wrong.

Again.

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.

4/09/10 Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Schooled

Schooled

PROMPT 9: Write a self-portrait poem.

Schooled

I have tossed aside my cover
to let the cool morning air
wake my skin,
my muscles,
my bones.

I stand.

In this moment,
this is all I am.

Later,
there can be organization,
a back up plan,
a process,
a sharing of my knowledge,
my theories,
my self.

Later,
students can prop up their heads,
upon their palms
interested, disinterested,
until the bell
or their blood
falls asleep
or wakes them up.

But in this moment,
this is all I am.

I have tossed aside my cover.

4/07/10 Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Until I Forgot to Look

Mirror

PROMPT 7: Until _________

Until I Forgot to Look

Skin has forgotten
how it used to dance,
soft and rounded
on my cheek.

Now it lays
tired and pitted
with lines
tracing back,
my forgotten path
from youth.

I didn’t see
the moment slink,
quiet in slumber
or loud in life,
that changed me,
distorted me,
broken my spirit,
cursed my years.

No mirror can show
how I feel inside,
so my words must become
my face to you.

8/29/09 Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections

Involuntary Man Slaughter

You started sleeping in the recliner again,
feet and arms crossed as you lie,
your chest rising and falling
as you catch a quickie nap.

I can tell you’re dreaming
’cause your forehead’s cutely crinkling
while your eyes are twitching slightly
in the sweetest sort of way.

Then the smallest naughty smile
starts curling up your lips
tempting me to wake you
with a tender coaxing kiss.

I ask you who is in your dreams,
and you’d better cross your fingers,
’cause you don’t want to cross me,
if I catch you in a lie.

I Feel a Searing Pain

I am frying
this one hamburger patty
alone in the pan.

Even with a crunching
of freshly ground pepper
and a slathering of ketchup
that is heal of my hand
thumping thick,
it bites.

Because I have piled on
layer upon layer
of onions in crisp white rings,
now taunting halos
of my self-proclaimed perfection.

You tried in vain to teach me,
with recipes and directions
how to cook and sizzle,
and just about everything else,
but I never seemed to learn.

This simple hamburger
could taste even more delicious
if I could just kiss you again,
sucking the mustard
off your mustache,
so spicy and brown
and hold those buns
just one more time.

But I let you leave me.
Fried.

Wringing Warm

Your hands
press the towel
radiating heat
from the dryer
against your face
the warmth drenching
your spongy cheeks
tipping your head back
dripping sighs
of saturating comfort
allowing you
to absorb it all.

Then come to me
when you’re hot enough
for the two of us
to wrap ourselves
in the cuddling warmth
that only you can radiate.

Set the dial to TUMBLE.

One Man Crew

He has a job to do.

Tools, wood, nails, and dirt
are a part of who he is
with the end of his labors
caught up in sweat and beer.

His superior workmanship,
as the evening shadows lengthen,
joins his skill for mending fences
with a layout of our plans.

His gentle roughness
presses on my skin
so I lean in closer,
our breath already building.

He has a job to do.