I'm Sandra and I'm new. Here are some poems, please don't spare me and let me know what you honestly think.
You lean against the door frame,
speaking of the aesthetics of collage--
Picasso in Africa, his broken fragments
of guitars and mosaic women that
bloom in vibrant hues, erupting from
the canvas, bearing testimony to
his modernist genius.
It's all about capturing a singular event
in multiple perspectives, you say, nesting
your palms against your denim thighs,
azure eyes misting over, Adam's apple
riding the tide of your words.
The sunlight penetrates through the blinds,
amber rays illuminating the landscape
of your face, your chiseled features
aflame from the kiss of the sun.
You glisten in the light, disarming
my defense against your allure.
I could dismantle you, woo you
apart with my words.
I'd paint your essence in vibrant green,
mesh your body parts into a montage,
merge your voice and smile and feet
into shards of light, color, and sound
creating a kaleidescope of images,
sculpting my modern masterpiece.
You would erupt from my canvas,
surpassing Picasso's blooming women
and fragments of guitars.
I'd reject the old way, making new
my craft of desiring you.
On the jagged sidewalk
she stands with her acoustic.
Bangles jangling on her wrists,
smooth turquoise stones
encircling her long neck.
Glowing mocha skin and
hazel eyes gleaming, she
tilts her head back and
her full mouth opens, releasing
melodic soul, her weary blues
spilling out, drowning the
roar of passing cars.
Swaying her hips in a long,
billowing broomstick skirt,
subdued sobs echoing in a
haunting, harmonious song.
Strangers united on High Street,
held captive by a sidewalk
singer brave enough to vocalize
universal heartbreak by filling
the night with the bittersweet
sound of her voice.