Tag: butterflies

Aromanxiety

I’m in a crowd of unfamiliarity,
with strangers shooting daggers,
and judgements running rampant,
when suddenly I catch a whiff of you
– a blitzkrieg visceral assault of aching hues
of lingering fragrances that knock me from my post. […]

Aromanxiety 

I’m in a crowd of unfamiliarity, 
with strangers shooting daggers,
and judgements running rampant,
when suddenly I catch a whiff of you
- a blitzkrieg visceral assault of aching hues
of lingering fragrances that knock me from my post.
and suddenly time and space are warped,
suddenly it is years of scars and wounds ago,
suddenly we are falling all over again,
and then suddenly I come to,
in a crowd of unfamiliarity,
where you’re nowhere to be found.

-11-06-12-
M. L. Michael

About…

little embers

It began with a little ember
I caught off a spark
from the filament of your iris,
that sea, that web,
that portal you called a stargate.[…]

little embers

It began with a little ember
I caught off a spark 
from the filament of your iris,
that sea, that web,
that portal you called a stargate.

…

From your feet I gathered kindle,
so that ember could have a nest.
I placed it in my left breast pocket,
where it rested, where it rooted,
where it became a phoenix’s egg. 

…

And on the day of your goodbye,
I reached for that weight in my pocket,
I laid it at the place you once stood,
at the point of our collision, at the point of our cohesion, 
I followed your instructions and formed a pyre. 

…

With your light that never left me,
I lit the first, the best, gift you ever gave to me,
and remembering your present with reverent eyes, 
I saw a flame rise. I saw a phoenix stoked.
I saw little embers break for the stars.



-08.14.12-
M. L. Michael

About…

the wheres and why

this is where we fall in love.

where we tell the universe that it only matters
in relation to the stage we have to share such a sensation.
this is the beginning of when we love defiant.
where in the midst of all the cold space,
we thrive at alchemizing gold between us. […]

this is where we fall in love.

where we tell the universe that it only matters
in relation to the stage we have to share such a sensation. 
this is the beginning of when we love defiant.
where in the midst of all the cold space,
we thrive at alchemizing gold between us. 
this is our definition of love’s declaration.
where an abstract idea that grew from a notion,
only bloomed when we sought complimentary suns.
this is our discovery of the greatest drug,
where profound connections create chemical tsunamis,
and all else seems trivial in the wake of such a wave. 

this is why we fall in love.        

7/17/12
M. L. Michael

About…

From A (from Bee) to Z

A random encounter, a chance delight.
She sat in a chair, which may have well been a lounging couch,
I sat next to her, in a chair that may have well been bathing in sunlight,
and –by the causality of a magazine that she was merely browsing-
the furnace in my chest was fueled and stoked into a fire for our conversing… […]

From A (from Bee) to Z 
(Safe Sex #3)

[a journal poem]


A random encounter, a chance delight. 
She sat in a chair, which may have well been a lounging couch,
I sat next to her, in a chair that may have well been bathing in sunlight,
and –by the causality of a magazine that she was merely browsing- 
the furnace in my chest was fueled and stoked into a fire for our conversing…

Still…nervous as a bee approaching an unfamiliar flower,
I buzz, like the bumbling-bee only I can be, 
 -being careful not to be overt with my bobble-
…being careful to not wobble, tilt, or, topple…
but to merely give, ^flutter by flutter^, to gravity…so I may land as sensual as a feather;
 
…but instead, I prove my previous bee-behavioral thesis:
with a fall&fail, with a thump on my rump, 
that’s followed by a blurt of some improvised blubbery: 
‘Ah, Discover, that’s is a great magazine. 
Are you a subscriber? I am…
…I see you are reading about one of my favorite subjects, too. 
Ya know, what do you think about all of this nano-technology?
All those miniscule robots – acting for our favor, with a hive like mentality.’

She laughs…and I struggle to gauge her range,
“Oh, I am just casually reading. I’m not too familiar with any nano stuff.”
I push up my glasses; and straighten up in my chair, 
‘Oh well, hell! The possibilities are mind-boggling, they are…infinite/infinitesimal!’
Then, looking into her eyes, I added, ‘…but of course, they’re brilliantly altering…as they are dangerously threatening.’ 

She folds her magazine and pivots to me.
“Really? You sound so psyched about them. Are you some science major?”
(…I’m netted, tangled, in her eyes… and released to only stare down at my feet…)
‘No, just a science geek; if anything I’d be a journal major, doubling in dabbling at
a lover of life from A to Z.’ 
My nervousness tickles at me; but I’m merely grateful that I didn’t sketch
her a complete stereotype by chortling as well.

She chuckles, again, in a pitch I cannot catch, 
(although I am already needlessly cursing myself over the miss)
“Oh? So, you’re double majoring in some fake degrees, and a lover of all things A to Z?”
Another laugh, this time I know it’s jest, but still not sure what at.
Instead on lamenting over paranoid speculations, 
I’m picking up these specks of nature, of hazelnut, in her oaken eyes…
And I am stammering for any specks of conversation from the ruinations of my tries,

‘No, I mean, yes. I love…anything…well almost anything. 
Whatever celebrates life…anything that…explores reality… 
So, yeah, all these things - A to Z…
From… ah…Aesop’s fables to…ya’know…stuff like…Zodiac symbols.’

I shame my self with my forehead in palm, 
and my shoulders quake while my head shakes… 
but she laughs, this time in a rhythm with me that I cannot mistake, 
for it’s the sound of candy unwrapping, of a jolly-rancher undressing…

”From Aesop to the Zodiac… and, really, all those letters in between?”
One of her eyebrow lifts, and suddenly I’m darting, 
from this flower to the floor, those vibrant eyes to my dull toes… 
‘Yeah…yeah, I’m definitely not lying when it comes to something so…fleeting.’
 
I sense a hint, an uncomfortable silence verging on becoming a pregnant pause;
and I eject: ‘I’m sorry, I was just trying to be stupid, or silly - whichever, really.’

Her eyes brighten and those specks shimmer like lacquer in the light.

I am awkward at a level beyond a tipsy toddler…or a fumbling bee,
and before I can summon all the courage, as young Arthur did before Excalibur,
a man comes out of the bathroom to tell her “Hey, Honey, I’m ready; let’s go.”

She puts down her magazine and tells me it was a pleasure…

I nod in honest agreement, but with a somber smile as a place card.

When she is out the door…
I crack my journal open…
and I start my pen buzzing…


M. L. Michael 
2.16.12’

About…

Descartes Declared My Love Best

It begins with a simple enough premise:
I think, therefore I am.
…This is my life, and this is existence.
But after that, ideas can wonder – rather abstractly-
and like discovered mines – I’m now questioning my own know-whys.[…]

Descartes Declared My Love Best

It begins with a simple enough premise:
I think, therefore I am. 
…This is my life, and this is existence.
But after that, ideas can wonder - rather abstractly-
and like discovered mines – I’m now questioning my own know-whys.

:::

I know because I can knock on a wooden door,
(and hold my breath when you answer – with *so much* more,)
I know because I can gaze at some country panoramic, setting-sky-surprise,
(and see an equal beauty, pooled within your eyes,)
I know because I can taste funnel-cakes in Carnival air,
(and feel your tummy’s rumble for a cake that we might share,)
I know because I can smell …some scent… I can’t yet put my finger on…
(and become flooded with all the joy, the love, of all you’ve ever done…)

For me, and for you, it begins with a simple enough premise:
I think,
             therefore
                            I love you. 
\
…and we work from there…

M. L. Michael 
05/09/11

About…

the egg poem

Dear Egg,

You caught my eye, almost immediately.
You were this…enamorable – absurdly fragible – so preciable, egg,

out of all those dozens of other eggs,

you appeared to have the toughest shell of them all… […]

The Egg Poem

Dear Egg,

You caught my eye, almost immediately.
You were this…enamorable - absurdly fragible – so preciable, egg, 
out of all those dozens of other eggs, 
you appeared to have the toughest shell of them all…

and now that I’ve learned more of you;
…I’ve learned of when you fell,
(and Popped back up, like it wasn’t ever an ‘accident’)
and I’ve learned of when you cracked apart;
….and I heard of all the king’s-and-queen’s-men, 
who failed at helping you; 
and how you put yourself back together, again….

You see, that’s what made my admiration grow ever more.

My love, 
it’s that you never-ever broke completely apart,
….without eventually coming out on top;
and, never, did you buy into any of that bullshit, shiny-armor, plot… 

…And even though, you managed some serious cracks here and there,
it was never anything that wasn’t fixed with Tender.Loving.Care.

….

…I even wish I could have known you when you were growing up,
so I could have watched what all had tempered your tough shell’s story…


…

…But, all I can know now is this adult-egg I see before me,
…and the more I think on it, the more I realize how I had eyed you so easily,
out of a dozens, you had me color-struck 
(from the get go) with your most colorful complexions,
…and I could see your tenacity for life, 
in your -most tempered, most brightest- special shell that you adorn!

So, my beloved-brilliant, egg:
Do your best to keep your shell in the best of ship and sound shape.
…and I will do my best, at doing the same…

(…And I would like it, if we could, perhaps, grow rotten together…)
(…that joke may appear dark under certain light – but the love in it remains bright…)

My love is here,
Sincerely.

M. L. Michael
4/28/11

About…

conversations at the bar #1

Surprise, Surprise,
I found Cupid at a Bar…
made all the more absurd and disturbing,
by his public drunkenness and his blatant nudity,
…plus the quiver and bow hung crooked across his wings… […]

Conversations at the Bar #1
(When Cupid Has A Few Too Many)

Surprise, Surprise, 
I found Cupid at a Bar…
made all the more absurd and disturbing,  
by his public drunkenness and his blatant nudity,
…plus the quiver and bow hung crooked across his wings…

Bleary-eyed Cupid, Leery-eyed Cupid,
squinted at me, and at all the nuanced couples moving and mingling,
like little pawns across his chessboard,
with every awkward gesture and each misjudged move,
- a toast in honor of his ego.

And so it was without warning that Cupid fumbled for his bow 
and drunkenly fired into the crowd…
[…certain that there’s always someone lovesick ready to be lovestruck…
 …certain that there’s always a person’s passion ready to be charged on credit… 
 …certain that there’s always a quota of Valentines-Day-Roses to be clipped & shipped…]

But I was shocked… 
because no one seemed to really notice Cupid,
they only seemed to notice each other’s makeup, madeup, plumage,
and no one seemed to hear Cupid’s repetitive sighing,
they only heard the clinking of ice in their half-emptied glasses of courage; 
and they only heard their hot whispers promising hotter nights. 
(that rarely, if ever, had the chance of dawning)

I was confused to find Cupid acting in such a way,
And I was surprised to find that no one ever flinched when Cupid’s arrow hit, 
At most, they only scratched or twitched, at some soothing, biological itch, 
or they smiled and beamed, from some glowing, genetic need…


I took a seat next to Cupid
and ordered a round for the two of us.
Cupid smiled at my star-struck gaze, and gave me an appreciative nod.
“No mortal has bought me a drink in as long as I can remember.
 In fact, it is rare that a mortal has ever given me more than a pause,
 beyond those acclamations they can only offer during their most ecstatic of exclamations.”

He downed his drink, and leaned in close as he gave the bartender a signal for another. 
“You know, normally I don’t do this…but you look to be a good guy…
So, for you, I will do this most special, this most privileged, of favors… 

“Who is it here that your libido swings towards?
Who here could you rapture, like a saint in sinner’s clothing?
Just give me the word, 
and with one, simple, arrow she’s yours for the having.”

He fumbled for his bow and quiver, and I subtly pushed them away.

He ignored my move, or possibly he never noticed, and continued to rant,
“So, who is it you want? How about that leggy, cherry-bomb, sizzling over there,
I bet ten minutes with her and she could blow you straight out the stratosphere!
Or what about that soft and soulful star, with those midnight, velvety lips? 
Oh, on those lips you could dream of every universe and heaven, real and conceived!
…Or maybe, instead, you see that subdued, sublime, siren, by the jukebox?
Sure, I can tell she’s serenading you; the way her lips shape these romantic lyrics. 
She’s hypnotizing you with her hips –subtly swaying them to that beat underneath.
Yes, I can see it in your eyes, you are outlining her curves with your boldest brush!
 
“So, my good friend, which beauty do you want –
…or, perhaps, you want them all?!” 
He boasted with laughter that I found embarrassing, 
and yet, irresistibly intriguing…

I did my best to suppress my disappointment in the Cupid I had discovered… 
and I did my best to redirect all that south-bound-blood back to my north-thinking-head…

I tried to tell him that he had me, and everything entailed, all wrong:
“I don’t think your arrows are meant for all these random flights of fancy.
I’ve come to believe that every arrow must mean something special. 
That if any arrow is to matter anything at all, 
than every arrow must represent 
all that I find to be wholly-life-lovingly-unique.”

Cupid appeared both frustrated and confused,
So I continued, with desperations to elaborate my point.

“What I am hopefully saying, my dear, rosy, Cupid,
Is, if you are to help me, and not to harm me, 
then you must be as disciplined as you are passionate,
you must treat your arrows as if they are of a finite number,
….and most importantly, 
each arrow must represent the values I desire the highest -
and not simply the lusts I hunger for the hardest…

 Cupid remained quiet…and now more withdrawn.

“Am I making sense?
“All I’m doing is mimicking my Heroes: those Romantics, 
whose shoulders I sit upon whenever I pen my tributes…” 



Cupid stared into the distance as I paid for our drinks,
and before I left, I gambled on one last plea:

“You know all these arrows you’ve shot so wildly into every crowd?
Why not take a moment, and watch these couples you’ve managed to hit.
…And tell me, dear, spirited, Cupid,
what are their odds of any kind of lasting, fulfilling, love,
is it just one night… is it just two days…
or are they a rarity, and they last longer than a month?
 
…And then tell me, dear, dispirited, Cupid,
“Of those all the hapless, innumerous, hearts… 
How many were better off, before your arrows intervened?”

Cupid never answered…
he only stared into his empty drink…
and quietly signaled for another round.

M. L. Michael 
02/22/11

About…

You – Random – Russian – Beauty – You.

You.
I want You.
I want you to sing to me a Russian Lullaby.
…Even if you don’t know of one…

I want you to summon the Seductress-Slavic-Goddess –
that’s reserved somewhere beneath your Regal-Russian-Presence,
and channel for me a Lovely-Russian-Lullaby…] […]

You – Random – Russian – Beauty – You.
(A Safe Sex interpretation of The Mile High Club)

You.
I want You.
I want you to sing to me a Russian Lullaby.
…Even if you don’t know of one…
I want you to summon the Seductress-Slavic-Goddess –
that’s reserved somewhere beneath your Regal-Russian-Presence,
and channel for me a Lovely-Russian-Lullaby…

You.
I want You.
I want you to use those lips (which hint at gates I’ve yet to reach)
to Sing to me a Sweetly Serenade of Pure Reflection
Of the long lay of land your ancestors seduced and made their home,
…to Sing to me a Celebrative Chant of Sound Shape
Of your gorgeous genetic makeup’s making up –
 this one ‘heaven of a’ Form.

You.
I want You.
I want you to imagine all your world’s a catwalk.
And all the eyes of the men and women upon you
-	the very model of their desire and their attention –
[And my eyes certainly.
My eyes upon you like a hawk’s
: spotting a white rabbit in the wide, timeless, tundra 
wanting nothing more than to…swoop down and…sweep you up,
up high above the earth, where I will sing…
…my poetry of You.]

You.
I want You.
I want you to sing me a Russian Lullaby.

You – 
Random - Russian – Beauty –
 You.


 M. L. Michael
12/18/10

About…

The ‘L’ Word

this one girl is a low tempo classical haunt,
a melody so moving it tugs at the heart,
with notes of longing underlining her sensuality,
and an air of allure that dances about with mystery… […]

The ‘L’ Word 



this one girl is a low tempo classical haunt,
a melody so moving it tugs at the heart,
with notes of longing underlining her sensuality,
and an air of allure that dances about with mystery…

plus

this other girl is a jolt of rock’n’roll gyrations
with cherried licks and hipstrong implications.
she’s that song capable of giving the party feet,
the reason to last longer; to maintain the beat.

and together…

what a sonorous, celebrous sound of joining!
(the pleasuresong that is unique to their unifying)

because together…

it’s the music that matters…
(to those with ears unplugged) 

because together…

the ‘l’ word is a spirit stirring song
(for those that can hear what is free to be heard)	



-12-27-09-
M. L. Michael

About…

aromatherapy

Unable to sleep.

When my spine is screaming,
When my heart is harping,
When the moon is mocking,
I spritz my pillow with her old perfume
I kept in the back of my dresser drawer.[…]

Aromatherapy

Unable to sleep.

When my spine is screaming,
When my heart is harping,
When the moon is mocking,
I spritz my pillow with her old perfume
I kept in the back of my dresser drawer.
I go back to bed with my pillow
Tucked under my chin, pressed against my lips,
With each breath drawing her back in,
Summoning her blooming face,
Replanting the lilac memories,
Rose encounters, and 
Lavender dreams.

Sleep captures me content.

09/24/09
M. L. Michael

About…