Tag: Dale Champlin poems

Poetry

A White Mist Hovers by Dale Champlin

dazzling as a field of ghosts.When fog shrouds the farmland like this, I know winter can’t be far behind. In the distance, hillsides float—hazy ash to lavender, they menace.Low-lying clouds cover the pale morning a silken Victorian bridal veil. The cold penetrates,bone chilling and graved. May a bride be one of the ghosts,with her dove gray fitted bodice,leg-o-mutton sleeves—pin-tucked satin,crinoline corseted within an inch of lost breath. … Continue reading A White Mist Hovers by Dale Champlin

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Poetry

Later Better Than Sooner by Dale Champlin

Sex after seventy—I was just gettingto that. But first, pull the covers up.If you could just let me say itlike it is. Hold my foot between your palms.Don’t let me interrupt the proceedings.Don’t look. Better yet,turn out the lights. This isn’t our first rodeo after all.Last time I thought I had run off with the handsomest knife throwerin the circus.  Everyone knows it’s futile to try to … Continue reading Later Better Than Sooner by Dale Champlin

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Poetry

Love Sonnet: XVII Revised by Dale Champlin

after Pablo Neruda I love you the way I love Fritos, grape jam, and bling—  the way a bonfire spits sparks into a sky scorched with stars.  I love you as much as a full tank of gas—through switchbacks,and wisecracks—window rolled down so everyone can see.  I love you secretly, between my plush and my pit—the way my mother loved her Persian Melon lipstickin the 60s—the way it … Continue reading Love Sonnet: XVII Revised by Dale Champlin

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Poetry

Oh the feel of it by Dale Champlin

the day is getting closerclimbing like a high notesoft as a whisperbetrayal Lord now it (the note I mean)swings back and forth on a current of airand you’re just a slip of a thingit’s all I can do to lie still beneath thebedcoversthe pale breath of youcatching in my throatI trynot to thinkor not to think too much or I might die of something or otheror spend … Continue reading Oh the feel of it by Dale Champlin

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Poetry

Regretfully Yours by Dale Champlin

“and even you forgot those brilliant flashes seen from afar” —Ruth Stone I should have taken you up on that trip to Mexico—my only chance to swim in the gulf, to surfthe exotic and erotic; tequila, bizarro birds,burnished sunrise through slats in the shutters,instead of a turndown. My big mistake was to playthe fool—too cool for school. I should have held youin my strong arms, … Continue reading Regretfully Yours by Dale Champlin

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Poetry

Come, Lovers of Dark Corners by Dale Champlin

The stars know everything—how we toiledover every piece of furniture we own—the mohair sofa with its button tufts,the dining room table sweat-polished smoothas glass, your dad’s easy-glide Barcalounger.We thought the bed too tame—mundaneas white-on-rice.  That was before we did it on the lawnat four a.m., the boat dock when the tide was out, the army hammock and the diving board.We worked over the meadow, the hayloft,the … Continue reading Come, Lovers of Dark Corners by Dale Champlin

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Poetry

Otherwise by Dale Champlin

-for my husband I have climbed you like a flagpole       and left you at half-mast.I have run roughshod over you       then begged for more.I have cracked you like a safe       and looted all that I could carryI have cried on your shoulder       and hung you out to dry.You are Everest to my Mariana Trench,       a matchstick to my bonfire. I duck when you deluge       and squint when you shine.You mean the world … Continue reading Otherwise by Dale Champlin

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Poetry

This Thing Called Sex by Dale Champlin

I’m liking this thing called sex, the way my spineroots me to the bedclothes; my DNA tinglesinto my ecstatic shoulders, the branchesof my arms to my fingertips—thoughtdissolves—delicious oblivion. I float, a girl again,maybe a boy. Under my goosebump fleshall splayed ringlets—I elevate, scrumptious. Crucified between cloud-drift and gravity, I go the distance; a cry arcs full-bodied,unrhymed from the shivers at my foot, by wayof my hummingbird … Continue reading This Thing Called Sex by Dale Champlin

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Poetry

Pregnant and Screaming by Dale Champlin

My lover is walled into silence. I used to sit by the trash cans in my back alley smoking a joint while no one was looking. I called it desperation. My silence was all-consuming—too early pregnant—looking at gravel in the potholes back there and the neighbor’s dog wiggling and whining for a cuddle. Can you imagine? I wanted to swallow the back gate, the garage, … Continue reading Pregnant and Screaming by Dale Champlin

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