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
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
after “Love Letter” by Diane Seuss Dear X, I’ve learned you so well, like a dog-eared book read once too often. Repeated lines keep coming back to haunt me. But what can love be if it is a past tense event? I think the expression might be love’s lost or something of that nature. To my way of thinking, the affection you were after was … Continue reading Dear X by Dale Champlin
Among the many glowing reviews that Taylor Swift’s eleventh album, The Tortured Poets Department, has received, a line from one in particular sought to further position the work as genuine poetry—high-brow prose. To be more specific, The Times’ review deemed the songs on the album to be “as rich and concise as a short story collection.” Even if no truly rich and concise short story … Continue reading Faux Erudition and The Taylor Swift TTPD Bump When It Comes to an Interest in Literature
“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
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
-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
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
When our affair endedthe bed, the linens, the pillows witheredtaking our shrill moans with them.Even the dust on the carpet was still, so quietand threadbare—gray where vibrant plush used to be.I hated to see the wreckageand I hated to see the termination of our lust.I hated to see us go. At the beginningthe weather was good, I remember.We watched spring birds sing their hearts outcarnal … Continue reading The End 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
