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RC deWinter

@RCdeWinter

Apr 19

#poetry

Friction Field

The wind, on this blue night,
is howling like a banshee,
sad voices carried on it.
It's the kind of night
when all your sorrows
come back to haunt you.

The electricity in the air
is a palpable thing,
an element so strong
your skin prickles
with the unrelenting
friction of those atoms.

I feel you especially.
Your presence swirls
in those atoms,
rubbing relentlessly
across my skin,
across my soul.

I won’t sleep tonight,
not as long as that wind persists.
I’ll lie in bed like a prisoner in a cell.
And carried by that wind,
your electrical arms embrace me.

© 2012 RC deWinter
Published in indiescribe November 2013
Art: Ghost Tree © 2015

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RC deWinter

@RCdeWinter

Apr 19

#poetry

decembrist

all i want to do is watch the sun go down
while holding your hand
both of us saying good night to the day

instead a blue wave roared up from nowhere
and swamped my heart
took it right out to sea

there was no sunset
no you
only whitecaps and wild wind
now i hear a cello being bowed
so deeply beautiful
so sad

the salt water hovers but it won't fall
i sit in the cold wind
hoping it will carry your voice
on that richly woven melody

@ 2017 RC deWinter
Published in Writing In A Woman’s Voice
November 2021
#Art: Turbulent Sea @ 2010 RC deWinter

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RC deWinter

@RCdeWinter

Apr 19

#poetry

Dancing Master

I know you dance in the old way
hardly anyone does anymore –
smooth and graceful,
holding your partner close,
twirling at just the right time.

I, a child of the fifties,
vaguely remember the fox trot,
the polka and swing your partner do-si-do.

I might be able to fake the box step
as violins sob out the wavelets
of the Blue Danube, but you
will have to lead, always.

And how I long for you to do just that,
extending your hand, lifting me from my chair,
taking to the floor to teach me civilization,
as I, head buried in your neck, inhale
the grace and beauty of a time I never lived.

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RC deWinter

@RCdeWinter

Apr 19

#poetry

Ablution

The memory of almost-scalding water baptizes me with its melody;
the shower is one of my favorite but little-visited refuges from the noise of nonsense.
I leave my skin unwashed for two days, three, sometimes more.

This gives me an excuse for extended indulgence.
The shower is one of my favorite but little-visited refuges from the noise of nonsense.
I’m waxed with the accretions of many days and nights.
This gives me an excuse for extended indulgence;
I need not defend the time spent there.

I’m waxed with the accretions of many days and nights,
hot passion unspent; the one for whom it's meant unavailable.
I need not defend the time spent there,
in the bed of imagination, where the impossible becomes my reality.

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RC deWinter

@RCdeWinter

Apr 19

#poetry

a piece of you

when i walk the damp sand where the sea kisses the shore
trying not to add my own salt to the cold green water
i see you in every wavelet washing over
my feet

when i get home and throw myself into a lawn chair
light up inhale exhale and stare up at the dappled sky
your smile floats in the smoke soaring on
the breeze

when i stand in the kitchen throwing dinner together
instead of letting things pile up to be washed later
i clean up as i go and there you are in the corner by the
fridge nodding

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RC deWinter

@RCdeWinter

Apr 19

#poetry

After Compiègne

I
Lightning doesn't strike twice. Not this kind.
I’ll never be debriefed. Not in this life.
I gorged myself on fairy tales
for far too long.

I’ll never be debriefed. Not in this life.
Waiting for a happy ending, I held out a wickless candle
for far too long,
daring to hope for more.

Waiting for a happy ending, I held out a wickless candle,
an unpretty little girl
daring to hope for more.
Now I suit up, the faceless rivers retreating.

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