Poetry Friday: The Word is MELT

Maggie really outdid herself with the Poetry Friday Word for today! At once sweet and sublime, it's also passionate, fiery, conniving, destroying. I'm gushing. Oh yeah, and it's gushing. Thanks, Mags!

Please feel free to use the word "MELT" in your blog post today, in whatever volcanic activity erupts for you...poem, story, photo, guitar solo (regular or air), YouTube clip, hair clip, stocking rip....

I've never done this before, but I have Poetry Friday posts for today on all three of my sites (see sidebar under My Other Blogs)...the dirty site (WARNING! I wrote pr0n there! NSFW! Beware! It's graphic! Not for the squeamish!) has a somewhat dirty post, the political blog has a poli post, and this one...well...I had trouble narrowing down the things my fingers spit out, spit out from vague notes scribbled on a sticky note, and which took on a fleshy life of their own. Let's see...I have some conversation (which might belong on the dirty blog, I dunno), a list, and Mike Doughty. If it weren't for the fact that my bedroom holds both the clickety-clackety-computer keyboard AND the bed where my Man is trying to sleep, I'd type all night. Damn unpredictable inspiration anyhow.

Have a good weekend, y'all!


He/She

He: What’s it gonna be?
She: Be?
He: Gonna be.
She: Mmmm....
He: Today.
She: What’s today?
He: The day we stay in bed.
She: Bed.
She: Bed.
She: All day. Mmmm....
He: Maybe something like...
She: ...like...
He/She: ...this/Ohhh....
He: Mmmm...no...more like...
She: Hmmm?
He/She: ...more like.../(oooh)
She: Stop.
He: No.
She: I’m melting.
He: Yes.
She: More.
He: Like...
She: yes...Yes....
She:
She: Stop.
She: You.
She: More like...
He: ...like...
She/He: ...this/OH.
He: Mmmm....
She: Bed.
He: Bed. Ohh....
She: What’s it gonna be?


What Makes Mona Melt

1) Accents. Remember that scene in A Fish Called Wanda, where John Cleese entertained Jamie Lee Curtis with his knowledge of Russian? Whereupon she promptly fell to her knees and wound her legs tightly around the rope banister? That was based on me. I’m far less discriminate in the language, however...Russian, German, Italian, French, Spanish, Turkish, Korean. Australian. Canadian “oot and aboot”. Boston's “Pahk the cah in Hahvahd Yahd.” It’s a weakness, to be true, but it has no caffeine, no calories, and no regrets.

2) A man in a good suit. Preferably a dark suit. With a nice line to it. And a jacket you can visualize removing...hands lightly touching the chest, fingers working their way under the lapels, between jacket and shirt, up to the shoulders, slowly....

3) Barry White’s voice. Oh baby...I have trouble at work when this comes on the Muzak. I have to hide in the library until the flooding subsides.

4) Cheesecake. Any sort. The creamy sweetness does me in.

5) Two small heads on my shoulders, small hands on my arms, a warm blanket to share while we watch Mary Poppins with the sound turned down and the popcorn nearly gone.

6) A man’s hand...open...lying palm down, flat on a table...the middle finger raises slightly and makes a gentle, circular motion, clockwise...reminding one of its function and potential elsewhere.... Sergei hooked me with that particular move.

7) The sun as it meets country horizon or city silhouette, bursting pinkpurpleblue, swallowed by speckled night.

8) Massages. Full-body. The deep ones that hurt and then the pain turns to something far, far more pleasurable.

9) The head massages my hairdresser gives me. It’s all I can do not to slump like warm strawberry jelly out of the chair.

10) I could go on for a while, in my tactile, wistful way. But I must go sponge down immediately. It’s a moral imperative.



Soft Serve
(Soul Coughing/Mike Doughty)
Mike's solo version here.


The body like soft serve, dripping down in the June sun,
I tried to shoot a thought, but the thought sunk.
Nothing to do but scratch words in the dirt and
Watch the water roll down.

Phantom kisses buzzing like the insects.
Beads of sweat dripping down on the rent check.
My Candyland melted down to syrup while I
Watched the water roll down.

hey the lust comes into phaze,
but you're down in Marietta.
So sweet my mouth was seared,
But the words you mouthed were sweeter.

My Sister,
Your words can be held against you in a court of law.
My Sister,
You owe no allegiance to the facts.

And you're talking like the saint on the site of the accident.
Talking like the clause in the lease about the late rent.
Ringing like the random call patched to the payphone.
Talking like the water rolls down.

And here comes the lust in phaze,
but you're down in Marietta.
So sweet my mouth was seared,
But the words you mouthed were sweeter.

Talking like the saint on the site of the accident.
Talking like the botched shot, attempt on the President.
Ringing like the change in the legless man's Dixie Cup.
Talking like the water rolls down.

Day Undone,
Day Undone,
Day Undone,
Watch the water roll down.