cupcakes in love

dolce: a girl, a camera, and a slice of life

i am particular to the cupcakes myself. the rose minicake and cupcakes give my cupcake-shaped heart good cause to yearn.

someday, maybe, i will make a cupcake as lovely. someday...

an Ode to what Light does

because Peter Wasilewski is brilliant

breaking the natural order
for the sake of personal beauty


a bird's wing preserved
by the polar lenses, white light,
and the touch of a man


fingers trapped in children's toys
a summer treat for i the least

but the sick romance
at the back of your mind

my summer night pleasure
for i all the more


tripping through swirls
and deep pools
along dark slippery
city streets

filled to the brim
with triumphant marches
and parades with routes
passed loosers' houses


locked in at the midst
of a winter battle
to the death and the part

the weight of a horse
on a frozen river
as the war rages on

in a field far away


what was lost
but a letter to the queen

but what of it
was a loss?

azure letters

for Ashraf Osman

i will not have a grave stone
because by the time i die,
they'll have thought of something better.

i wish you could say the same,
but it's becoming clearer each day
that you are already dying.

one poet's wish after another
for peace and skies clear of white
from the dust of dead neighbors

goes swiftly unheard by all
but the well-groomed dog at your feet
and i, who can't possibly understand

the significance of real warfare.





inspired by Under Siege by Mahmound Darwish

for my loved and lost

i sat across a coffee table
from Frank, George, Mina and Gertrude
with a bowl of cereal and a multivitamin

we made a list together
of all the girls i've loved
and let slip through my fingers

neither Mina nor Gertrude
keep the company of girls
and Frank is too much of a socialite

but George sees my worries as folly
for none of them are lost
only resting, silently,

waiting for me to finish my breakfast

wabi-sabi (give me i'll give you #27)

For Matt Dioguardi

meditation
with a
homely tree frog

mother
swimming in
the koi pond

we
are lost
in a poet's

world

shenandoah cupcake (give me i'll give you #26)

for Yasmin Elaine


the west was won
and great beasts tamed

by innocence and icing.

sprinkles that flirt with the tongue
atop curls of sweet frosting

and the lips of cowboys
left adorned

with moist crumbs
from women's biggest little secret:

the shenandoah cupcake.

city condo

more cute monsters here

3, 2, 1 blastoff
old Canadian paneling techniques
in modern city condos

made to order special deliveries.

of fate and forsaken dreams (give me i'll give you #25)

for Sara Kelley

every other song about angels
ends with a singer humming the tune

and the orchestra pit subdues
as the conductor's arms fall

slowly like leaves to the stand
the wand, as close to magic

as he'll ever come.

Flobble (give me i'll give you #24)

for Rowan Harris

the limits of space-time
don't stretch quite as far

as a vision of your wisdom
and bright purple hair

On Leaving the Station (give me i'll give you #23)

for Morgan Elektra

as i exited the subway
a sturdy figure stood

observing the wet crowds
and as i passed i heard him

mumbling about the umbrellas
looking like funeral flowers

The Blow to Glow (give me i'll give you #22)

for Kim Coakley

behind an old wooden door
cracked by the winds of ages

a blue imprint of an angel
lingering behind, for the touch

of a strong desire, a wish
but ever more the misguided

she falls in love with a dream
and sells her wings for dust

that dry/wet border on the edge of a rainstorm (give me i'll give you #21)

That dry/wet border on the edge of a rainstorm
(that you never see, but you know has to be there, logically)

for John Bell

i drew you a raincloud
with my high precision laser blaster

using the new weather-kit add on pack
and edging techniques passed on

from generation to generation
of regional weather gods.

i drew you this raincloud
in the shape of a tree

with lots of misty leaves
and muddy puddles

for logic to jump in
next time it has an idea.

i hope you like it.

the last pot roast on earth (give me i'll give you #20)

for Drook

on the very last friday of the very last calendar
someone scribbled a skull and cross bones

and we recycled all the old diet ginger ale cans
fashioned them into a sail that captures dirty molecules

rooms in parks (give me i'll give you #19)

for Drook

i had to put my foot down
when you pointed to the parkinglot

and dangled a key in front of me
from an old shoelace.

you thought you were clever
trading it in for that?

a house on wheels
and two sets of snow shoes?

i want my mp3 player back,
this is over. i'm out.

when the ice cream melted (give me i'll give you #18)

for Nicole McLernon

i tried to bring you presents
in square boxes, decorated

in the finest confection
a baker could have anticipated

but once i'd reached your door
i realized my mistake

alas, all the ice cream had melted
and there was no more room for cake

What does the angel give you if you win? (give me i'll give you #17)

for Russell Ragsdale

'you cannot win' she says
as she pulls the blindfold down off your eyes
revealing the course of obstacles before you

'but if you do, by some chance'
her voice is like a song with no end
the anticipation building

as she breaths beautiful warmth
down the nape of your neck
she whispers 'you may have me'

and now you know, you must win.

Lord Dark (give me i'll give you #16)

for Russell Ragsdale

a pin point towards
the light in your eyes

a reflection of knowing
just how deep the river's flesh

flows past the wondering finger
as it dips below the surface

the light of questions
unanswerable by blood

the sheild of age
and the dark bedchambers of wives

shiny (give me i'll give you #15)

for Mick Regan

you sprung me from jail
for a pat on the back
and a pillow case full
of old glory and grit

you'll learn...

there's nothing pretty
about escapology if you can't
bend your arms behind your back
without breaking them

a burning vein (give me i'll give you #14)

for Kristen Tortilla Williams

you take yourself so seriously,
it makes you burst into laughter
on the spot of accusation.

your ride your bicycle with purpose,
other than falling into a puddle of mud
that matches the color or your shoes.

three things that remind him of you,
the tall and the room and the loft
of suggestions held down by good will.

those same six songs (give me i'll give you #13)

for John Cabral

i demand a choir of ambivalent wisdom
surrounded by painkilling nurses with guns

redemption is the widow's veil
on the doorknob of your inner sanctum

a counciltation of magnificent wit
and worry not for the pride of your team

to bury the good book by fire's kiss
at dawn on a private field of frost

r.i.p. number 6

sadly, Mr. McGoohan passed away yesterday :(

Cake or Death (give me i'll give you #12)

for Elaine Garbarine

span the night, a warrior's path
to the tower of devil's food or lemon delight

to eat your way out
the frosted crest with fork or spoon

and a side of ice cream.

Hello, old friend, it's been a while (give me i'll give you #11)

for Brian Boutwell

across the table
in a nondescript diner
in a nondescript souther town

in a state of hot breath
and bone chilling plastic seat covers

a reunion of old all still the same
covering tracks and past misspellings
memorizing new lines in old faces.

hello, old friend. it has been a while, hasn't it?

Mou'sif (poème pathétique) (give me i'll give you #10)

for Ashraf Osman

there is no sound like the ripening of mud
against the tires of your bicycle

to melt your inner most will to climb
the hill behind your childhood home.

peculiar scents, familiarize your dysfunction
as a common feature among men of your gender

but to tell your father face-to-face
in the heat of this autumn humidity

would care too far the sensitivity
of family and war ridden, muddy slopes.

I Miss Living In The Brothel (give me i'll give you #9)

for Mary K

waking to the sound
of aluminum bunk beds against plastered walls

the begrudging water falls
to fill the chipped tub

and one man rests on a sofa
sipping matte and humming

old leonard cohen songs sweat
through the layers of carpet

to wake me fully
before i see that bus i need

pass the house, full of people
and not one of them looking back.

Just. Cakey. (give me i'll give you #8)

for Michelle Lee

sit pondering the color of frosting:
pink, or green?

pink... with green sprinkles?
and a strawberry.

wrapping up in winter garbs
to fetch strawberries
from the local supermarket.

this cake will be perfect.

do you write it an ode,
or wait and compose a eulogy

on a full stomach?

The Rhetoric Monster (give me i'll give you #7)

for Nate Byrnes

the doubt sets in real fast
as the tie clad man in hat approaches.

hiding under the carpet is no good,
too much soup, you think.

full stop. can i stop time?
the power of your mind is too weak,

too many blogs, you think.
try to become invisible,

but the cement walls are too damp
to lean against, you know.

he knocks and each thump
syncronized to your heart beats.

he's going to kill you with
big words.

little toe, big toe (give me i'll give you #6)

for Nicole Beaudoin

virgin toes in dirty sand
the first thought this morning

was wasted on artificial causes
and desires unmet by the sea

she looks out onto, in the early
of morning and cold winds march

across the seaside shipwreck
in her mortal's wicked dreaming

get out of town (give me i'll give you #5)

for Nicole Beaudoin

this and that the get out of town
to the pink slippers she says 'start walking'

Discovering the Benefits of Acai (give me i'll give you #4)

for Beth Ayer

the morning after, wrapped in his arms
you catch a glimpse

of his Brazilian drivers' license
on the bed-side stand,

but the dates are wrong.
there's no way he's that old.

this train doesn't stop that often (give me i'll give you #3)

for Beth Ayer

'can i pick from these trees?' the young boy asks the old man
a big plastic basket tied to his waste

'yes you can son. from the top branches.'

the boy thinks as he climbs, i am not your son.

classy is a philosophy (give me i'll give you #2)

for Jenni Baker

spread stockings over a delicate duvet cover
imported from Holland alongside the painting
of colorful bell peppers hanging in the lounge

the doorbell rings, the hum of pearls on pearls
fulfilling the backdrop of intimate business
and only the lack of scent hangs on your position

pneumatic mnemonic (give me i'll give you #1)

for Ryan Acheson

the strain on knowledge
when the credits run too long

forgetting names and faces
of famous actors

each one, replaced by an element
on our periodic dining table

the worry sets in and you sulk
curled up on the sofa with a cat in your lap

mumbling names of people you've met
on the streets of imaginary towns

give me a title, i'll give you a poem

if you're familiar with explodingdog.com, then you already know the drill. but if you don't here's how it works... sam from exploding dog draws pictures to go along with the titles his fans email in to him. he even does live art shows where he gets titles from people observing then draws the picture right there and then.



since i'm feeling deprived of inspiration and in desperate need to compose... i'm going to do the same as sam, but with poems.

i've done similar poetry experiments before (in the vein on john ashbury's collaboration with artists (when i remember the one's name, or find any reference to it, i'll link it, but i'm at a loss a the moment)), but this time i want input from some new creative people.

so, you suggest a title for a poem, and i will write it. each poem will be posted on this blog - and i'll do my best to either send an email with the poem in, or post it (or a link) in the comments thread on your blog (if you have one).

so, let the titles roll in...

p.s. i can't promise they'll be good > _ <

it keeps snowing

all different sorts of snow.

we have a new doctor

not that i don't love david tennant as the doctor loads, but i was nervous about the regeneration from christopher to david because, like so many new-who-viewers i hadn't lived through one yet. this time, knowing that there are still four hour-long specials staring david, i am super excited about the new face of the doctor. and steven moffat at the helm of the show! it's going to be excellent.

relative

marshmallow icing over a hot cocoa weekend with the tree down, in the pile with last year's carcass there is the thought- how romantic of your insides - to want to plant each holiday in the ground and metaphor the landscape into a future kind with artificial sweetener aiding in the continued inconsistencies of morning rituals and as you brushing your teeth afterwards, thinking about diatoms and how little you really care about environment unless it impacts the size of the jeans you buy or the taste of your afternoon snack. overall, i think you're too hard on yourself. here, have a piece of gum.

reply

"i fancy the hell out of you"

by way of reply to a "hello" kind of wave
across an isle of internet cafe in cambridge

the one opposite the little ice cream bar

"let me treat you" the hair falling over his left eye
cute, so i ask him "how?"

"what do you mean, how? with money"

"to what?"

he pointed across the street and smiled
a please-let-me smile.

sing song la low notes

sweet tie, twinkle like birds' eyes
in a medieval mirror - misshaped
but happy

about the sea side, a gull choking
on cold welsh rarebit

i've just had my hair cut, we've just met.
so i'm not wondering if you'll notice,
but other mischievous thoughts burden

the color of your temper
and the complexion of your breakfast rituals.

haunting me, wishful triangle
or circle sequence and a note
passes from one train car to the next

etched on the dry parts
of a used tea bag.