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summer poem July 20, 2008

Posted by Victoria Fredericks in Personal, Poetry, Writing.
1 comment so far

the sky’s milk white
my hands around my coffee cup
–my little hands and dirty nails,
the days are longer
and I not quite as strong
as when ice glazed my world.
I count the days in pairs of pantyhose
and I still cross the streets with care
you see, for me it’s still May.

but darling,
there is no consolation,
only ashes from my cigarette,
the stars look burned
the amethyst sunset’s nothing for me.
the world a lonely carousel,
again I’m unprepared.
all I want is stronger flesh,
instead I have a series of
serrations against the wall of myself
and what I feel

Desire January 31, 2008

Posted by Victoria Fredericks in Books, Poetry.

(A collection of poems) by Alma Luz Villanueva

Like many of my “favorite things” I’ve discovered in my life, I found this book by accident, purely on instinct. I’m drawn to the word Desire, and in that small bookstore on that particular Sunday, it was the book that found its way into my hands, and later, my heart.

Alma Luz Villanueva is a celebrated Chicana writer and poet. Racial niche aside, the appeal of Villanueva’s writing is that it transcends race, gender, perhaps even time. It rushes into emotion and even deeper into the most primal of human conditions and subjects: Lust, sex, birth, pain, ritual, death. Her references to nature are a grounding point, reminding us all (often through her references to motherhood) that we are a part of something much bigger than our individual selves. Her way with words is nothing short of riveting. She is brazen, forthright, and cuts boldly into what matters most in life, and manages to make it beautiful.

Villanueva uses pretty language, but she doesn’t shy away from grit. Dirty imagery of life’s more unpleasant facets only make her poems more real. She crosses from personal to political, to back again, including a poem she sent to President Clinton (circa 1994). There is a series of poems to her bird, Mango, but they are not about a bird or for a bird; rather they are about life, and the universe told to Mango; her singing, inspiring companion. Powerful and feminine, Villanueva’s writer’s voice begs to be heard. Desire is less of a collection of works as it is a love letter to the world, one that is definitely worth holding onto.

It would be unfair to sing Villanueva’s praises without exemplifying at least a taste of her beautiful work. If I had to choose a favorite, this one resonated with me the highest.

The Lover.

What is the difference
between sexuality and sensuality,

we discuss oh so
calmly…I spin

on the words
sexuality sensuality

as though they were
worlds, civilizations

I’ve been studying:
“Sexuality is located in

the genitals,” I say…
“an energy that keeps

us hungry, hunting,
stalking. Sexuality seizes,

tames, conquers, gloats
and howls with victory,

and we are all proof of this
momentary victory, the trophy.”

I pause
and continue:

“Sensuality. Rose petals, thick
grass, deep water, fragrant neck,

newborn-in-the arms, suckling
milk and light, lover’s lips, tender

tongues, frying onions, luscious
sauce simmering, to be poured over

meat slid from bone,
done, perfect, surrendered,

cooked, for, your, pleasure,
the perpetual sound of the sea,

aching, longing, roaring, singing,
singing, roaring, longing, aching,

the never ever ending
delight, no trophies,

delight, no proof;
I give my children back

to their lives, their senses,
their most private and secret

dreams, where we conquer worlds
and then wisely relinquish them

in order to praise the Lover

worlds without ever
ending,” I murmur

as I watch summer strobing
and oh so slowly

enter the irresistible coolness
on the 26th of June.

memoria December 8, 2007

Posted by Victoria Fredericks in Poetry.

It was a stretch of highway
lined with red dust
topped with blue sky
that reminds me of your eyes
because I could never take it all in.
I trip on cracks in the asphalt
my feet are tired, honey.
I pass a girl holding a teddy bear
ragged from too much love.
is that what happened to us?
the man at the gas station
tells me it is going to rain
I hope he is wrong but the sky turned gray
three miles later.
I look up, imagine us coming down
you next to me in the passenger’s seat
singing along so loud
you’d kept my mittens and my heart
that night, do you remember?
together, all the things we swore we’d do
I wish I had your hand to hold
instead I have a plastic bag
and all my weary memories.
the charcoal sky blazes with lightening
and rain makes rivers of my tears
then it comes, impossibly strong
and now you’re faded, gone.
but you will always, always be
my thunder.

velvet kisses November 9, 2007

Posted by Victoria Fredericks in Poetry, Writing.
1 comment so far

Short, but one of my personal favorites I’ve done. I changed it a little to repost it here.
[Originally written December 23rd, 2006]

she knew she’d lost him
wine stains on her countertop remind her
of things they toasted to
and everything she’d wanted.

velvet kisses, sad goodbye
and slowly things unfold
she wished she’d kept her heart
hidden away.

she cries when no one is looking
cold rainy nights of raw solitude
the sky reminds her of his eyes
no one touches her the same.

infatuation October 8, 2007

Posted by Victoria Fredericks in Poetry.
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by Jewel

Infatuation is a strange thing.
A bony creature thin with feeding on itself.
It is addicted not to its subject, but to its own vain hunger
And needs but a pretty face to fuel its rampant imagination.
It’s humid couch and sweaty palms.
It’s fleshy carpets ablaze with conquest.
But when conquering is complete,
the blood leaves its limbs and it becomes disenchanted.
Disappointed even to the point of disgust
with its subject, who sits then, like a hollow trunk,
emptied of its precious cargo
and left to fade like defeated naval ships.
A seed relieved of its transparent husk,
to dissolve finally on a rough and impatient tongue.