Mimi-Mona Poetry: Like a Tangled Heap of Human Laundry

©Like a Tangled Heap of Human Laundry

Mimi Wolske

We'd had another fight, something that happened more than less lately

A screaming match in the car, her screaming and crying, me listening

Embarrassing, dreadful moments passing locked apartment doors with the banshee

Knowing the ghosts of people behind them were tired of her mouth running

In the beginning, I tried placating, appeasing, pacifying, making concessions

Wanting nothing more than to assure her that yes, I still loved her

Anything, everything to reconcile our differences, to solace her passions

And in the end, I'd done nothing but temporarily deter any anger

I used to think, so what if she's reckless and unpredictable

That was my attraction to her from the very start; so misguided

Restless, impulsive, but such a wide difference in feelings chasmal

That whatever I said or felt she quickly chided

She'd then leave in a huff, maybe for a night, sometimes days,

Sometimes weeks, and I'd call her friends, text her:

"Baby, come home...I love you...we can work this out," any catchphrase

What ever promise it took, I'd even become a beggar

Promising to get rid of the termites destroying our relationship

Wondering just how the hell I was going to manage that

She'd return, happy, expansive, optimistic, and wanting sex, the flip

Of how she'd departed, she became my own personal hellcat

Suddenly, she was overdosing on pills, slicing body parts with a sharp blade

Hiding in closets, or sleeping in cars, or driving into stationary objects

Reckless and unpredictable, profoundly sad, feeling worthless and afraid

Her thoughts became rejects of defects that infects and dissects

Tonight, when we returned to our three-room living quarters,

I dropped her off still screaming and loudly ranting

Went to the diner alone to search for some answers

When some friends found me, they took an oblique course--canting

Like a contender in a competition, I made an incessant dash home

Oh my god! there she lay like a tangled heap of human laundry

At the bottom of the steps overtaken by her syndrome

And my only actions, thoughts, words once like hers, became bawdry

Mania is a hallmark symptom of manic depression. To be more precise, mania is a cluster of symptoms that are associated with one aspect of manic depression. An episode of mania can quickly spiral out of control, causing a great deal of disruption and mayhem for the individual and his or her loved ones. As such, it is important to be familiar with the warning signs of mania.

That is Tom Wait in the photo but he himself has nothing to do with the poem

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Mona's Demons

Mona's Demons

were kept in a drawer of curiosities,

illustrated with colorful adjectives.

Her mantra was slightly embarrassing...

naked cheesecake photos...when repeated

endlessly in a group of elderly ladies

on a Christian tour bus in Vatican City.

Sexual demons calling themselves fantasies

and mental images from Eros, she felt like a

shepherd-lass on the run from her frock and

from the Nephilim. Yes, they still exist,

the giant fallen ones. They continue to

scour the planet for Mona, hoping to find a

nymph of the wood...on their wood.

But Mona's demons remain in a drawer.

©Mimi Wolske, March 2014

All Rights Reserved

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Two Haiku Poems

BEFORE you begin reading, a quick note:  Sometimes people end up here because they are lost in  poetry bliss ... sometimes they are just looking for spare underwear. 

©Legos
Fantastic towers
Colored pieces, tons of fun
Building worlds with blocks

©Stain Drawing
Counter-top canvas
Stippled with juice and coffee
From our morning drinks

(Top photo: Brazilian kids build world's tallest Lego tower)

Mimi-Mona Erotic Poetry: You Want to Play

©You Want to Play

Mona Arizona

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

  

Standing in-between the lines

waiting for you to color me,

never knowing when you'll

color outside the lines.

It would be just like you

to crawl outside of the box,

folding me in until the next time

you want to play.

So you sit in the midst of a

small clan living respectfully

until the time you spend with me,

then it's mutual respectability.

That's when things occur

that are more than alright,

passing the midnight hours at games

you want to play.

Consumed and discontent, all you want

is to see me on my hands and knees;

Miles apart, you're always

wanting what your eyes can't see.

It's only a facade of reality

until you are lying here with me

sharing detailed dreams of how

you want to play.

Reality and dreams begin to merge

in this contingent realm or desire;

never chasing shadows or looking

for thoughts lost along the way,

we're feeding the visions

dancing across the disentangled stage

as time goes by you share your favorite truth—

you want to play.

Mimi-Mona Poetry: In Your Bell Jar

©In Your Bell Jar

Mimi Wolske

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

You spoke words that melted in my hands

There in the basement where so many surprises awaited me

So many people in the basement and then you called Intermission

My thoughts grew colors that mingled with the roots of my hair

Looking for those words of acumen

Finding the kind of love that's going to kill me

Seeing in your eyes this wasn't a lesson or some children's game

Growing flowers from a hole dug under the table of love

Naked and famous was I in your Bell jar

You were singing the song of Bernadette

Repeating flavors while lying with your icy statuette

When your balloon collapsed you called out Author Author

Never understanding why I suffered from writer's block

If luck were kind you might have found a roof

Quiet is that crack in the wall where communication fled

The octopus lovingly holds onto her wolf and pearls

You were the fluid sacristan of my embellished heart

Naked and famous was I in your Bell jar

(Abduction, 2005, Ashley Snow Macomber -- octopus and wolf)

Mimi-Mona Erotic Poetry: I Can Make Your Dreams Come True

©I'll Make Your Dreams Come True

Mona Arizona

All Rights Reserved

Hey, Babe, can you spare me some time

I've had my eye on you, that's surely not a crime,

In your new suit you're looking so smart and brawny,

Hey, Babe, give more than an hour to me.

The scent of your cologne states you're pedigreed;

I'll give you hint, I think you'll succeed,

'Cause it's pulling me in, yes, it's drawing me to you,

And every thought I have  is of our rendezvous.

Meet me upstairs in just a minute from now;

In less than an hour, I will show you how.

Give me your hand and I will show it to you—

One horizontal dance, I'll make your dreams... come... true.

I'm the kind of girl who likes to play hard to get;

But in my knowing hands, there's nothing you'll regret.

Look at your silk shirt, such elegance, such class;

You're as handsome as the love gods, my dreams you surpass.

Take off your clothes dear, let me see the skin of the man.

You're smooth, but I'm seductive and I have a plan.

You're drawing me in like a lodestone to you;

Forget about the hour, I'm going to need a day or two.

I'll be the smoke from your fire

Smoldering, endless desire;

How long will our flame burn?

—— —— ——

In our first dance I'll make your dreams come true,

You know I can, oo-oo-oo-oo-ooo,

All it will take is just a day or two;

Let me show it to you.

And if it takes a little longer?

Babe who cares?

I'll be the smoke from your fire,

Smoldering, endless desire;

How long will our flame burn?

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Dangerous Liaison

©Dangerous Liaison

Mona Arizona

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

When

 she finally revealed herself

she was nude—

not just naked, but vulnerable—

it was obvious, not by her expression,

she'd not reveal her face, she was shy.

It was the way she showed him,

the way he discovered and rediscovered,

the way she never did it to win him over,

that redefined the infinite process

of sharing her body slightly hidden.

Timing...it was everything,

just as it had been when the Titanic

went down and it was women and children

first...and stasis were her forte,

her talent that drove his desire.

There existed no emotional entropy;

she was prime real estate, alive,

with an order and a predictability.

He was chaos, about to implode,

without her, but to take her,

to join her in bare reflection

would be a most dangerous liaison.

 (painting: The Dangerous Liaison by René Magritte)

Mimi-Mona Poetry

© I Forget how to breathe, especially when

your tongue shoves love down my throat

I gag because I can only write L-O-V-E

across your heart with permanent marker

 

by Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

© I Fell

hard

and I'm drowning —

just because

you fill a hole

with crap

doesn't mean

it wasn't there once

by Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

© Not Enough

to know

I prefer Earl Grey

when picking

up the shattered,

splattered,

shredded mess

called my heart

from your first 

knowing stare

by Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Our Shadows Blend

©Our Shadows Blend

Mimi Wolske

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

Every house has its secrets.

Weeping brings no solace;

Anger only increases pain's life.

Fortunately our shadows blend.

Walking beyond my legs,

Solo, beyond firm ground, sometimes

Aimlessly, but always pulled home to you where

Saturday falls asleep on Sunday.

At the edge of laughter there's

A handful of roses for me;

Between play and cuddling,

We do not need paradise

For all we have each other.

Every secret is its own personal validity.

Mimi-Mona Poetry: I Fell Off My Bike

©I Fell Off My Bike

when i read your note

yes, we are still together

as you called it

since the day he took my habile hand and my haematic heart

in to his secretive and seductive grasp

since he had my haptotropic body and

my hypnotized mind wantonly weakened

since my systaltic body was figuratively standing

in front of the departure screen

as if i were at the airport

silently searching for that singular State: satiation

you sit there across from me

puffing your smoke screen in my face

asking as a friend

asking as his friend

ascertaining my every look

my every movement

my every word

so you can determine

if his words are true

if mine are the ones to believe

my skin is still warm

from his attentive strokes

from last night

from the day before

from the slow, seductive horizontal habanera

and if we take your hand as a friend

i fear our lambent touch will tinge you with our libertinism

and if you reach out to learn

whether our liaisons continue

as no friend would

as i assume your true intentions for the note

as one who covets this love of mine

i fear your heart will be shattered to learn the truth

i fell off my bike

and when i woke up i was still here

Mimi Wolske

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Last Kiss

©Last Kiss

Mimi Wolske

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

Don't get all hot and bothered,

this is a poem about somebody else,

The devil's in the details,

so you don't need to look too closely,

you don't need to try and read

between the lines...there's nothing there.

Lust's buried under fingernails—

disillusioned by other lovers,

she wasn't ready to love

after being vomited back

into a world deserted by

men—men who were not trustworthy.

May not be a queen, but she

was numb under her dangling crown.

She took back her kingdom;

drawbridge raised for defenses and

ornamental moat was refilled,

fortifying her aching heart.

Futile, repeated attacks

found the castle walls protected.

Boring, lonely, drudging years,

middle-age, grey-grizzled hair,

emptiness reflected from eyes saw

rejected knights scale other walls.

Majestically entered

a jester from another land,

one who drew years of stored laughs,

who harkened to her stories.

A canvas painted with love

 would fight fading dragons.

Unrecognized, Marvell's

own Winged Chariot advanced.

Life's youthful hue moat-like dried.

Love held her in thrall at last;

with ritual madness and

ecstasy, one last breath.

Hope never departed.

Drawbridge lowered over dry moat.

Gasping at reality,

eyelids fell one last time.

Vaporous jester of

Death held evanescent queen.

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Favorite Parts

©Favorite Parts

Mimi Wolske

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

Won't you tell me your favorite parts of me?

What are the parts you want to keep?

If you're afraid, then I'll give you mine—

It's your eyes that look at me with love,

Your heart that's fearless as those

Alberta winds in the winter time,

Your silver hair that's always in place,

Your comfy pants that have seen better days,

Your crooked smile like a happy wolf,

That look you get that tells me, yes it says

That you're up to no good at all,

And those ornamental parts of love.

Well, you know in a better light

Everything changes so that  

I will want every part of you...

So you will want every part of me, too.

Let's close the door on good intentions;

We can't be bothered with mistakes made while

Waiting for these things we share to grow,

These feelings written in our blood,

These feelings that touch us to our bones.

Let's turn off the lights and shut the door;

We already have everything we're going to need.

Won't you hold me in your arms and tell me a story,

Or, won't you tell me your favorite parts of me?

Paintings by Hamish Blakely 

Mimi-Mona Erotic Humorous Poetry: Seeing Blue

©Seeing Blue

Mona Arizona

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

Morning comes and so I rise

(remember last night),

he didn't, no big surprise.

Have to give the man credit;

he tried very hard—

well, he was affectionate.

Promised me lifetime thrusts;

now he's seeking more

pharmacologists.

I questioned, can this happen?

Has my beauty warped?

Faded? Oh! Where is my talisman?

After our years together,

is he finding me

disappointing? Can I ever be sure?

Gaze at his side of the bed

sighing with relief;

good, he's still here; he isn't dead;

our arrangement's still the same.

Nothing ever changes.

Fate still plays her soft wood game.

Must refill his prescriptions;

he's not getting off.

Tonight he'll give me both guns,

or I'll get my money back.

No sexual bans;

he'll be my sex maniac.

Mimi-Mona Erotic Poetry: Matinee Love Sessions

©Matinee Love Sessions

Mona Arizona

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

People tell me it's you who makes me wanna do

all those things I shouldn't, but when you're thirteen

hundred miles away, we need our time to play—

when protestors can never intervene.

Don't say it's useless; it's not wanton wishes...

don't tell me there's too little freedom these days.

It's you who brings night, turns up the Fahrenheit

turning love sessions into matinees.

You can be my Queller, my hypnotic speller;

you can cast your magic charms over me.

Can't we go down that path knowing the aftermath;

won't you let me see your tumidity?

You're no reprobate...you did not perpetrate...

and I have not been vitiated.

I want to hold you; do what lovers do...

I wanna love you 'til we're both sated.

Mimi-Mona Poetry: If Krasner's Painting Was A Poem

©If Krasner's Painting Was A Poem
(Impressionism Meets Dada via Poetry or Ekphrasis-Poetry Confronting Art)

Mimi Wolske

2015

Mimi Wolske - Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

  

There have been no ends

seized

released

injected with sleep

rampant lucidity

dreams

reality

two states of future

resolve

joy

articulate words

possibility

lost

insistent sentence

Freudian preoccupation

rapid

monologue

throws reticence to wind

hesitant manner

illusion

verve

image assortment

surreal dialectic

in definition

in morals

in the directed dream

how old are you

forty five

houses

poetic listeners

everything is valid

Picasso

Braque

have the same value

sapphire laughter

coffee

beauty

I'm the artisan

I'm the weaver

paint

words

There have been no ends

(shellflower-1947 - lee krasner)

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Nude Smiles

©NUDE SMILES

Mimi Wolske

January 2015

Mimi Wolske - Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

Fire in our bed,

sheets afire,

and the pillows,

bodies, too.

Touch of music

on our skin.

Fire from within

comes and howls

like a wolf.

Weird together

twice each year,

collecting that

next kiss...

like a last breath...

before sleep.

Sex-worn flesh,

the wearers

of lust, of

bonding—

almost bondage.

A gazer's

sequestration

of nude smiles;

arcing dancers

on forever

rented beds.

Action-packed

superman and

wonder woman...

significance glanced.

Cities brighten

unbridled dreams...

destiny—  desire.

Pizza box collections,

side of porn flakes.

Laughing kisses;

shortened horns;

blended summers

and fulfilling falls.

Role-antic memories.

(painting: patterned sheets by Malcolm T. Liepke)

(poetry - From (Mis)Adventures in Poetry by D.A. Powell)