Mimi-Mona Erotic Poetry: Untitled

©Untitled

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

Restless, she dove into that beckoning pond

That some find deep in the sunny woodland;

Dove twice into depths of which she was fond.

A young girl, in her innocence donned,

Shied ever closer fore being cautioned;

Restless, she dove into that beckoning pond.

Liking the company of those who fawned

Over her with a knowledge well burgeoned,

Dove twice into depths of which she was fond.

Understanding of the meaning now dawned.

She laughed, but back to the woods she hastened;

Restless, she dove into that beckoning pond.

Her parents cried, "What has that water spawned?"

She returned to the woods where she'd been ruined,

Dove twice into depths of which she was fond.

Lured by the lapping waves, she made a bond

And stayed close to the pool that had beckoned.

Restless, she dove into that beckoning pond;

Dove twice into depths of which she was fond.

(the fallen angel touches water by diceglia)

MIMI-MONA HAIKU POETRY: Bottle Emptied

©Bottle Emptied

Mimi Wolske

Gads! A Salmon mess!

My toes colored by boyfriend.

What a MANicure!

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Sleepwalking on A Tightrope

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

©Sleepwalking on A Tightrope

Never wondering

Whether we'll survive

The forty-ninth parallel.

We are of good heart—

Without the stress,

Without the worry,

Without the pain—

Rooted to terra firma

With no wire

To balance love

Beneath our steady feet.

It is only in dreams

That someone greases

The tautly strung rope

And wishes us to slip,

Perhaps fall to our fates.

Preternaturally,

Our destinies endure

Together. Our love is not

A circus act and

We are not

Sleepwalking on a tightrope.

Mimi-Mona Romantic/Erotic Poetry: Waltzing with Beethoven

©Waltzing with Beethoven

Mimi Wolske

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

There is a stretch of desert road behind the neighborhood

that teeters on extinction as it rushes to 83rd.

We waltz with Beethoven on that desert road,

stopping only to sip ruby juices

and indulge in the breathy wetness of

each other's secret smiles and luscious, parted lips.

Waltzing with Beethoven is nothing

like our porch-swing romance

except for the one-two-three graceful glide

danced all through the starry night into dawn.

Mimi-Mona Love Poetry: LOVE

©LOVE

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

PC was still working;

she wished he would retire.

Sometimes

he'd text her an aphorism—

yes, short and pithy— but funny,

and she'd laugh because

it was as though, once again,

they were reading the same book.

He liked to work with his hands;

lately there was only time to fix

those things that seemed to fall apart.

She was happiest when she wrote...

and painted...but those words

and those colors were not

broken or falling apart.

When she took a short walk,

that followed a meandering dirt path

and led her passed cactus-clad terraces,

she saw the most brilliant falling star—

she always made the same wish:

LOVE.

She loved his baritone voice

and his crooked little smile.

She loved that his hair was grizzled,

that he still called her, and that

they talked until the wee morning hours.

She'd smile. Mostly she loved it when

the cell phone in his pocket

would dial her number after three

days of not talking to him;

she knew it was calling the

last number dialed— she loved that it was hers.

She loved how he said her name

because there was always, always

something substantial in it.

She loved how he made her feel:

important, beautiful, wanted, desired... loved,

even though she'd have to remind him,

Did you read that poem I submitted?—

well, they were not broken or

falling apart requiring his handwork.

She thought she must drive him nuts,

at least once in a while;

she always wanted his handwork.

Mimi and Mona Poetry: ENTHRALL

©ENTHRALL

Mona Arizona

All Rights Reserved

Manic thighs below dangerous curves,

A seller, not a buyer, transmitting

Signals of amorous desire, a gypsy,

A witch doctor, she wants it all.

Enchantment from a song that

Severs the weight of the rain

From the ethereality of her

Amorous love emotionally binds him.

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Dawning

©Dawning

Mimi Wolske

March 2015

All Rights Reserved

The first sure thing in the morning,

the first thing one open, blurry eye

manages to bring into focus,

is the recognizable glistening of his hair.

Filtered sun lifts me in his warm shirt;

cool wood creaks as if laughing

when my feet touch the floor;

a congress of chirping voices

chatter outside the open windows;

the pulse of the morning

gives birth to the beat of a new tattoo.

I could live endlessly

here on the lake with him

and feel we belong here together.

Sunrise stretches dawn's light;

it caresses us as we rise;

our love's and life's motions

are fresh, given and received,

repeated as the day ages.

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Off The Record

©Off The Record

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

They hurried out of the opera house,

that famous Paris opera house;

it was pouring; there was no umbrella.

Suddenly, he stopped, stood in

the downpour staring at her

as his hand found and removed

a monogrammed, silver

cigarette case from the inner pocket

of his tux. His eyes never left hers

while he lit the damp stick

of tobacco. That was the moment,

that shot-to-the-moon instant,

she realized sadness floats

much the same as love had.

Her attempt to convince herself

everything would be all right

was as fleeting as a bad joke.

"Come on!" Her voice broke

on those two simple words

as she coaxed him away from

what she imagined he must be

visualizing: an end to their happiness.

She proffered him her public mask,

no rarity in her writer's sack

of baubles and words. He knew

if left in place too long,

it would not be removed

except in her work. He knew,

also, there was no such thing

as off the record —

in any language. He remained silent.

In the wake of destruction,

it was like slipping on the skin

of pitch-black yesterdays.

She tried to forget. To breathe. To be.

The warmth once inside her was numb

on the promises of tomorrows.

They had strolled up the aisle;

now they exited, one stage left,

the other stage right—

not just for the night.

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