Freda Karpf

Dipped in Honey

Crazy drunk bees
and a Monarch butterfly
enter every piece of blue sky
I find in this city.

Thinking of you through the spin
of days and wings
I’ll allow myself these thoughts,
cut my hair,
and remember how I wanted you
while touching you.

There really aren’t any bees
just the thought that they are somewhere
creating a world out of pollen
fussing gold from the hair on their legs
musing in sweetness
tasting the work of the thoughtless moment

while I enter a New Year
thinking of my days that were
dipped in honey.

breathing in the sky

i was moving up the tree.

every limb was coated with dirt that the wind blew

so i had patches here and there

where my sweat didn't keep it off my body.

I was climbing through the shadows

just like I am when I'm thinking of her.

You don't always look up when you're climbing

but when you do, you see pieces of blue.

it feels like you're breathing in the sky.

imperfect twilight

leila tov, good evening
may the song that is night play
down the day for you,
may the sunset bloom like the evening rose
may the wind pull softly at your hair
and hold you like a reed
when the sky closes cover over the earth
may the dusk settle any unanswered thoughts
may you always be loved
if there is quiet, let there be quiet
if there is peace, let there be peace
may you sleep like cream floating on coffee
may you hear the crickets rhythm like a lullaby
may you smell summer in the bedding at night
may you know the call of owls is just a message
of imperfect twilight

Dear ____

I went through my flower phase in my forties.
Geologists admit that periods of time
have no certain start or finish.  Mine began
by falling in love with flowers,
those promises of color
peeking through the gate in the bud,
and those that opened into their own full bloom.
This spring I experienced a shift.
I wish I could tell you that it was a slow,
patient passion
that opened in me the way nasturtiums
finally show their heat in full summer.
I fell in love with a woman.
Not just in the spring but again this summer.
Apparently, I'm a non-stop begonia.
I've been searching for ways to write about the earth.
All of this could be related.  I don't know.
It's a new period for me.
But I have to confess, amidst all these
changes I'm beginning to feel a sense of belonging.

Neon love

my cool cool love
i know you'll always love me.
You must be true to your words.
I’ll orbit your theories,
a cool moon in your head
my love, my neon love.
Wading through summer nights
I thought about your taste your kiss
till you were reluctantly on schedule
and offered your lips
dead before dead
like a bird in a cat's mouth.
My fluorescent love,
my neon love,
your head a planetary wonder
spiraling away from love’s axis.
Your cool love, your neon love
so removed from your blood
even your eyes draw back into your head.

Freda Karpf writes about the dailies or things that make you feel crazy and sane in The Daily Neurotic. She’s at work on a book about the intersection of grief, coastal environmental issues and comic revenge. Her Conversations with Nic is a multi-genre comic epic through the land of withdrawal.