My Dearest Darling Lives In Me

Constance…I want you to all know.

Each one, everyone…know that I have been given this person into my marrow and core.

She lives inside me forever.  She is woven into my essence.  I cannot imagine life absent her, anymore than I can imagine a life without a living heart within.

I am never alone…my heart of hearts is mine, and I am hers…transcendent and elevated, and practical and day to day.

Thank you my dearest darling, my love and heart of hearts.


My Heart of Hearts
by Charissa White

The dawn, peach fuzz on this dripping peachy day,
smelled like juice dribbling down my chin,
and musky yellow perfume.

Your earrings flashed in the sunbeam sneaking thru the blinds
Your eyes flashed, lamplights of love sneaking thru my blind
and gleaming like that cat Cheshire.

I intended to rip my heart from my chest
but it came free eager in my hand
which was covered by yours (I had not noticed that happen)

Fell from me like that peach
with groaning, heavy relief and ache
into your waiting basket (I was the only one there)

You carried me to bed, and there we sectioned our fruit
and fed each other with fingers, slick and sticky
and smelling of the peachy summer day

And we drowsed, and woke to find our hearts grown again,
except mine was now you, and yours was now me
Oh my Heart of Hearts, My Heart of Hearts.


More Lara Croft Than Lana Turner

Speaking for us,
making a way
for those of us
shattered by abuse
and raped by men…

defending the powerless,
which is (unfortunately)
most all of us (even men)
in this paradigm
of patriarchy and privilegetumblr_nkee9iBwQ81qzs7m3o2_1280It is far,
far deeper
and more complex
than anyone
lets on or is allowed
to show…

I could be wrong…
I could be vapid as vapor…
(or wapid as waper, you wascally wabbit!)
but my heart tattoos say otherwise

they are more Lara Croft than Lana Turner.tumblr_nkhrs3tQ911qk2poao4_1280

Scorpios & Cancers…Fireworks!

Dating a Scorpio | POPSUGAR Love & Sex.

All I can tell you is that every single last word?  TRUE!!

Good thing I have my lil side-step skitterdance, my lil pincy-pince claws, and my hard briny shell that keeps me from getting kilt!!

Giggles…then again, here is this link…in all fairness:

5 Brutal Truths About Loving A Cancer (As Written By A Cancer) | YourTango.

My Soft Plurality

I like plural words…
cus “S” softens syllables…

adds blurry velvets to names.
You are stones and blurry velvets overlaid

with steel, over and under
and blurry velvet insides

singing of snuggles and tickles
and sorrows too…you are plural, you.

I receive treasures unto my heart…
I have always done,

whether I was able to say or thought to say…
because my grandmother, who taught me such manners as I have

made sure to teach me tenses and how to see small shadows
in the gardens of nurturing and tending hearts.

Thank you for statements that you make…you are,
your solid sure plurality is a such a glad good check for me,

and your recounting of our history, well
all the better to project the future of our we.

What I mean is that your core vitality emerges and defines itself
as you tire of your current doing and relax into the coming being

and the realization you have aggregated resources of preparation
for your plural destiny…of this I am certain, sure, my dear…

Of that I am sure and certain, my dear,
my soft plurality.a5be72dc1c85c207dfde3a6e8513f5e0


A Poem Preceding Easter: 2015

Messy houses filled with secret staircases
leading neither up nor down and built of starved excuses
stellar and extending to the past and to the future
as a hedge to make secure our souls against their cold inflation.tumblr_mh1jjoVnRI1rix1r7o1_1280Idols stand resplendent in their regal good deed rags
atop secure safe mantels stolid, still
in false security within these homes of disarray
and all the forlorn deeds of our own self-besotted hands.

No corner is untouched or deemed untouchable,
no conclusion inescapable, for we did soon discover,
no–we were shown–these messes low and broken,
jangly jagged in the pieces of our ruined hostile hovels.tumblr_nkee9iBwQ81qzs7m3o3_1280This is that tableau displayed of our lost searéd conscience,
disembodied, floating room to room and deeply mourning
what’s been lost, and worse, abandoned
in the losing of idealism’s living throbbing shine.

And our hearts, once lifted up and strong
are finally unadorned and brought down low,
so broken, so contrite and finally open to this Living Invitation
to be drawn at last into a bigger Story…tumblr_nkee9iBwQ81qzs7m3o1_1280to be remade and molded, gripped and filled, to be enfolded
in the new creation by a Mercy Stark and so unyielding,
by a Love Severe and so unwieldy in our messy rooms
and serial sin-stained walls and monstrous ways of utter horror.

It takes a broken body and it takes a different stain,
one indelible and permanent, scarlet red and bloody glowing
in the darkness of our tragedy’s pretentious phony triumph…
see the Hand that rips our masks away to make us whole again!tumblr_mqnl59GkbI1qe31lco1_r1_500Eat and drink, remember!  Then forget the past and rest within those ruins
at last cleansed and emptied of their wreck, delivered of the dreck
and durm und strang of fallen souls, set free of weights unbearable,
interminable, mighty, proud and fell and flawed and haughty.

And then, look…out there, thru yon window broken, there!
Behind that dingy jagged pane of brittle separation,
see the Cross so Stark, transcendent, final ever resting place
of all our sin and wrong, and also Final ever new beginning

of this race, we human butterflies set free from chrysalises left behind,
discarded casually forever…
and yet never left for death to feed or to devour,
for they will someday be raised again
to catch up with us and to be made one again…tumblr_nkf5patY1J1trfg04o1_1280to be made whole…
again…at last…again…
amen, again…

That Effigy

after you’re dead, there’s a funeral, red.
i discovered this recently, except i wasn’t
invited to show up, new, old or otherwise.

in my place was piled up wood, grey,
and lotsa brush all crackly-brown,
a stand-offish, prickly thorny-crown.

they set that half-truth fire blazing and incendiary,
mis-remembers and other (missings) hidden inside
curses, excuses, judgements of indigo echoing depth.

they thought me bound and captive but epithets
were synonymous with white-washed choices made-unmade,
were effigies hanging in flames, in smoke, in spirits.

then that noose just snikked up tight around their heart
like a golden curtain drawn but never rising on a play
written and rehearsed but never actually performed.

just as that funeral, red, was really never
held for me, but just that phantom never-was,
that effigy.