Butterfly of Chaos

Butterfly of Chaos

rambling, all day long rambling
wondering where
the words will take me
each time i put a few together
something different happens

using the word "I " ,,
can pretty much let me
be the center of my own attention
which suits me just fine

"I Love"
now we have added
the most profound word
in the universe , "I Love"
this certainly could take me
to many places
I could add chocolate
long walks along the beach--
too much verbiage there

Now if I add to the already
"I love" ( a statement all by itself)
the word "You" it then becomes --a weapon
as if fired out of a machine gun
i-l-o-v-e-y-o-u- i-l-o-v-e-y-o-u
over and over again
a mother goose tale
that is about as much a whimsical fancy
as "ring around the rosy"
was an innocent children's song
or the outward innocence of typhoid Mary
as she bends over you with that
serendipitous grin

some will go so far
as to change it to
i luv u , sort of softening the blow
and feel it is not as potent
as if spelled out fully ---
that means then, that one
is not quite fully committed
or fully obligated, but a sort of
luv ya flower child
who luvs everyone, not
to be mistaken for
the old fashioned---LOVE
swallowing the butterfly of chaos

at some point the very word
induces FEAR ohpleasedon'tsayitplease;pleasedon't

hell everything was great
till that one word appeared out of nowhere!
never expected,
been fuckin yer brains out fer years
now this outa left field

just because we ' made love'
your words not mine,

my words are simple
for the very same act --
this was a fucking good time
but actually i really love...ah ....that word
you want to hear.....I love to fuck everyone , !


I am trying to put new words together today
I am eliminating the words, love, luv
from my vocabulary and seek
a more creative way of expressing it
other than oral fornication

Changed By a Four Piece Band
Karina Klesko

promises, promises
kiss me, hold me
over and over again
I turn off the music
and listen to the passion
of the wind
growing stronger

excuse me,
for not getting it,
dreams
don't always come true
the way we expect
so now you're
hitching a ride
on a train to the past
trying to get yourself a bargain

a fast ride
where fragments of love
become a blur of autumn fields,
smoke across the moon
another ending to another song

The Caller

His voice resonates
of deep tones mixed
with the instinctive throaty sounds
of a lion calling its mate
at day's end

he reads me the poetry
of Kenneth Patchen
his voice so comforting
, so much so ,
I drift off to dreamland.....
I wake to the quiet of the phone
"Hello, hello. . . "
no one is there.

But he calls, again
and says he thought his voice
was turning me on , until he realized
it was not a soft moaning he heard
but soft snoring

Yet, he calls me again
talking of another place
another time , when children
lined up at the bakery ovens
for hot loaves of bread
and tubs of butter , unable to wait
till they got home to eat them;
Of homemade ice cream
and milk in glass bottles
So simple , so sweet is his voice,
he becomes that little boy to me--
Again, I wake to silence.

Still, he calls again
telling me stories
of south sea waters
as smooth as polished glass
and a white bird
gliding with its reflection
barely cutting the surface
in a Naval Amphibious Training Zone,
he is only the age of 17, I ponder
at these simple impressions at a strange time,,
he becomes the hero , , ,

Again I wake up to silence,
'"Hello, hello......"startling me wide awake,
a deep, sleepy voice answers and says
I thought I would shut up for a while
and listen.....
I think I've discovered the secret
of how to wake you .....


karina klesko .

I Loved You

Karina Klesko

stepping out of the ring at day's end --
the sloping sun

darkness emerges and overtakes the last light, the last fight,
the split-second timing of almost discovering who we are, then snapping it away, time ends but only in jagged refrains ripping at my heart with every movement, every breath - waiting for the rise of the sun to bring in the familiar chorus of this joyful existence we partake in by merely opening our eyes.


a crown hung
on the hawthorn bush --
I dance alone

A Penchant for Parables

well past midnight
no sleep , just a lull
of mixed-up views
my twisted heart
beats slowly , perhaps
that explains the slothfulness
of my thoughts, so many
different colors to study
they drip and blend
into one another
creating yet , one more
I spent my life in pastels
instead of tasting reds
or passionate purples
I wander through the earth-tones
resonating their own worldliness
rooted in conservative browns
emanating the theosophy of creation

I come sadly to the realization
that I am not the moon
my name unknown amongst the stars
no amount of love or chastity
can compete with the optical fantasies
of the moon on a dark night

I would need a book
to teach me the pleasures
forbidden a Carmelite nun
perhaps wealth & notoriety
are the first and second mates
on this journey of musings
in a search for the golden fleece

But, I for one have no dreams
no set desires to suffocate new love
before conception
It's the moon's light that blinds one
from seeing past the illusion,
concealing an inability to create life within itself,
colorless

It is a blessing then , that I am not. . . . .. . .
the moon

karina klesko