Story of Life

I have never
loved anyone
more.

Ly Hansen

We Made Love for Days

Your back arches upward

sweet woman of earth, do you know how beautiful you are?

These fingers, they dance downward across aching flesh

My mouth, seeking flavor

I find it there and 

oh, honey, please can I have it?

The beauty of your curves

openings

how I seek to explore every solitary

beautiful

inch

Making you ache..

makes me ache.

Lips hover closely over flesh as 

ragged breath fills the air

I want to crush you to me

fill you

this love it swells inside me

like water pouring over an edge it crashes on us

lovers entwined like vines

I want your taste to linger

I want you to leave your marks on my shoulders

to feel your

legs 

wrapped around, tugging closer

More places than one

we entwine and combine love with lust

we are swept away together

Your sweet taste lingers

and inside I feel you lock around my

touch

pushing ever further to the heart of you

I'm seeking treasure no one has found

I know you so well, every muscle and nerve

and that place that makes your voice cry out 

reckless

as you thunder, quake, crash against

beneath me

slowly grinding down

as your heart crashes against your ribs

and your eyes roll into the blackness of your eyelids

and you cry out my name in love

tears in your eyes, you crush me to you and whisper
"Oh baby, I love you so much, I love you"
and we kiss like this is the last time we will ever make love.

I whisper my love against damp flesh

and my sweet woman of earth

we made love for days.

Ly Hansen

Erin Leigh Hansen

Hey Mom?
I can't sleep tonight.
Do you remember coming into my room
when you couldn't sleep
and jumping on my bed that late night?
You woke me up with laughter and a plea,
"yeah, I'll come sit with you."
Some conversation while you had a smoke.

Did you know, you were my best friend?
Did you know how beautiful you were?

We don't talk about you much
I'm ashamed to say.
I'm trying my best.
It's been 2 years.

My chest burns a little when I think about you
he took the pictures down, except for a few.

It's only been 2 years.
Has it really been 2 years?
Almost, anyway.

I wonder...why did it happen so close to
I wonder...why did it happen?

Winter seems darker without you
There's a knot in my throat.

Did you know, they didn't even mention me in your eulogy?
I guess the "step" in stepdaughter means
I was a step down.

You know, I think everyone knew we were best friends
How else can you describe two people who
knew every little secret, laughed at all the right things
like the person who fell on the stairs
and swung upright to the other side of the railing
"Woop!" you sounded, and we fell together in laughter.

Laughter...
It resonates in all my memories of you
all the good ones, anyway.
I wish I could hear you laugh again.

Hey Mom?
I can't sleep tonight
I'm crying a little
and my throat aches, burns
I'm afraid to call out to you
because I know you're gone
2 years too long.

Ly Hansen

Conversation Piece

(do you wanna come home?)
yes
(how bad?)
bad.
(tell me...i need to hear you)
very bad.
it hurts sometimes.
(all the time?)
i hurt all the time.
i'm lost.
alone.
i hurt all the time.
(come home)
ok.

Ly Hansen

Ungrown

Little girl with the long hair
you are unfamiliar to me
you feel as distant to me as the ocean.
I don't remember who you were
I don't remember you
Any recollection I have is foggy
although I remember

sitting on top of my play house
singing Madonna, loudly
or the secret panel of carpet
where we hid things away from everyone else
like the Daffy Duck figurine
or secret notes to the girl I had a crush on.

Who was I?
that little girl, she's like a stranger
do normal people
forget their childhood?

I wonder what you would think of me now
little girl, little me
who I have become
who we have become

If I sat next to you as you
shoved your fingers in the little blue holes on that bench
and told you all we were going to experience
all the times you would laugh, cry.
I would tell you that nothing lasts forever
and you would forever be the person
I was trying to get back to.
Your name to me now
is innocence, bliss.

I wonder in some alternate universe
if there's a little girl
who looks just like me
young forever, with Peter Pan's lost boys
living happily.

I wonder if you'd believe me
if I told you everything we are now
if you'd believe me when I told you
I still don't know who I am
who we are, and that
you...little Lisa, probably knew more then
about us
about me
than I know about me now.

Little child with a heart unopened
unbruised, unbroken
Little child, little me
I miss you.

Ly Hansen

My Only Question

I miss waiting for your plane to land
wringing my hands together nervously
eagerly (but calmly) resting against the wall
adjusting my tie several times
searching the oncoming faces for yours
until you fly into my arms
quaking like a leaf.

We had these plans
I hate to let them go.
Are you coming home?

Ly Hansen

Clumsy

Our clumsy hands keep reaching
desperately
for one another, trudging through the quicksand
Don't you see, it's swallowing us whole?
That desperation, that plea deep inside us both
is poisoning us.

We've been fighting for this for so long
I look at our future, I used to see
more.
Now I begin to think
it could always be like this

struggling like weights in mud
trying to move trying to get back
to you
only to find when I finally crawl
to the edge of the quicksand
there's nothing to grab onto.

And that's okay
maybe this obstacle
maybe this time God's saying
"look at what you're doing"

maybe He's telling me
"the time isn't right, yet."
maybe it's too soon
too little to run away with
too few reasons to run away to
yet.

It's not severing, you see
it's not letting go
it's readjusting it's reassessing
it's postponing the final date.

I postpone these dreams
these wishes this desire I had
to return home to
the desert
to our shadows splayed in the sand.
The time
isn't right.

I postpone my reaching for the stars because
if it's this hard to get back to you
if we keep tripping over every dip in the sand
can we find our footing when
the hammer falls?

I feel content in knowing
I have you
we still remain
painted in the desert
shades of something
transcendental.

We have these dreams, we're so eager
and
we've run over each other
trampled one another
trying to get to the other
without even realizing

we threw logic out the window
let gravity pull us where it would

my impulses told me to go
but now my logic tells me
it's time to open my eyes
and see that
it's not time to go
yet.

If the time is right
the shades will combine, intertwine
without having
to fight all of heaven and earth
to get there.

Ly Hansen

Haiku's Confession

I almost managed
to convince myself we would
could be so much more.

Ly Hansen

Intermission 3

I've begun a third sister blog -- this one is to host my fiction and prose that I write.  Mostly, it's to host a science-fiction story I've begun to write in installations based in a futuristic, steampunk-inspired industrial city called World City, chronicling the story of an Anarchist leader named Coyote.

You can find the first installation at my fiction/prose blog:

Storyteller

Please take a pit-stop over there and see what you think of the first installation (up today).

Intermission 2

My other love in life, besides God and poetry, are tattoos.  I took this as soon as I got home tonight from the tattoo shop.  It's my seventh tattoo (which is perfect since the number 7 is a holy number) and covers up the one side of my right arm that didn't have anything on it.

I'm so excited.  :)

And back to regular programming.  ;)

A Poetic Reaction to Judgement

Don't you look at my art and call it by
a name that doesn't fit it
I don't hold you accountable for your judgements
because you can't penetrate this wall I have built
with my words.

My art is solid
my words are truth
Call me what you will

because I will not hold you accountable
for what society has taught you to see
Open your eyes, observer
Open your heart to my message

My art is my soul
written on paper, digitally imprinted
in this new society where everything is supposed
to fit
into 140 characters or less

into vanity, into selfishness, into faithlessness
constant questioning constant begging for answers
You will not find your truth on a computer screen
you will not find yourself in some box that you call
"we"

that box is a chain holding you to ground that shakes
shatters and swallows you whole
anything that means something to you
may mean nothing to me.

I don't claim to be sane, I don't claim to make
masterpieces
I only claim to tell the truth
my truth.

And the truth is
my heart is full of this poetry
of these words and of this desire
to open somebody's eyes
to say "Hello!  You are who you are, and I am who I am."

Stop running stop hiding behind your makeup
behind your words behind your swagger
Who are you when you take away everything?
When I take away everything, I am poetry
Who are you when you have nothing but your heart?
When I have nothing my heart, I speak, I write

When you lie alone at night what do you feel?

I tell you what I feel
I hear my poetry in the sky
I hear my words in the stars as they sound above me
like symphonies, trumpets

I don't write smut
I don't write anything that you would call it
I write
my truth.

My faith.

My faith lingers in this art that we call poetry
my strength my identity can only be found
in writing this now
Pouring over every word I have written
like an archive, like a story of some other person.

Don't look at my art as anything but mine
don't hear these words in any other voice
let mine resound in your ears and tell you

I take my heart out of my chest
I put it on this paper to share with you
I write it on this screen, to share with the world
I have placed it here before you not
to earn your judgement
but to show you

this is my heart.
these are my words.

Ly Hansen

To See

I'm lying to you
Today I don't feel anything
empty
like the corn silo I used to sit in.

Today I feel overstimulated
the clutter all around me gathering
like a crowd, searching me for answers when
I don't have any.

Have you ever felt like gathering all your belongings
in bags and tossing them
over a bridge
just to see what's left behind
when you have nothing?
I'd like to do that today.
I feel cluttered, suffocated
crowded by all these superficial answers

I shake my head
If I could go back to that corn silo
where I used to sit on the bottom of a bucket
just to hear the silence, to be alone
feel the quiet in the dark
I would.
This clutter
these false, superficial solutions are making me dizzy.

I don't know what it is
but the more I start to look around me
the less I see.
The more I stimulate the less I feel
anything.
I want to get rid of it all and start with nothing
see who I am when I take away
all the meaningless babble
all the superficial solutions to my
boredom, restlessness,
lack of answers.

You see, I have this bible in my hand
and I know the answers are there.
All the answers.
Yet I sit here in this room with things that have no
context?  No..
purpose.
I have this bible in my hand and it's telling me
"Here I am,  I have your answers!  I have all you need!"
It's crying to me asking me to get on my knees
and give it all back.
It's telling me
"I love you!  I am your Father, I am your Life."

Maybe that's what I heard in the corn silo
in that silence, that soft reverie of my
small footsteps
clanging off the tin walls.
That I didn't need anything but that silence
I wouldn't find answers in all the things
that I used for so long to define everything I thought
that I was.

This bible in my hand tells me,
"You are Mine."

I feel restless in all this clutter
It would be absolutely ridiculous right now
to go downstairs and get rid of everything people have spent their money on,
for me.
It would be a waste.  It was already a waste.

I yearn for spring, my new beginning,
Where I can take my restlessness to the highway
all the things I might need in the back of a pickup truck
strapped down like a foundation to begin upon.
Tonight I feel overstimulated...
cluttered.

Let me take a minute to tell you...confess
When I younger I used to
play "orphans," pretend I was a little kid who had nothing
but the clothes on her back.
I used to believe I belonged in a monastery somewhere
in a room with a bed and a desk
a bible, pen, and journal.
In silence.

This bible in my hand
says, "Be patient.  I will take you home soon."

I want to make the noise stop
all this clutter is making me dizzy.
All the things that mean nothing
taking the place of the one thing
that means everything.

This bible in my hand says
"This is what the world looks like
when you open your eyes."

I saw a vision once in the midst of prayer
I started to cry.
I've never cried so hard, or so long.
I saw these millions, billions of people,
hands splayed, crying...crying...
and they were so lost.  I cried for them

I see through the solid, I see through your possessions
your clinging to people who can never love you
the way that you want to be loved.
Endlessly...we want to be loved endlessly
and it was offered to you
long ago
in blood
on a cross on Calvary Hill.
Yet it lays there, the offering,
and your fist is closed.

You collect these things, your image, your definition,
your anger, your misplaced disappointment,
your endless chatter and complaints
your sense of self from everything that is made to replace
that which cannot be replaced.
You hold on to your vanity, you hold on to "why doesn't anyone love me?"

I pose this question to you, you who sits among your mental and physical clutter:
Is God's love not enough?

Ly Hansen

Intermission 1

So, I've started a personal blog to document my journey to return to the desert with only what I'll be able to fit in my truck and probably only enough money to make it into Idaho.  Feel free to swing over to The Greater Journey Home.  Right now I only have one blog up.  When I get to Idaho though, I'll be posting a lot of pictures, writing a lot about my struggles there, in general documenting the journey to return home with few means. 

Now, back to our normal programming.

Sparks Fly from Fingertips

You ignited this fire
lit this match...

Here I go into another unknown
with visions of passion
and sparks like living spirits between us.

I don't know who you are
to bring such sparks,
such sudden chemistry in hand
but I am lost in your heat
and the way your eyes
match your smile.

Some expert craftswoman
bending this soft butch to your will
coaxing the sweet responses
holding sparks in your palm like magic
hiding them in plain sight
tossing them at me
one by one.

that flirtation in your smile tells me
you want me
to think
that I am in control
but we both know

let's play the game, then.
because I am not in control

but for now we will pretend that I am
as I pull your chair out for you
and your eyes flicker behind
to catch mine
alight with flame.
Sparks fly from your fingertips
as they catch my arm in passing
gratitude or
seduction

An old-fashioned romance
here begins
a new-age adventure
down another path
the unknown of what spirit
intention
lies behind every spark
that you flick from
your fingertips
in my direction.

Ly Hansen

Shudder

You moved like a shadow, a shade,
Beauty through fog, haze
and you made me dizzy.
Make...
present tense.  You make

remind me of a face long ago
A smile I saw upon another set of
luscious
lips.
Oh those lips how I imagine
the heady breath against my own
like a force to be matched
a challenge.

Give our passion no boundary
hold it to no standard
let it spew like fire from the core of
lust love passion desire
want.

Want.
heavy and thick
Want.
Pervading every pore
Leaving your taste on my lips.

In a vision we move like a vibration
in the earth's very core
Shuddering through every layer
every sinew, muscle, shuddering
every synapse firing alive
startling me to life
reminding me of

This desert heat calls to me
I saw you like a mirage dancing
before my eyes and calling
calling my name like a sweet prayer.

We move in this vision like shades collapsing
colliding, crashing, writhing.

I miss the desert heat
the mirage of the Lord standing on the mountain
smiling down upon our two shadows
as they fell to the sand and stretched.

It becomes this unconnected
film, scratching like an aged beauty

it comes through clear,
your voice crying my name,
and the earth shuddering
at our reawakening.

Ly Hansen