Category Archives: poetry

{can’t wait to feel your skin on my skin}

can’t wait to feel your skin on my skin
my arms around your waist
your lips on my neck
my ear
whispering my name, your promises
hands tugging at the hem of my shirt
the buckles of your belt
breath hot, hearts pounding
fingers slow slow slow
savouring
wanting
waiting
stretching out the minutes, the hours
wringing them out for every blessed second they have
don’t ever want this to end
far from my bed my home the people I know
wrapped up in you
want to remember your smell
the rumble of your voice in your chest
the sweet scent of your breath
the shape of your lips
the lines of your body
press my face against your belly and hear the gurgles of your insides
exploring
examining
all the years of quiet wondering
all the years of silent wanting
all coming to this
coming begging screaming
wrapped up in your desire
in the taut muscles of your arms
the glint of your teeth in their feral smile
softly keening please please please
pull me onto you in you against you
make me one with your desires
your wants and needs
your digestive processes
swallow me whole
yours and mine.

August 2012

© Charlie Pevensie

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i-80, heading east

cold wind rushing
against the old pickup truck
playing sad songs on the radio.

cool skin
warm touch
your hand on my leg
right where it’s been for the last hundred miles
right where it belongs.

steal your coat for a pillow
doze off to sleep
every streetlight catches
my fingers over yours
intertwined.

your thumb tapping out the well-known rhythms
my knee its drum
each movement spreads a smile across my face.

we’ll be home soon
your hand will drum on my knee
for the next hundred miles
and my smile will stretch
a hundred miles too.

February 2012

© Charlie Pevensie

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cermak-chinatown (for Stacey)

I wrote this walking to the L from a friend’s pre-wedding party this summer.  It was an incredible and unexpected night, and I met an amazing man who is brushing his teeth in my bathroom right now (as he has been doing ever since).  This poem is rather bittersweet for me, especially tonight as I am going to that friend’s funeral in the morning.  She found herself in a position she couldn’t see her way out of and decided to end her life on Boxing Day of 2011.  She was a beautiful, talented, wonderful girl and I wish she would’ve remembered the people that loved and cared about her and come through the other side of her despair.

There is always hope.  There is always a chance.  You are not alone.

Looking back on this memory of that hot July night in light of all that has happened since, this piece seems oddly fitting:  almost an alternative ending to her life story.  I’m glad to have met her and I’m glad for all she gave to me without ever knowing she had given it.  I wish she was able to read this right now.  So instead, I’ll give it to all of you.

Maybe it’ll help someone else make a different choice.

–c.p.

walking through Chicago
late night
full moon
delivery vans and taxi cabs whirl past me
uncaring
hot air on my skin
no breeze
smell of sweat
and beer
and the scent of the river
phantom hand at my hip
still dancing
dipping
twirling
the lights of Chinatown burn neon to my retinas
foreign nonsense
but I know they’re words
pretend they promise salvation and rescue
not manicures and half-price pad woon sen.

July 2011

© Charlie Pevensie

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for steve, raleigh, don, peter

This was written specifically for a Bill Murray poetry contest and submitted here. If you are so inclined, you can vote on it and keep me in the running for next week’s grocery money. –c.p.

UPDATE! For Steve, Raleigh, Don, Peter has been chosen to continue to the final round in the poetry competition and is being published in a handsome coffeetable edition by the World Poetry Movement! And that, kids, is why you write silly poems about Bill Murray.
Central Illinois
Is what we both call our home.
Glad it’s not just me.

So sad when you died
Onscreen in Zombieland. I
Wanted to boycott.

Take me under seas;
Let’s stop the jaguar shark
For poor Esteban!

Battle ghosts and sprites.
Save the girl from possession.
Then get sandwiches.

Perfect Saturdays
Spent watching, absorbing it.
Your face on the screen.

December 2011

© Charlie Pevensie

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{can’t stop thinking about last night}

just a little fluff that came to me at work today. no idea why. –c.p.

can’t stop thinking about last night:
your voice
dark
strained
husky
on the end of the line
whispered promises
moans
sighs
heartfelt
unhurried
Perfection
just now
just this moment
just with you
and tomorrow doesn’t matter
and before is nothing much
here together
miles apart
feel your hot breath
against my cheek
your hand
on my neck
your body
warm
solid
abovearoundinside me
clenching
stomach
frantic
goosebumps
fills my mind
captures me

June 2011

© Charlie Pevensie

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{i’d like to write you}

I’d like to write you
a Valentine’s poem: with
steady lines of undying love
and quiet innuendo
so as to win your heart
(if I haven’t already done so).
And you would open up
your letter box on the Day of Love
to find my note —
written in red-gold, swirling
characters; with tiny
hearts dotting the ‘i’s
and the soft scent of perfume —
and you would smirk
at my immaturity.
And perhaps years from now
I’d be searching through
your desk, looking for
the electric bill, which is
always overdue, and I
would find that poem
and laugh.
And I would read it to you
melodramatically before the fire,
And we’d remember it all.

February 2005

© Charlie Pevensie

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by s. morgenstern; chapter one

he picked her up and settled her in the saddle
and they rode away on four white horses:
past the castle walls and up and out,
onto a hill in the setting sun:
kissing, laughing,
loving.
that’s bullshit, I thought.
bullshit
that doesn’t happen.
even in my six or seven years of life,
messy hair, messy shorts,
my innocence, my Kool-aid covered mouth,
even then I knew.
even while my best friend was sighing and singing,
‘can’t you just wait, sister? can’t you just die?’,
even then I knew.
there aren’t horses in real life,
not pretty white ones,
stamping hooves, shaking manes,
no horses to ride off majestic.
there aren’t castles to be rescued from,
evil princes driving away true loves.
there are pirates and giants,
pits of despair,
but true love doesn’t walk up and slap you on the back,
pull you into its arms,
sing you to sleep.
not in the Midwest.
you can find a cutie for a one-night fuck.
you can get married with your white picket fence.
you can have the dog and the little kids…
you can be comfortable in your life.
but the divorce rate is climbing
and the violence is growing
and sometimes it’s best just to hide.
so I hid.
and I hid.
for months and years at a time
up in the castle of my mind.
until I met you
with your white horse and your dark black mask.
and you smiled at me and told me to hope
hope for it
for you
for the evil princes and the castles and the hills,
feel that strange connection, that desire to just
be
just be
just be with me
and now I’m waiting for the sunset that’s never going to come
and that summer home in the fire swamp.
and despite the evil princes who keep rearing their ugly heads —
some uglier than others, I’ll willingly admit —
I still think there’s a Spaniard with a father to avenge
and,
sooner or later,
he’s going to pull you back to my prison
my false marriage to a false love,
my despair.
you’ll come find me in my bed chamber,
and pull the knife from my breast.
and we’ll hop on your horse and off we’ll go,
just like my best friend told me so.
and when we finally get to our hilltop,
when we’re finally alone,
the kiss we’ll have will never end.
and maybe then I’ll know.

4 April 2007

© Charlie Pevensie

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