Michele Habel-Coffey: Wine on the Lips

woman-in-wine-art-painting-leanne-laine-a-glass-of-red-wine-a-day-sage

Art Credit: leannelanefineart.com


Wine on the Lips

By: Michele Habel-Coffey


I breathe in deeply and hold

Hoping to stave off the aftertaste

Of cheap wine and dying dreams

But the nine dollar red

Is soft on the palate

A delicious bitter-sweet

It leaves no after taste

It bears no acrid smell

Undiscovered

It is yet cheap

I know a treasure when I taste it

Undervalued, underpriced

Underneath me

The world shifts

As the innocent wine envelops me

And sends me off

In a warm blanket of waking dreams

And a smile that arrives

The moments the memories permeate

And bring me back

Wine, you and I

We will see the future bound together

On cheap shelves

Touched by dime-store hands

And we will rise to the occasion

Passing one day around tables

On the lips of giants

Who will smell our vintage

And declare us rare indeed

Epithelial

coffee cup

Epithelial

by Michele Habel-Coffey

My fingers trace the outlines of my cup…

Lingering circles, damp with coffee

And with dead epithelials- words unspoken

Sloughed off by the heat of the black liquid

Stimulated edges of nerves

Tactile truths

Give way to fresh, soft lips

And caffeinated hope

Fusion by Michele Habel-Coffey

Come forward 


With a force
A blow
Hard to the chest
And permanent
A fracture
A line in the bone
Ever after
You are there
You were there
Energy
A wind blowing through the crevice
The breath in the break


Come forward

Breathe into my lines
And inhale
Taking in the my dust
Calcifying me
Inside of you
Fusion
We are one

Leanne Howe: Evidence of Red

NecessityIsTheMother-by-SharonIrla72
Artist Credit: Sharon Erla
Title: Necessity is the Mother
Mother Earth Art

Evidence of Red
by: Leanne Howe

First, night opened out.

Bodies took root from rotting salt

and seawater into evidence of red life.

Relentless waves pumped tidal air

into a single heartbeat.


In the pulp of shadow and space,water sucked our people from sleep.

That’s how it all began. At least

that’s all we can remember to tell.

It began with water and heartbeat.


In minutes we tunneled through corn woman’s navel into tinges

of moist red men and women.

Yawning, we collected our chins,

knees, breasts, and sure-footed determination.


A few thousand years before Moses parted the Red Sea, and the

God with three heads was born in the Middle East,

the Choctaw people danced

our homeland infra red.


Finally when the stranger’s arms reached to strangle the West,

Grandmother eavesdropped

on the three-faced deity

who said that chaos was coming.


When he puckered his lips and tried to kiss her she made it rain on him.

“Maybe you’ve forgotten

you were born of water and women,”

she said, walking away laughing.

Balthazar the Tattoo Man

jokertattoo

 

Balthazar

By Michele Habel-Coffey

 

The images flow across his skin

I glimpse his art –without, within

Born of pain and needles thin

 

A deepened sort of midnight blue

Outside the edges, bleeding through

And for a fee, he’ll bleed you too

 

Behind the blood, a colored scar

Fairies, Christ, and Balthazar

Meandering in local bars

 

So paint upon a canvas sacred

Covering – leaving less so naked

Flesh and pain are what you make it

Tattoo Man