novamartinpoetry.com

With My Brassiere

Go easy over my hips
with my brassiere
pull it down
in this poetry of the moonlight
bathed and breathing
your breath and the night
your eyes speak gentle things

I am your soft girl
waiting with the Universe
to explode
always waiting a billion years
your eyes and the moonlight

You look at me and we know
we only know with our eyes
what two women and
billions of years can only know
these revolutions
these normal ways

Go easy over my hips
with my brassiere
my dear
make this last what
cannot last
my dear
make our fine craft
curved lips to curved lips

Poems

Pinball Queener

(for cm)

Exactly how good are you

at pinball?

I really want to know.

Are you good enough to

make me know.

I really want you to

make me know.

Right there on the machine.

You standing watchfully.

Taking some cool breaths.

On the machine.

Pulling the plunger.

Flicking those flippers.

Oh ringing the golden bells.

Just making those lights

bling bling.

I would like to see those lights

bling bling

on the milk white skin of

your thighs

alternating over that contrast of

your black tattoos

and up on your Irish fair eyes.

Also on your black lipstick.

Flash flash.

Bling bling.

Poems

Many People

There are many people

who love me.

And many people

who actively don’t love me.

Who hate me.

I’m a transexual woman.

Loud and proud.

Many people,

hetero and queer,

don’t like me and

my loud and proud way.

I honestly spend a lot

of time thinking about

these people.

What if I could do enough

kind things?

Maybe then these people

would love me.

At least appreciate and

respect me.

But I know that won’t be

the case for many of

these people.

What if I love more and more

and more?

I can love quite a bit bigger

than lots of people.

But maybe I should spend

more time

caring about the many people

who love me.

The people who love me

just as I am.

Poems

The Bullrider

Lil was a champion rodeo

bullrider.

She was handsome.

Chiseled jaw.

Sharp Nordic features.

Short cropped shining

bright blonde hair.

A weathered, smile with

pronounced lines

that could warm any

room or person.

She smiled, laughed,

and cut up a lot.

I liked that.

I saw her and she saw me,

my dark eyes,

over-mascaraed.

She was gritty and tough

but her heart was light

and loving.

She watched me all night

in my frilly green silky

dress and wanted me.

She knew I was a transwoman

and didn’t care.

In fact, somehow that made me

very lovely to her.

A femme and floppy,

gay as all hell transwoman.

When the dance hall closed

she approached me.

I saw her belt buckle and

her strong legs in cowboy jeans.

She asked me with a nod and

her eyes and so I let her take me

and lead me outside.

We walked 50 paces in the cold

Colorado spring night air,

then we came to her travel trailer.

Her hand had been strong but

gentle on my hips

the whole walk there.

At the door to the trailer,

she said, “Can I babe?”,

then she tilted back my pink hair

and kissed me strong but soft

and sensual.

I lost my breath and wanted more.

I put my hand on her chest

and asked her to take me inside.

In the soft shining warm lamp

light I dropped to my knees,

on old linoleum floor.

My dress split and I kissed her

thighs in jeans, clutching her

bullrider’s ass.

She unbuckled and I saw what

was pristine.

So I made love to her with my

mouth.

Silky, wet, strong.

I made her tumble.

I made her gasp.

She clutched my hair.

She said, “I’ll cum on you

if you cum on me”.

And I replied, “Hell yes”,

all moany.

She buckled over, spasming.

Then one minute later

she threw me on the couch

and humped me til I was a mess

and I was screaming and I

was screaming

with my lovely bullrider a top me.

I forgot my body.

I forgot my mind.

So I leaned in and kissed her

very very deep.

Two women softly humping

at that point.

Moaning and panting.

Yes,

we are proud women.

We are proud women.

Poems

A handy dyke
is a joy for a femme.
It doesn’t matter if that
handy dyke
is butch, chapstick,
femme herself
or whatever else.
She, this handy dyke,
relieves something for
the lone femme
that the lone femme is unable
to do, live, or achieve herself.
That is why she’s handy.
The handy dyke can do
what the femme cannot.

Poems

The Coven

The coven of druidesses
in an Appalachian forest
prayed for me
in the common tongue
to the woods.
There is something
gathering for me,
around me, within me
so I can take this gathering
and give immensely
to the world,
give love,
give love mostly,
that is what’s most needed.
And…
the full moon brought her,
my gorgeous blue eyed,
tall, long and lean woman.
She cums upon me
on this big night of big sky.
Cuz the druidesses knew
I need love in order to
love more.
Love love more!
That is what our work is for.
For all of us to love more.

Poems

Men & Women

What if men had vaginas?
What if women had penises?
What if?
What if?
What if?

They do.
They do.
They do.
Right here
on this sacred earth,
where we will conquer hate
and men with vaginas
and women with penises
will be loved and accepted
… by even the transphobic
gay men and gay women
and also the hateful Christians.