Thursday, June 21, 2018

A Babble

Thick with green leaves,
the pear tree's a babble
of mockingbirds, robins,
wrens, blue jays, and grackle!

Tuesday, June 19, 2018

Later

You once were a cloudburst -
no commas or breath.
Your professions of love
left me wrung out, but wet.
Now your Sappho is silenced
and the best that I get
is a peck
on the cheek -
Love ya, later.

Wednesday, June 13, 2018

It's Lust That Lays You Down

scratching and grasping at the headboard,
kicking grandma's quilt to the floor, and
untucking the sheets.

Then, after, laughs at the floral
skinprint
the mattress leaves.

Lust is in the body,
of the body,
and out of your head.

It's lust that lays you down;
love
makes the bed.

For Midweek Motif~Lust at Poets United

Sunday, June 10, 2018

Dark

We mated,
plaited our hair,
and painted the cave walls eggshell white.

Stars rose,
fell,
did stints in rehab.

We constructed fine cathedrals
to house our candles -
let there be light!

Now,
we pine
for authentic dark.

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

You Are Beautiful

For six days there's been a boy
a delicious man/boy standing
on the sidewalk at the fuckiest corner
of my early morning commute.
He has a headful of thick, dissident curls.
His legs and arms are finely
muscled. Across his chest,  he holds
a big hand lettered sign:
YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL
Drivers honk as traffic crawls
through the intersection.  I honk, too.
I wonder who he is and why he is.
I wonder if he'll be there tomorrow.
If he is, I might stop this car forever
and give him my face.

Tuesday, May 22, 2018

Asking

asking for patience
              hurriedly
blessings
             for a half full cup
guidance not followed
             to follow me
forgiveness
             for what's left undone

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Thursday, May 17, 2018

Magdalene

Melpomene-Simmons-Highsmith-detail-1.jpeg

Detail from mural depicting the muse Melpomene (Tragedy) by Edward Simmons, 1896

All of my favorite witches were staked and burned to bones.
This red dress is the best of the cottonmouth curses
from those pale, open mouth orchids - oracle tongues
in nightshade knots.
All gods work in threes -
a thrice dyed sleeve slipping to bare
a shoulder -shapely, shaping, shape 
shifting - maid, mother, crone.
I have strayed, skipping, from the straight and narrow and learned
to love the log in my wandering eye.  My Magdalene side
makes merry with forgotten gospels and dreams
of a desert man.
A desert man with strong, laborer's hands.
A man who knows that water is for walking,
but weddings call for wine.

For Fireblossom Friday at Real Toads