Tuesday, December 6, 2016

Root Deep And Rise

Root deep and rise!

Uncurl from your seed sleep
reach / seek the trickle seep of rain
tendril / tunnel through
freshly turned dirt
toward the sane certainty
of season, sun, and spin till earth

green boned and bloom bellied spring breeze sway
sure of the way and want that you're made

to open -
sweet glimpse of your creator's eyes

Root deep and rise!

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Sunday, December 4, 2016

Kitty Cat PJs

It's cute
that you think
my kitty cat pjs are sexy

and that my messy hair and unbrushed teeth
hide a seductress
just dying to leap

your bones.

But, no.
Just no.

For Poetry Pantry at Poets United

Friday, December 2, 2016

Rapunzel, Rapunzel

Exactly WHY
can't I lock her
in her room until

she's 35
or I DIE,
whichever comes first?

Why CAN'T I tower
her away until
her hair is grey

and, like Rapunzel's,
tumbles
to the GROUND?

Let whichever prince
or princess
she's found (SOMEHOW!)

try to make that climb
 - that careful hand over hand -
while I stand under her window,

wizened and weary,
but with my SCISSORS and tongue
still sharp.

For Izy's prompt at Real Toads

Anybody else having formatting problems.  I cannot get this to format like I want it to.

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Hasn't Hurt Me

Bryson has two mommies.
It hasn't hurt me a bit.
I once pissed in a stall
with a girl born Paul
on the other side -
and I lived.
I've kissed a girl and liked it.
I've kissed boys and liked that, too.
And I'll be damned if I deny myself either
just to pacify a bigot like you.

For Midweek Motif~ Social Stigma at Poets United
Also submitted to The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Tuesday, November 22, 2016

My Shadow

Stretched tight -
the umbilical
between my shadow and me.

I fetch light
for the coming night.
My shadow, I feed

bits of sun
till morning comes
to keep her here with me.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Sunday, November 20, 2016

I'm Like That

Put a cricket
in a skillet,
and he'll sing hot and fast.
I'm like that.

Lord, I'm like that.

I like my bridges burning
off the straight and narrow path
and my cats

bony black.

Don't try to be the bushel
where you think I hide my light.
Don't come dragging in the day
or dragging me from night.
You'll end a hollow haunting at the feast
while I swing from lean to fat.

Yes,

Lord,

I'm like that.

For Poetry Pantry at Poets United

If you have a minute, I have a poem in issue 8 of Firefly Magazine.  Check it out!

Saturday, November 19, 2016

The Last Tarot

dirtworshipingypsy:

fortune teller. early 1870s

Crown of thorns.
Celtic cross.
Empty pocket eyes.
You can fill them with your future
for a shiny, silver dime.

She lays the circle, lays the staff
with quick and calloused hands
and whispers, "Would you be a god tonight,
or leave this place, a man?"

For The Sunday Mini-Challenge at Real Toads