Friday, September 30, 2011

Words

Words blue enough to shock a sailor.
Words reverent enough to please a nun.
Words of protest, truth, and anger.
Words that leave your clothes undone.
Words innocent as a dreaming child.
Words to ease the pain of living.
Words to shock the cruelest conscience.
Words of taking and of giving.

I cannot trust my clumsy tongue
to say the words that must be said.
Until I can trust my clumsy tongue,
I'll trust them to my pen instead.

For Meeting the Bar at dVerse

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Side Of The Road

File:West Texas Pumpjack.JPG
image-public domain

Loose gravel and loose
morals got me in this ditch.
A warm beer and a

little leg might get
me out, but this is nowhere.
So, I kick back on

the tailgate, wish on
an early star, and let the
pumpjack rhythm get

under my skin and
simmer.  The beer I'll just keep
for my own sweet self.

For Haiku Heights

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Plan B

Charm school was a fail.
Let's hope that passing gas becomes
an Olympic sport.

For Haiku Heights

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

For The Winter

The wind has just enough bite
to send me to my closet
for my old, ratty cardigan.
The sky is black
with straggly v's.

The geese are flying south.
I want to go, too.

Somewhere cheap and warm,
where the tequila is complimentary
and the sand is as soft as the belly of a bird.

I won't speak the language,
so I'll tattoo invitations on my hips
and wear apologetic t-shirts
until I pick up a phrase or two
tending bar for the locals.

Reading eyes,
lips,
weathered hands,

and collecting stories
like tips in a jar.

For Open Link Night at dVerse

Monday, September 26, 2011

Raven's Rain


A phoenix drowned in
raven's rain.  Ashes dirty
the water.  Still, I

drink, breathe the soot soaked 
air, and wait to be split wide
by dark feathered wings.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Wolf

The wolf's at the door.
His howls fall like autumn leaves,
red raw as heartache.

His howls fall like leaves,
scratching at the dead wood sky,
splintering the stars.

Red raw as heartache.
Virgin moons between his teeth
The wolf's at the door.

For Haiku Heights and Poetics and dVerse.

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Friday, September 23, 2011

Water

Some days, the only
thing that keeps me from drowning
is lack of water.

For Haiku Heights

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Snake Bite


I play a dirge
dark as a death wish,
and the snakes come.

Long and smooth
like my own venomous veins,
they are flasks with forked tongues
tipped to my lips

exchanging
poison for poison.

No snake remains charmed for long
when the moon is out 
before the sun has had the grace to set.

No woman hacks a flute from bone
just to die
a sad story at the edge of the river.

There are apples to be gathered.

Tipped to my lips
exchanging poison for poison.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Love Poem

Knowing how I waste my time,
you asked me for a love poem.
I should have told you then
that though I wield a poet's pen,
deep within me
beats the heart of a mathematician.

Love is a numbers game,
a process of constant addition and subtraction
to produce a Variable A (my bullshit)
that is roughly equal to Variable B (your bullshit)
to yield the ever elusive Variable C (long term peaceful cohabitation with occasional peel the paint off the walls sex).

Or, so it seems to me.

But, that won't sell movie tickets.

So, I pick up my pen
and try again.

Years from now, my love,
when infatuation is just a memory,
I will still laugh when you tell jokes I've already heard,
remember that you don't like tomato soup,
and sleep in sweatshirts just because you like it cold.
I'll never let on that I know that you're getting a bald spot.
I will never consider that we won't always be us.
And, I will never, ever let you face this unkind world alone.

For Open Link Night at dVerse.

Monday, September 19, 2011

Salutation

Good morning, sun!
I raise my cup in silent greeting.
My ancient bones resist
a more energetic salutation.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Liberty

Take a liberty
or three with me, but don't be
here in the morning.

Steal second base, but
take it back to your place.  Don't
be here come the dawn.

For Haiku Heights

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Friday, September 16, 2011

Chime

Proud of her wind chimes,
she had no clue that they were
a chime a dozen.

~groan~


For Haiku Heights

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Feed

Photo by Ainsley Allmark

I have patience with
you, my bride.  You wax, you wane;
I'll feed when you're full.

As you work your way
through the sky.  You wax, you wane;
I'll feed when you're full.

Pulling my blood like
a warm tide.  You wax, you wane;
I'll feed when you're full.

I'm patient, 
but I'll not be denied.

Submitted to Haiku Heights, Poetry Jam, and my G-Man's fiction in 55.  Hey, it's a hat trick!

Editorial Note:  Dear G-Man, I nearly drove myself stark raving insane to get that to 55 words.  Only for you, my friend.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Elixir

'E licks 'er from 'er
tip to 'er tail, and with a
grin, 'e goes again!

My goofy response to the "Elixir" prompt at Haiku Heights.
Also submitted to Sensational Haiku Wednesday.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

September

September light
filters through the eaves,
and the old barn gets religion.
We are angels
with hay in our hair.

Beneath us,
boards creak and moan
songs from the back of the hymnal.
Your name
is a prayer on my lips.

I have apples
picked from the low branches.
You have your hands
high up my skirt.

Sweet is the harvest this time of year.
Sweet and tender the harvest.

For Open Link Night at dVerse.

Monday, September 12, 2011

High Waters

"Expecting a flood?"
The boy tugs his too short jeans.
He's dry, but drowning

in loud, cruel laughter,
embarrassment, and the shame
of empty pockets.

For Haiku Heights

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Hero Count

In Afghanistan,
September 11th is
still making heroes.

While we're remembering, let's remember our "forgotten war," too.


For Haiku Heights and Poetics at dVerse.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Unlabeled

Weathered
like an old, brown bottle.
My pretty papers loose
and peeling.
Crinkling at the edges,
glue giving way,
until I am finally left
unlabeled.

Friday, September 9, 2011

Coffee Cup

A little thing like
the dust on your coffee cup
makes the yearn bleed fresh.

For Haiku Heights

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Simple Thing

The lady waits in silence
for the knight to come.
The one that she has chosen.
The one who does no wrong.
She knows that she's foolish.
She just doesn't care.
The lady waits in silence.
She knows he'll soon be there.

Like violence
like rain
like a sunrise
her love is a simple thing.

His fingers stroke her face
and trace the lines of care.
Lines of time and loneliness,
lines that he put there
"Someday I'll be worth it."
This a solemn vow.
"I'll be there beside you
when heaven's crashing down."

Like violence
like rain
like a sunrise
his love is a simple thing.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

The Kiss

Kiss me.  Liquefy
my bones until I puddle
like spilled honey.  Chase

my rolling sweetness
down and claim it with your teeth.
Breathe deep of my dark

sandalwood and smoke,
but don't choke on my embers.
Kiss me to my knees.

For Open Link Nigh at dVerse and Haiku Heights

Monday, September 5, 2011

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Saturday, September 3, 2011

The Bag

You returned my feelings
in a paper bag
along with my dirty laundry.
You kept my cds.

You are a puzzle.

If I go to you,
bang on your door
and demand their return,
will we find that we have one last dance between us,
one last barefoot blending of shadows,
as the bass thumps
and the neighbors complain?

Or, will I find you
pretending to like Taylor Swift
for someone else?

Friday, September 2, 2011

Thursday, September 1, 2011

The Novice

I am a young witch,
new to the arts,
but already skilled in spells and alchemy.
It is waning summer
and time to gather potion plenty.

Staff in hand,
I meander rutted paths
and gather

the feather of a bird
the dust from a coyote track
the blood of an aloe

and return to my cauldron
to mix, measure,
and murmur the wind
until I am called back
by my mother's exasperated voice.

She sees mud pies and mess.
But, in the long shadows,
I am making magic.