Sunday, September 30, 2012

If We Were Lovers

If we were lovers,
I would kiss you at red lights-
hard, thoroughly, and unhurriedly-
until cars backed and stacked
and curses blued the air
like vulgar, finely feathered
birds.

"Green means go
get a fucking room,
why dontcha?"

I'd lace my fingers with yours,
dangle my feet out the passenger window,
and let you drive me (mad)
to the next intersection.

If we were lovers,
I'd wear your old t-shirts
with heels and with diamonds
and without panties or plans to leave the house
on Saturday night

or Sunday morning.

If we were lovers,
I'd soak in you
like a hot bath

with vanilla lavender bubbles.

For Poetry Pantry

Saturday, September 29, 2012

Country Air

photo by Susie Clevenger

Screams carry clean
through country air,
through unlocked doors, through open windows

when vinegar splashes
sun blistered skin, 
and cruelty is the price of being small. 

Words warp to starker howls.
Survival strips the curtains down,
and she cocoons

in a makeshift shroud
burning,
burning.

Screams carry clean
through country air.
Lock the doors.  Close the windows. 

For the Sunday Challenge at Real Toads 

Friday, September 28, 2012

Spellbound

Autumn breezes waltz
her skirt high above her knees,
and the trees shiver

soft incantations
that flutter leaves loose to fall
spellbound at her feet.

For Haiku Heights and Fireblossom Friday at Real Toads

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

The Canopy Bed

Shadows skitter atop
my canopy bed,
and heads hang
over the side -
moon sliver eyes
peering
through flouncy pink ruffles.

Fast!  I muffle
my little girl screams
(with pillows, with shame),
take big girl aim
with my Monster Spray
WhimperWhisper

AWAY
BEGONE

and learn monsters always stay
till dawn
when a girl's alone.

For Open Link Night at dVerse

Saturday, September 22, 2012

September Girl

photo by Ellen Wilson
 
September Girl
shakes the branches
with an eye to winning ribbons.

Autumn Woman
shakes in places
she doesn't think is fair.

Judging a pear / pair.

A stab at a sevenling for the Sunday Challenge at Real Toads

Friday, September 21, 2012

What It Was Like


Image via Creative Commons
Outside one morning,
waiting for the bus,
cold
and still half asleep,
I rested my head against a fence post
and my foot on the bottom
strand of wire.

"What are you doin'?"
he hollered from the front porch.
"Nothin',"
I hollered back.

He whipped me twice;
once for having my foot on the wire

and once more for lying about it.

For Mary's Mixed Bag at Real Toads

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Burnt Toast

I cannot save the world
on burnt toast and bad coffee.
I cannot preach the peace and love
with Folgers on my breath.
I cannot feed the homeless
if I can't even find the jelly.
This ain't my day for miracles;
I'm going back to bed.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Accomodations

You don't have to bed me down
in the dense capillaries of your heart.
I'll be fine
in the cranial castle of your skull

where I can thread myself
through a clenched jaw -
wringing dizzying, queasy panic
from a threatened throat.

Where I can siphon sight from one eye,
dedicate it to its opposite,
and let cataclysmic rivalry
blind them both.

No, you don't have to bed me down
in the catastrophically constricted capillaries
of your poor, miserly heart.
I'll just crash on the futon,
and in the morning, I'll go.

A Flipside poem for Open Link Night at dVerse.

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Yard-Art-Work

red dirt hands
shades of green grass knees
yard-art-work

A bit of haiku for Haiku Heights and Kerry's Firefly Jar at Real Toads

Friday, September 14, 2012

Spin Cycle

We went for a ride on his motorcycle.
I didn't know his name,
but dragging Main,
I imagined him just as I wanted.

Smart and strong
with a gentle heart
and a quirky taste
for art
and poetry.
And, girls like me.

Climbing off of his motorcycle,
I didn't catch his name.
But, I've imagined him
in every man I've wanted,

had,

and then found wanting.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

The Jug Line

They swim
like a school of fools
to The Jug Line
for cheap cocktails and cleavage -
"more than a mouthful!" -
and to help each other tread
truth's choppy waters.

To crack a few jokes,
slap some ass,
and lie
about pussy, perch, and big mouth bass.
To keep themselves from ever asking
for something more.

Fiction in 55 for my G-Man.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

The Divine

Bread bones dust my lips,
but I turn my face from wine
and scent/seek instead

the pale, pagan pulse
river rushing sacrament
just . . . under. . . your skin.

A bit of True Blood haiku . . .for Open Link Night at dVerse.


Sunday, September 9, 2012

Make (It) Up

Image by Margaret Bednar

With a bit of gloss
I turn this everyday dross
into some fool's gold.

For Haiku Heights and the Sunday Challenge at Real Toads.

Saturday, September 8, 2012

In The Voice Of Barry White

Baby

you are the pineapple
in a fruit medley
packed with kumquats
and dumb twats
with prepackaged eyes.

You are old-fashioned sass
and frass
with herb laden
licorice lips
that I can still taste
late
the morning after.

You fresh squeeze me
like juice;
you savor the pulp and pith.

Baby

you are my low, low,
easy road
to the natural.

A Flipside poem.

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Cure (Worse Than The Disease)

Sixty long minutes
with Infallible Doctor,
alluring, but distant,
in his oversize chair.
He tries to talk me to cure,
asks framed, feckless questions.
Then, shakes his head in surprise
at my mistrustful stare.

Next, a witty internist
imported from Pittsburgh
brings his learning and love
of electronics to bear.
Entangling wires, evolving theories
of voltage.
I'm shocked from my toes
to the tips of my hair.

So, come dashing knight
in pharmaceutical armor!
Come bearing Prozac
and relentless good cheer.
I'll be here waiting
with cottonmouth kisses.
Energetic, but aimless,
and not thinking too clear.

A Flipside poem.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Tired

Come dark I'll embark
on sleep's thin raft.
It's brittle rest at best,
but it's all I have

between harried days that eat away
at my shallow grace.
Between shrill demands that sand
the smile right off my face.

I willow into my pillow
like it's a lover desired,
and dream of the me I'd be
if I just wasn't so tired.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Dosed

I used green wood glyphs
to feed the fire,
witched up a story
while we got a little higher,
and hoped it was true
that white wine
goes well with a Pisces girl.

Under lunar light
the plain looks profound
and ripe for divination
when the bottle spins round.
Banishing better judgement -
came natural in the natural world.

Was it the loss of our heresy
that cost us our potency
and left us trembling for a tonic
to keep us safe and bored?

Dosed
of our own accord.

A much belated Flipside poem for Open Link Night at dVerse.

Monday, September 3, 2012

Paper Boat

My little blue vote
is a leaky, paper boat
on a red state sea.

For the September Challenge at Haiku Heights and Open Link Monday at Real Toads.

Sunday, September 2, 2012

Law Review

Everyone knew
that law review
sorted the "withs"
from "withouts."

So imagine the look
on each earnest face
when I gave up my place
and walked out!

Recalling one of my finer acts of rebellion for Poetics at dVerse.

Saturday, September 1, 2012

Morning With Dogs

Dawn breaks warm and wet,
lapping and licking my face
with a drawbridge tongue.

For the September Challenge at Haiku Heights