Tuesday, April 30, 2013

7th Inning Stretch

Broward boys
aren't raised or praised
for thinkin'
beyond beer and baseball.
Broward girls
aren't raised or praised
for thinkin'
much at all.

Candace liked to catch,
but found she wasn't
much for cheerin'.
So, she pitched her pom poms
and struck out
on her own.

For Open Link Night at dVerse

Monday, April 29, 2013

Harper Lee

Mockingbird
sang a shackle song
so high, pure,
sure, and strong -
silence was all that was left
free of mimicry.

My belated response to Kerry's Birthday in April prompt . . . submitted to Open Link Monday at Real Toads.

Sunday, April 28, 2013

Flower Bed

I turn the earth
and plant the seeds
and tend the needs
of my flower bed
until it's neat,
straight and sweet,
and completely
tame.

As the day's last light
slips from my sight,
I tuck myself tight
in my flower bed
to slip/stray/dream
of those wilder things
I cannot weed
away.

Submitted to Poetry Pantry.

Saturday, April 27, 2013

Good News!



Our beloved Fireblossom of the Word Garden has just released a new book of poetry,  My Mad Love: Poems Out in the Noonday Sun.

From a hospital reserved for carnival workers, to a wannabe actress whose Siberian tiger teaches her assertiveness, and on through the woman arrested by the secret police because they want to know about her lover's beautiful hair, "My Mad Love" is an utterly unique collection of story poems which are both beautiful in their language and startling in their originality.

Get your copy here!

Friday, April 26, 2013

Mockingbird

Everything was different
the morning I awoke
with a strange song in my throat
not my own.
Every note
repeated
repeated
cheated

from another.

Not a thing was different
the morning I awoke
with a song shoved down my throat
not my own.
Every note
repeated
repeated
cheated

of any other.

For Fireblossom Friday at Real Toads

Thursday, April 25, 2013

Moved On


When maggots feed on moonflesh
until the moon is gone;
when thorns devour roses,
and all high speech is done;

when devil grass is all that's left
beneath the north rise sun;
there are other worlds than these
old worlds that have moved on.

A Cliffs Notes version of Stephen King's The Gunslinger for Izy's prompt at Real Toads

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Auto Da Fe

I'll recite
my milksop lines
with perfect timing.

And, I'll
cardboard cry
right on cue.

Just to see
you put goodbye
back in your pocket,

so that I'll be the one
leaving you.

For the Hello / Goodbye prompt at Real Toads.

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Shut Up (I'm Writing A Sonnet)

Shall I compare thee to a babbling brook
or a stream of nonsense without surcease?
I can't recall the last breath you took
or the last time your flapping tongue took ease.
You wake each morning with words on your lips,
news like a noose, and a tale in each hand.
You bed down each night with your jaw still loose
and clacking, clacking - it's all I can stand!
Even your slumber puts silence to strain
with your grunting, groaning, and dreaming aloud.
Farting in verse, and then snoring refrains!
I cover my ears, but hear every sound.

For me, there's no peace this side of the shroud.
Then, at my funeral, you'll mourn too loud.

For Shakespeare's Birthday at Real Toads.
Also hooking up with dVerse.

Monday, April 22, 2013

Reasons To Burn

Some girls burn incense
to bring good luck or money.
I burn to bring you.

For Open Link Monday at Real Toads

Sunday, April 21, 2013

Partly Cloudy

Partly cloudy girls
bring their storms
to Sunday picnics.

Partly cloudy girls
have hailstone
hands to chill the wine.

Partly cloudy girls
toast the s'mores
with hairpin lightning.

Partly cloudy girls
are the rain
from a clear, blue sky.

A series of Kelly lunes for Grace's challenge at Real Toads

Saturday, April 20, 2013

Cowbird

Blondine and the Tortoise
Blondine and the Tortoise by Virginia Frances Sterrett

Owl-eyed and clove cloaked,
I cowbird as the tortoise plods
the gutters of my ego

laying waste
to the language
of my gods.

For Kerry's prompt at Real Toads

*and then edited repeatedly*

Friday, April 19, 2013

Black And White

Crayons
(alphabetized)
wait
(in rows of five)

for me to brave and break
the black and white.

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Blue Period

By flen, flyss, and freris!
The fine art of swearing
now faces extinction
due to abuse.

I learned my craft under
Dr. James Waffletwat.
Now, I am an artist
painting in blue.

From Wikipedia:

The usually accepted first known occurrence [of the word fuck] is in code in a poem in a mixture of Latin and English composed some time before 1500.  The poem, which satirizes the Carmelite friars of Cambridge, England, takes its title, "Flen flyss," from the first words of its opening line "Flen, flyss, and freris" ("fleas, flies, and friars").

A double dactyl for Aprille's prompt at Real Toads.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Grief Is A Blackbird

Grief is a blackbird flying from the throat.
It's ululating song of ash can be heard
up and down the staff of sky - the darkest notes.
Grief is a blackbird.

Sorrow wings in symphony devour words
and leave a fugue that settles deep in the bones.
You're all alone in the nest of the blackbird.

Miles above what's left of you, you feather float
carried by talon tug high and far from earth
so you'll see that when you fall no god takes note.
Grief is a blackbird.

My attempt at a Roundel for Marion's prompt at Real Toads.  Also linking up with Open Link Night at  dVerse.  This is still pretty rough, so I'd love some feedback.

And, now, two bonus haiku by Baby Puppy, my nine-year-old daughter:

ON A MEADOW

Ripening apples
who is the fool this fine day
the hand or the snake

BIRD NEST

Trapped among the leaves
caring for the birds I love
winter blanket folds

Monday, April 15, 2013

Sunday, April 14, 2013

Last Thoughts Before Sleeping

Another Margarita by Joaquin Sorolla

There once was a girl.
She was selfish and primitive.
Her cravings, she was swift to trust.

Now, there is a woman.
She is resigned and resentful.
Her desires, she draws in dust

like letters from ripe to rust.

For Hedge's prompt at Real Toads

Friday, April 12, 2013

The Last Wish

Dawn broke,
and I can't fix her.
Not with all my paste
and prayers.
The sky is skewed
beyond repair
and sinking slow.

Clouds are cobwebs in the trees.
The sun is cradled by the sea.
And, falling stars bring me to my knees -
my last wish - to know

is this gonna hurt?

For Margaret's prompt at Real Toads

Thursday, April 11, 2013

In Case Of Feedback . . .

"Honey, this place is a freaking barn.  The bleed and bounce is gonna kill us if I try to bring you up too much.  You're gonna have to throw it at the back wall and knock that bitch down."

So sayeth the soundman:  Project, Project, Project!

I used to sing in church -
high, sweet,
and straight
out of the Southern Baptist hymnal.
Loud and for the Lord.
But, this . . .

Project, Project, Project!

is a completely different animal.
Testosterone rock,
triple miked,
and Marshall amped.
Testosterone rockers,
nickel beers
banging.
And, me -
seventeen years old and one hundred pounds soaking wet,
trying to do what technology can't -
carry my voice above the boys.

Project, Project, Project!

With a little road experience,
I learn some tricks.
Where to stand to kill feedback.
How to cup my mike just so for echo.
How to stifle the urge to murder my drummer.
I soak my once stellar soprano in whiskey,
saturate it with smoke,
and I

Project!

Someday, I'll get inquisitive enough to ask the obvious question:
why is it the girl's fault that the boys are too loud?
I'll get brave and challenge the masculine unity of volume.
But, by then, it'll almost be over.

Till then, it's smudge the eyeliner,
activate the inner tramp,
and put on a show.

And, when the jukebox dies
and my mike goes live,
I am breath and mantra.

Project, Project, Project!

I do, and it's delicious.

The Sunday Whirl words for Corey's prompt at Real Toads

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Pigs And Pretty Girls

A conversation with my grandmother.
March, 2013

"You wouldn't be in a beauty pageant?"

My grandmother is aghast.

"God, no," I reply.  "They're no better than stock shows.  And, that's exactly what I told 'em back in high school when I was nominated for Miss Watchamacallit; if I want to be judged like a pig, I'll enter the county fair."

She is even more aghast, if that's possible.

"You did?  Well, I didn't know a thing about it!"

"Of course, you didn't, Grannie."  I can't help but smile a little.  "What kind of a fool do you think I am?

A Document of Discussion for Izy's prompt at Real Toads.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Hunt And Gather


Mama don't mind
grass stained knees,
froggy fingernails,
or wind knotted hair.

Get closer, little girl.
Get closer.

Hunt and gather
all that's hidden

from more fearful,
faraway eyes.


For my daughter:



Submitted to Words Count at Real Toads and Open Link Night at dVerse.

Monday, April 8, 2013

Order Up

I think I'll have the special.
I'm tired of settling for a side
of whatever is in season -
day old bread,
bottom bottle wine.

Can you blame me?

Give me something good to go,
and, oh!
Hold the crazy.

Too much sugar free.
Turns this sweet girl sour.
Too much take-out by the phone
just leaves me hungry in an hour.

Give me the special.
Lord, can you blame me?
Give me something good to go.
But, you can hold the crazy.

I got enough of that at home.
You can hold the crazy.

When all else fails, write a little blues for Open Link Monday at Real Toads.

Saturday, April 6, 2013

Friday, April 5, 2013

You And I

We're green, you and I.
You recycle your bullshit;
I save energy
by not listening.

We're those stray bits of eggshell,
you and I; too small
to catch, but enough
to add a teeth jarring crunch
to a cheese omelette.

We're a love story,
you and I, and so lucky
the monkeys could type.

A bit of irony for dVerse

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Suffer Boy

Suffer boy drones on -
the bath salt catechism.
Grinding religion

for needy blondes.

He warns that the end is near.
And, that's the new beginning.
Jesus is coming back

to unfriend us all.

For Izy's prompt at Real Toads

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Sugarcoat

Sunk deep
in a spring peeper night.
Me, here, and you, there.

I wrap
my sugarcoat tight.
At least we share

the same moon.

Hopefully passing for existential for Kerry's prompt at Real Toads

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

September 9, 1958





Mother Monster?
Witch and Wife?
Stifled Siren?
Pick a life.

It's either / or.
It's dark or light.
It's less than human.
Pick a life.

The above snippets are from a newspaper article published September 9, 1958.  You can view the article in its entirety here.

Inspired by Fireblossom's time travel prompt at Real Toads.  Also submitted to Open Link Night at dVerse.

Monday, April 1, 2013

Feast Of Fools


From cockcrow light to nightingale,
I step fetch at the Feast of Fools.
I serve both elephants and mules,
and both are dumb beyond the pale.

And, yet, this body thrives or fails
to how these dullards make the rules.
From cockcrow light to nightingale,
I step fetch at the Feast of Fools.

There's no happy end to this tale.
The new arrivals keep us full,
and the oldest can't seem to pull
themselves away.  All are for sale
for the price of a coffin nail
from cockcrow light to nightingale.

For Open Link Monday at Real Toads