Saturday, June 27, 2015

The Stacks

"I can see he's not in your good books," said the messenger.
"No, and if he were I would burn my library."
--- William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

Our eyes met in General Works.
We shared a smile in Child Psychology.
Halfway through Religion,
I learned his name.

Social Science was flirtation.
Language; infatuation.
By Geography, I knew
I'd never be the same.

We connected with Technology,
but I was Art and he was really
just looking for a little
Recreation.

In English Lit,we let go.
We're History, I know.
Philosophy and Porn -
my consolation.

Revisiting Kerry's (Very) Old School Challenge for Play It Again at Real Toads

Thursday, June 25, 2015

A Girl Is Born

to spit fire,
Mother.
To turn from some worm
of a man.
To be claw and beak
not his sweet, dark dirt
to flow through.

To bite the hand,
Mother.
To bite the hand that feeds her
in two.
To spit fire,
Mother.
To be fire,
Mother,
like you.

For Words Count at Real Toads

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Tiger Tale

I chased you like a tiger chases her tail,
and now I know
when a tiger catches her tail in her teeth
she can't let go.
Dizzy, spinning around the sun
all appetite and pride.
When a tiger catches her tail in her teeth,
she eats herself alive.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Monday, June 22, 2015

My Voice

photo by Bert Stern

My voice
cracked on the high notes tonight,
but I danced fires in the floor.
The ballads swooned sugar and noir.
The door
more
than covered our bar tab.  My voice

carried the horns tonight;
my tits held the hecklers in key.
Now, back in room 123-
another drink
and a laugh.
We weren't good,

but we weren't half bad.

For The Mag

Sunday, June 21, 2015

Poetry Is Not Dead



Guess what book topped the Oklahoma Best-Sellers list last week?  Oklahoma Poems and their Poets!  And, guess which poet you know has a poem in that book?  Me!

Pick up a copy on Amazon (and check out the other books on my sidebar while you're there; just saying) and spread the word.  Poetry is not dead!

Saturday, June 20, 2015

Sunday Afternoon

Everything that needs doing is done
for now.
What might come rests
in stronger hands.
There is just enough light through the blinds
to trick a dream.
Just enough dark in my eyes
to succor sleep.

For Karin's prompt at Real Toads

Thursday, June 18, 2015

Pictures Of

A borrowed dress,
a church,
a man -
something blue.

Packed myself in a penny dreadful -
called it something new.

No one flies as the crow flies now -
or so I'm told.

A borrowed dress,
a church,
a man -
something old.

For Shay's "Pictures Of" prompt at Real Toads

Tuesday, June 16, 2015

Ghosting The Nightingale

Falsetto ghosting
the nightingale.
I'm a mockingbird.
My song's for sale.
Fledge feather flesh,
a borrowed tale;
a layman's lament
for a worm.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Sunday, June 14, 2015

Resolution

image by Sarolta Ban

resolution
re-solve
an old problem
he called
I answered
he crawled
inside me
inside me

re-solution
resolve
not to answer
next time he calls
but he's a cancer
I've caught
hello?

For The Mag

Saturday, June 13, 2015

Date

Our first and last date.
The wind blew.
I didn't.

A not-quite haiku inspired by Marilyn Chin.  For Grace's prompt at Real Toads.

Friday, June 12, 2015

Hole In The Mountain

A girl can dream in this dark, dry womb or die
husk in a husk.  The rush
of day / night is tempered here
to a brush

of wings, a scurry
of small things, a sticky web
in the wind. I just came in
to get out

of the weather,
but I stayed
when the sky grew kind.
A girl can find

her own bones
in this heart hewn tomb
and die
to herself
inside.

A quickie for Corey at Real Toads

Saturday, June 6, 2015

I Ask

I ask the sullen sky
where he is
a dozen times.
"If God is good,"
it replies,
"where he should be."

I ask the first fat drop of rain
when will I see him again.
"If God is good,"
same refrain,
"no sooner
than you need."

Oh, why

must God

be so good to me?

55 words for Kerry at Real Toads

Friday, June 5, 2015

Normal


By plucking her petals, you do not gather the beauty of the flower.
--- Rabindranath Tagore

He cupped my pussy
when he taught me to drive;
countryside blurred at the windows,
and my skinny legs straddling the stick.

Quiet,
calm,
he talked me through the shifts.

"Good girl, good girl, that's it."
1st gear, 2nd gear, third.
All perfectly normal,
if normal's just a word.

For Susie's prompt at Real Toads