Saturday, February 27, 2016

Dis Song

Dis song be de bastard chile
of Lie and sweet Lament;
dey went lyin wid each other
on de wrong side of de bed.
When Lament she start to showin,
Lie jus turn his head.
Now Lie lyin dreadful quiet;
de graveyard what he get.

For Gillena's prompt at Real Toads

Friday, February 26, 2016


I'd like to slap that apple out of her hand
and grind the old boa to grease beneath my boot.
Here's another girl, innocent as Eve, believing herself to be a snake charmer.
But, see, she's the one swaying and charmed -
disarmed by his handsome
slither and hiss.

Look, this garden is old -
old as worlds and wombs;
sweet as God's first kiss;
unchanging as sparrows and swallows.

So, yes, I'd love to slap that apple right out of her hand,
but I'd just drive her closer to the tree.
I have to let it be.
After all, it's my footprints she followed.

For Hannah's prompt at Real Toads

Tuesday, February 23, 2016

On Religion

Let sweat be your sacrament.
Tithe only dirt to bones.
Know the difference
between manna
and meat.

Be quick
to bare a breast
for suckling stars.
when the sky
cuts teeth.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Sunday, February 21, 2016

Little Icarus

My daughter used to gather goose feathers
and pretend to fly.
She was nine, I think.
Eight or nine.

"Those things are nasty," I'd say,
"take them back outside."

Little Icarus
flew too close
to her mother.

For Poetry Pantry at Poets United

Saturday, February 20, 2016

Left Hand's Love

be patient with

hand's love   we're all born

For Kerry's prompt at Real Toads 

Thursday, February 18, 2016

Rape Is A Rite Of Passage

Rape is a rite of passage, now,
for boys
just like the girls.
Almost a kind of privilege, now
a welcome to a world

gone viral and sick.
Selfie stick
it in
again and again.

Wonder what he did -
pretty middle school mouth -
must have been

asking for it.

Note - In the last month or so, my community has been rocked by several incidents of older teenage boys sexually assaulting younger, weaker boys.  Of course, everyone is horrified, and no one questions that these assaults were exercises in domination and shaming.  There are no whispers of what the younger boys were wearing or what they might have done to welcome assault . . . but there would be if the victims had been girls.

For Words Count at Real Toads

Tuesday, February 16, 2016


I want to be pack
led by a raven's spiral.
Running down rabbits, moon drunk.
Moon blessed.  A moon choir.

Fur freeze thick.
Teeth bared
at bare-limbed winter.

I want to be pack.
I've already been
pride and murder.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Sunday, February 14, 2016


I left a Mark,
but drew no blood;
only love makes a strong
Question Marks
and exclamation Marks
are just Marks
if there's no expression.

On my Mark,
I was a wanton girl
for the time it took to tame
my shrew.
Off my Mark,
a long gone girl.
Mark me down for something better
to do.

For Poetry Pantry at Poets United

Saturday, February 13, 2016

Reciprocal Altruism

"Don't trust the cannibal just 'cos he's usin' a knife and fork!"
                                                                  --- Terry Pratchett

For you, my cannibal love,
I've blinded the jaundiced eye.
I see a hot bath
in the boiling pot;
protection in the knife.

For me, my cannibal love,
you fatten and feed for nights
of hunger
as I ripen
in your hands.

For Magaly's prompt at Real Toads

Friday, February 12, 2016

So Much Depends . . .

1.  upon a miracle,
     the recognition of a miracle,
     and the realization that the miracle
     is a red wheel

2.   upon why
      the white chickens
      the road
      in a red wheel

3.   upon pretending
      I understand
      what depends so much
      upon on a red wheel
      and soggy chickens.

For Fireblossom Friday at Real Toads 

Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Somewhere Between

Somewhere between
the rabbit and fox,
bluestem rests
on the breasts of the stars,
heat lightning tongues
her red dirt love,
and my hips
are a chamomile cradle.

Somewhere between
the rabbit and hawk,
wind walks with women,
the prairie grass poets -
we big-bellied sisters
with brown berry children
squat birthed
in sod, sweat, and songs

sung and gone.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Sunday, February 7, 2016

Derby Horse

My heart lazes in my chest;
then flings itself against my breast
and gallops like a derby horse -
all at the sight of you, of course.

I try my best to rein the beast;
still it drags me, flustered, to your feet.
I stammer and blush; I'm mortified!
But oh! You make me feel alive!

55 words for Kerry at Real Toads.  Also submitted to Poets United.

Thursday, February 4, 2016

Dos Equis Marine

Bought beer,
bought gas,
soaped Tuck Fexas on my back glass,
and cut my Friday Con Law class
to make a Red River run

down to Dallas
to cheer
for OU.
Didn't make the game, but you got a tattoo.
Me? I got pierced just to impress you.
Might have worked,

but Dos Equis Marine
got there first.

A road trip for Corey at Real Toads.  

Tuesday, February 2, 2016

Saturday's Monsters

Saturday's monsters shamble through
Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, too.
They're weary by Wednesday,
heads hanging low -
still Thursday and Friday to go.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Monday, February 1, 2016

Featured at Poets United!

My very favorite Wise Woman Sherry Blue Sky is featuring me at Poets United today.  Sherry does such a fabulous job with her interviews; go show her some love!