Flow Apiece

 

were I an ailing spinster

downtrodden in whalebone stays

pale and pince-nezed nosy

would my verses flow

\snake oil slick\

along with river Thames?

I find I am much too hearty

to sit abed and scrawl

longhand iambic pentameter

with dainty perfect pen

so my words trudge

stagnant in the sludge.

were I an artiste avant-garde

flouting dilletante conventions

skirting societal hems

with off-color threads

\malcontent connection\

would my stanzas stitch

themselves permanent press?

I find I am much too staid

a slave to stoic strictures

to scribe poesy astride

a horse of different colors

so I scrawl off-kilter odes

to a life of stodgy standard

mayhaps the day will dawn

when my morphemes will march

with motoric locomotion

utterances in extremis

emotive brave locution

Night Waves

let’s stroll on the beach at night

in the wind and the waves

and the warm

let the salt salve our souls’ wounds

and the surge of the surf

sounds a rhythm

 

we strode on the sand in the dark

as the crests breached a gaping gap

broker an awkward truce

let the swells lull the lumbering beast

that will best the worst of the worst

windwash all our truths

Welcome to the Land of the Free

they swelter under the shelter

of duodenal disdain

salvation proclamation

hymn hummed helter-skelter.

who are we to gift them

of our holier than thou

bread and water

served under asylum?

equal opportunity

persecution

doled out

with military precision

wrapped in red-tape ribbons.

did they hear the pop pop pop

of our birthday celebrations

and shudder violently?

\fear needs no translation\

these babies have seen stars

worn stripes beyond their years

it is not pride the anthem

conjures in my tears.

history repeats

drum beats

repeats

\repulses\

and the children

suffer for our fears

Chaos 101

the carpet writhes underfoot

teeming with the detritus

of a thousand lurking

cocooned selves.

what say you

gritted, behind furred teeth

in the soiled stomp of a footless sock?

do you revel in my eye roll

as befits your snakebelly

stature?

I read the note you left me

scrawled in wet mayhem

\and you giggle as I trip\

you sketch me

a blood lipped evil queen

while you hashtag

#self-destruct

napalm all your bridges.

 

I hold a flame

‘neath the lemon-juiced shreds

decipher the heartsore longing

hurled in domestic anarchy.

Leaf of Heavens’ Leavings

I dream of a leaf in vein

a tree of fitful leavings

the veins plumb blue black

with the claret of my desires.

the legacy of leavings drops

\sanguine crusted\

strewn careless aground.

in the smoted eye

of a rabid fawn

I glimpse the future

as we conspire.

 

despite the tea leaved

clouds

we scuttle upon shooting stars

and tighten

our wounded thighs

as we Picasso

purple the heavens

Exposure

there is a burn

and I turn my head

scouring for the source

of the scourge.

there is a worm

in the sand of my soul

buried but squirming still

my feet are fleet

yet beat

many a mean dark street.

there hides a smoldering blaze

behind that lowered gaze

flames will not be doused

\stone sober or slightly soused\

though I pour forth milk

of kindness

froth overflowing

the scorch extinguishes

not

 

I run for waters cool

submerge my charr-ed soles

whisper to the ill-used worm

revert, don’t turn

return

Think Again

so you want to poach me

turn my guts runny

on the burn of your well blown

hot air

crack my shell and

drizzle my acquiescence

over the callous crusts

of your self-satisfaction?

I decline, sir

your nauseating offer

despite mottled past

I exude no sulfurous odors

and my shell is impervious

to narcissistic fumblings

 

you think you can peel me away

denude my autonomy

as you bake puffed up

pastries

decorated with the fruits

of others’ labors

while you fancy yourself

a suave modern day Khan?

 

I am fruit

no more than fowl

and I hear the four and twenty

blackbirds singing

lo! to your base perfidy

 

you have conjured yourself king

bishop and knave

manipulating pawns

in your checkered rivalry

imagine me

accommodating accoutrement

on your phantom battlefield

 

I have fought for my place

stomach no puppet master

win your twisted game

as I deign not

to offer a response

 

Check and Mate

 

 

 

Back to Life

the Cat in the Hat

stands on his tail on my head

spinning his collection de chapeau

haute couture hats of many colors

juggles his among mine

and bouncy bouncy Tigger

fun fun fun

balances a plate

magically precarious

on a bent fork tine.

he cools my face

flapping fans from

dear old aunt Mace

who knew how to blow

hot and bold

or in from the cold

and out with the old.

the smoke he clears

spews forth from my ears

in lieu of frustrated tears

or as telltale exhaust

from over-cranked gears.

I have run full circle

full tilt, frenzied

down hill and up dale

past heaven and hell

beyond the pale

slurped from the mop bucket

of the devil’s woman char

constructed a chair lift

of regrets and resignation

on abyss’ frozen-flamed edge

pullied myself

through grim, in determination.

now I spin the hamster wheel

off the rails

of the status quo

crash the party

of who’s who and what’s what

and kick up my heels

dancing to a drum

off the beaten path.

I hear the voices in my head

testify

to my resurrection

I give them credence

and a ruby slippered

salute