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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Friday, September 30, 2011

Red

On Thursday September 15th, the Virginia Board of Health passed new regulations for the twenty-three abortion clinics within the state. The new measures impose regulations on the clinic itself, including rules about ceiling height, hallway width, size of operating tables, and number of parking spaces. Proponents of the plan deem it necessary for safety reasons, but the majority of abortions performed in Virginia clinics occur during the first trimester. First trimester abortions are extremely safe and rarely present complications...The Virginia regulations are the newest anti-abortion laws in a string of state-level legislation passed since the 2010 elections...Backed by the new Republican majorities in many state legislatures, restrictions on abortion are becoming increasing common. http://www.americavotes.org/node/1660

Tie the doors shut with red tape
It's a real red-letter day
victory for the red, white, and blue morality police
wipe the blood stains off their hands
Scarlet women put in their place
faces red with shame and fear
roaming back alleys after sunset
searching
Watch the blood flow
red and redder
Watch as it floods the streets
taints the sheets
Watch them die in
rivers of crimson
Red is the color of women's suffering
Red is the color of rage
Clay soil
under the nails of the men who
dig the graves
for the women
for the girls
who don't stop bleeding
red roses atop 
their graves.

submitted for Thursday Think Tank, #68 Red at Poets United

Thursday, September 29, 2011

The Ghosts Are Not Speaking

image source
The ghosts are not speaking
If you could see them
     (which you can not)
you would see them sitting
     (perhaps hovering is a more correct descriptor)
on wrought iron benches
back to back.
You would also notice
their crossed arms,
noses and chins pointed skyward with
righteous indignation.
These ghosts carry a grudge like 
others carried the ball and chain.
They have been bickering since 1897
The dead ignore them
The living are oblivious unless
they stir up too much of a fuss
     upset a flower pot or
     scare a horse
Most days, however, are spent in
quiet and purposeful disregard.
Neither actually remembers
the slight
but each ghost knows in her restless soul
that the other is at fault
and that it had something to do with
     evening gowns
     hurricanes
     and lemon chess pie.
So, the ghosts are not speaking
but if you could see them
     (which you can not)
you would see
at the corner of each one's mouth
a very
slight
grin.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Autumn, Battle Creek Cypress Swamp

photo by Allison Tardio
Carpet of green
cypress needles under my feet
soft and sweet
Paw paw leaves
like fairy fans
their strange fruit overhead
or squished underfoot
overripe and candy sticky
Fallen logs
studded with faux seashells
the air heady with their musk
The creek gambols
over cypress knees
tickling
mud turtles
singing duets
with green frogs
Here
the world is
brown and green
lush and clean
I inhale
its essence.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Tell Me

image source
He's a little bit sheepish
but he always says thanks
I don't know what I'd do without you all
It's hell getting old
and I hate being stuck here
but I don't get around much since my fall

She says sorry for the house
I hate that it's a mess
but it's getting hard for me to keep it clean
Before my husband died
we used to take such pride
and had parties here like you have never seen

Did I tell you?
Did I tell you?
Go ahead, tell me again
I've got a couple minutes I can spare
I remember
I remember
when I used to be someone
but the someone that I used to be's not there

She opens up her door
but it takes her quite a while
She doesn't hear the bell ring anymore
The robe she wears is stained
her hair could use a wash
and I notice that some pills spilled on the floor

She says she isn't hungry
she's just a little tired
she wonders why she's always so damn cold
She promises she'll eat
if I'll turn up her heat
She tells me that it's hell when you get old

Did I tell you?
Did I tell you?
Go ahead, tell me again
I've got a couple minutes 'fore I roam
I remember
I remember
when I used to be someone
Now I'm ready
for the Lord to call me home.

for Open Link Night, Week 11, at dVerse Poets Pub

Monday, September 26, 2011

Do a Little Doodle

This is for you, Mynx! I am venturing out of my written word genre to "do a doodle" for Mynx's contest to win one of her cute little paintings. I have never used watercolors before (heck, I haven't painted since grade school!), but after seeing all the fun you artist-types seem to have with your canvasses, I went out and bought a beginner's brush set, a paint set, and a pad of watercolor paper (too cheap to buy canvasses for my own pathetic attempts!) Any advice on using these babies would be greatly appreciated, as I really don't know what the heck I'm doing! Of the 3 paintings I made today, this one was the only one I that didn't make me either nauseated or laugh hysterically, so here it is, Mynx.

Check out Mynx's blog, Dribble, for more fun!

Everyone Is Beautiful

image from Magpie Tales 84
Magical sister with hair of jet
bring down the rain
Let it wash away ignorance and fear
Bring the thunder
to drown out those 
who speak with hate
Send out your familiar
to pluck the eyes of those 
who refuse to see truth
 Let the storms come
and come 
and come
until artiface and duplicity
intolerance and hypocrisy
are rinsed away
and with the petrichor
beauty shines through.

submitted for Magpie Tales 84

Saturday, September 24, 2011

NJ Transit

Early morning
New Jersey Transit
137 into
the City
Suburban grandmas
shellacked nails, hair
lunch, shop, show
Young girl
facade cracking
running mascara
smeared lipstick
black eye
concealer can't
conceal
crying, cursing into
bejeweled cellphone
Drunk nods
says, "That's right"
looks for cigarette stubs
asks for change
Cold water restroom
no towels
Waiting
for the bus to
take us
somewhere else.

A Musing

image source
Calliope, bestowing words as your gift
We are blessed to be touched by such a muse
With voice of beauty and wisdom, you inspire and uplift

You visit dreams of poets with thoughts adrift
Daughter of Memory and of Father Zeus
Calliope, bestowing words as your gift

Created to lift sorrow and heal the rift
Conflict is quelled with words meant to defuse
With voice of beauty and wisdom, you inspire and uplift

One of nine dancing your praise in a shift
Crown on your head in golden hues
Calliope, bestowing words as your gift

But to your own art our thoughts now drift
Stylus in hand, what are your clues?
With voice of beauty and wisdom, you inspire and uplift

Blank is the tablet you always lift
Your words, offerings for we mortals to use
Calliope, bestowing words as your gift
With voice of beauty and wisdom, you inspire and uplift.

image source

Monday, September 19, 2011

Snake In the Grass

The Snake Charmer, Henri Rousseau, 1907
Don't know much about charmin'
but I caught myself a snake
Seems the man I've been lovin'
has been out on the make
Thought he was so harmless
but he finally shed his skin
I see his scales too clearly
now I know where he has been
Snake in the grass
better get outta my bed
Cause snake who try to bite me
get handed his head, oh yeah

Thought he was just flirtin
Just having some fun
Now I'm really hurtin'
from the damage he done
Snake in the grass
Forked tongue keeps on tellin' lies
Your love is like venom
You hypnotize with your eyes
Snake in the grass
better get outta my bed
Cause snake who try to bite me
get handed his head, oh yeah

I was once bitten
Believed that I was real cool
but you got yourself smitten
tried to make me the fool
Thought you could betray me
but her treasure fool's gold
who you missin' now, boy?
Your blood can just stay cold
Snake in the grass
better get outta my bed
Cause snake who try to bite me
get handed his head

Snake in the grass
better get outta my bed
Cause snake who try to bite me
just might end up dead, oh yes.

submitted for Magpie Tales, 83
and One Single Impression, 186, Betrayal

Friday, September 16, 2011

God By the Numbers




how
do
flowers
shell spirals
pinecones, tree branches
understand Golden Ratios?
I do not know much about God
but I do know this
There are yet
wonders
to
see


submitted for Poetry Jam, Through the Eye of a Poet



Photographs courtesy of Ainsley Allmark at Dolphin Visions

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Migraine 3

Hot sun heats head
Right eye cherry tomato overripe
ready to burst on
optic nerve stem smashed
into eye socket too small 
to contain pressurized pulp
And what of the left?
Molten bubbling mass
gelatinous overflow to
brainpan catch
The light, the light
angry striking flashes
sear corneal skin
Eyelids scraped
artichoke leaves
Inhale
the air stuffed
full
stench of every molecule ever here
     cigarette smoke
     potpourri
     blueberry muffin
     diaper wipes
     sweat
coeds packed in phone booth
no air left to breath
Pounding, pounding
tympanic torture
world off-key
feedback squealing shattering
VOLUME
Don't touch!
heavy, hot, choking hands send
Tilt-O-Whirling head spinning
faster, faster, faster
Close the mad carnival 
Put out the lights
Sleep, sleep
if only
sleep

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Family Photo

Image Credit: M. R. M. :http://my.opera.com/
Every year it's always the same
"Never again!" I swear
Perhaps someone different but someone to blame
Why do I bother to care?

I just want to have a little memento
Of our happy family days
But taking the picture brings me such torment-oh!
It puts me right into a craze!

First the weather looks fine with the sun in the sky
Then suddenly it starts to rain
As soon as it clears and we've all gotten dry
The little one's shirt has a stain!

Then there's the wiggly, fidgety ones
The ones who will never sit still
As soon as one sits down, another one runs
These brats are a test of my will.

And you just must see the facial contortions
That I have to view through my lens
Silly behavior beyond all proportions
And two of them baring rear ends!

A nice family photo is all that I seek
A picture of those I hold dear
But all that I have is frustration and pique
Perhaps I'll have more luck next year!

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Narcissus's Granddaughter

The Revenant, , Andrew Wyeth
Like Narcissus enchanted with his reflection
you loved those in whom you saw yourself
lavishing them, me
with your affection
  withholding from those who 
did not mirror
what you wished to see
You were good to me
for you cherished that which
you valued
Even now
you come back to me
in dreams
You are a revenant
Do you return to see me
or to see yourself once more?

Monday, September 12, 2011

Sacrifice

Fire-Spirt by filmchild
Let me be your sacrificial lamb
I get off on giving til 
it hurts
Spill my blood upon the altar 
to your gods
I am no virgin
but my heart is pure
I bleed ecstasy
I will redeem your sins
Throw me upon the pyre
I'll save your soul, baby
Watch me burn
white hot.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

The Story of Lorelei Lolita Liscoe

Just before stepping out
on her big date, Lorelei Lolita Liscoe discovered
the perfect combination of
pills
pot
powders and
potables
to make her feel
just right.
The only problem she couldn't tweak away
was an annoying
pink mouse
in her peripheral vision
that wagged its finger at her
as if she were a naughty toddler who
stole a cookie.
She decided she could live
with this minor side-effect.

However
in her haste to apply make-up and perfume
for her big date
Lorelei Lolita Liscoe forgot
to write down the recipe for her potion.
This truly presented a predicament for
the date went smashingly
and a second was planned
for the following Friday.

Lorelei Lolita Liscoe was not a woman
to panic.
She had earned her Girl Scout Gold Award
with badges in
cooking
chemistry and
herbaceous healing.
She would duplicate the formula
before her next date.
Attempt number one was not
so great:
uncontrollable sneezing
intermittent aphasia
alopecia
earlobe dysplasia.
Try number two
would not do:
crying jags and
halitosis
itchy elbows
madarosis.

Finally
on her third try
Lorelei Lolita Liscoe believed 
she had her nostrum
replicated.
This pleased her for several reasons:
1. Her date was that night
2. She was beginning to worry she wouldn't feel just right ever again
3. Her intake of pills, pot, powders, and potables that week had exceeded anything she had ever previously experienced and
4. She was starting to feel a tad strange.
Just before stepping out
on her second big date, Lorelei Lolita Liscoe downed
her elixir.
In her peripheral vision was
an annoying
pink mouse
lying in a bed made from
hair and eyelashes. It was
wagging its finger.

The Liscoe family decided to hold
an open casket funeral, saying
she seemed so lovely and so peaceful.
The mourners at the viewing of
Lorelei Lolita Liscoe all agreed that
she looked
just right.

submitted for Poetry Jam, Drug Induced

Change of Perspective

tree in our yard where lightning struck
Kicked and bruised Earth is
bullied into submission
Mother Nature screams

Windows Redux

You were once as open as the sky
As boundless as the fireflies in June
At your window watching life go by
Your light has dimmed too fast and much too soon

As boundless as the fireflies in June
Inside a Mason jar to please the eye
Your light has dimmed too fast and much too soon
Without air, a fire's going to die

Inside a Mason jar to please the eye
Your gold transforms to dross, treasure to ruin
Without air, a fire's going to die
Blind as well as masked, you're not immune

Gold transforms to dross, treasure to ruin
Behind those glass panes on which you rely
Blind as well as masked, you're not immune
You can't shut out the past though you may try

Behind those glass panes on which you rely
At your window watching life go by
You can't shut out the past though you may try
You were once as open as the sky.

(done with the "proper" Pantoum rhyme scheme of abab)

Friday, September 9, 2011

Windows

image from Poets United
You were once as open as the sky
As boundless as the fireflies in June
Watching life through window panes of glass
Your light has dimmed too early and too fast

As boundless as the fireflies in June
Saved inside a Mason jar for keeps
Your light has dimmed too early and too fast
Without air, a fire will not last

Saved inside a Mason jar for keeps
A precious treasure transforms into dross
Without air, a fire will not last
Your windows make you blind as well as masked

A precious treasures transforms into dross
The panes you trust to keep you safe inside
Your windows make you blind as well as masked
An illusion to shut out your past

The panes you trust to keep you safe inside
Watching life through window panes of glass
An illusion to shut out your past
You were once as open as the sky.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Bon Voyage

Damn these stupid magnetic wrist bands! I should've known better than to trust my equilibrium to some product advertised on late night TV.  I should have just gone to the doctor and asked for the freakin' sea sickness pills before we left on this God forsaken cruise, but, no, I had to be all natural! No chemicals packed in my luggage! I was going to rid myself of toxins, eat healthy, exercise, meditate. The other passengers would whisper, "Who is that stunning woman? She seems to glow with positive energy!" as I walked the decks of the ship in my 100 percent cotton clothing.

Now, however, I'm glowing with the day old pea soupy green color from 3 days of sea sickness. I've rid my body not only of toxins but of every bite of food that I've managed to gag down, as it's all come retching right back up. I have had plenty of time to meditate as I lean my throbbing head over the ship's rail for my post-prandial hork. I've meditated on how much I despise the other passengers on this cruise who are happily throwing back fruity, overpriced umbrella drinks and taking photos of each other with their arms around the overworked crew. I've meditated on what method I will use to murder my ex-friend who recommended these less than useless wrist magnets.

I've also meditated on the distinct possibility that when we reach our first port, I will abscond rather than reboard. I will become an ex-pat, an islander. I will stand on the shore and watch the ships arrive and depart but never go with them. Right now, it sounds a lot better than another day of barfing!

submitted for Thursday Short Story Slam, Week 9, at Bluebell Books

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Don't Forget Your Light

Don't Forget Your Light" by Sudlice at Deviant Art
Bare walls
Bare floors
Barely even here
Another place
Another name
Another empty year
Wasted time
Wasted tries
Wasted every night
Can't outrun
Can't stay here
Don't forget your light.

submitted for Midnight Snack, 1, at Poets United

Monday, September 5, 2011

Weeds

image from Magpie Tales 81
We're weeds; we fight to grow in barren soil
We steal from those nurtured, tended with care
who know not what it's like to have to toil
who never have to struggle for their share

We're weeds, the ones that no one wants to see
We thrive in places others dare not try
Becoming strong because we have to be
for there are many who would see us die

We're weeds; we dare not speak about our shame
We wear it under costumes gaudy, loud
Our shoulders slouch from bearing all the blame
When will be the day when we stand proud?

If we had been named roses at our birth
perhaps we wouldn't need to prove our worth

submitted for Magpie Tales 81

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Do You Dream?

scene from Phantom of the Opera, 1925
Do you dream in technicolor?
Do you close your eyes and wait for
the show, giddy with
anticipation?
Do you dive into your bed
grab handfuls of covers like popcorn
into your greedy hands?
Sink down into lush
mind mush
watching it all on the black screen
of night?
Do you dream in black and white?
Do you fight the fall into silent film
non-existence
your movements exaggerated but going
nowhere
screaming
with no sound?
Do you know the face
of your phantom?
Would you love him to free him
from the catacombs of
your nightmares?

submitted for dVerse Poets Pub, Poetics, Shhh...Silent Films

Capy Happy

image source

A capybara is a mammal 
That looks like a guinea pig
Has been cross-bred with a hippo
But the capy's not that big!

Capybaras live in groups
Of families alongside a river
They eat fruits and plants and grasses
Have coarse hair so they don't shiver.

Of the order rodentia
Like the mouse, chinchilla, rat
Capybara is the largest
About 100 pounds at that!

 Remains submerged for 5 long minutes
"Water-pig" its name once meant
Because it's semi-aquatic
Catholics may eat them for Lent!

submitted for Poetry Jam, Humor In Poems