Avant-Girl

Street Art by Saki and Bitches, London East End  (photo by lolamouse)

I saw you walkin' down the street

Can't get you off my mind

Your brown skin glistened in the heat

Ripe peach from the behind

You flirt, you flaunt with your tight dress

Your hair is waves of blue

You leave me shakin' and a mess

Don't know what I'mma do

Girl, you know you're fresh and brash

And you make my mind whirl

Some folks be sayin' you're just trash

But you're my avant-girl.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Avant-Edge: A Sunday Challenge

Anything

Anything for you, baby

You know that, don't ya?

If you want my attention, I'll drop whatever I'm doing

and give you anything you want

You know I'm a sit on the couch and watch SVU kinda girl

but if you want to go out,

I'm up and out the door - just let me put on my shoes, honey

You can take the covers, take the pillows - both of them

I just wanna sleep next to you

You can snore in my ear

and it's better than any Beethoven symphony

If you're feeling affectionate

I'll cuddle with you despite my hot flashes

and your tendency to smell like rancid Fritos

I'll accept your sloppy kisses

like they're gold coins pouring out of a slot machine

You know that I see you kiss other girls

and other boys

It's alright, baby

I know I'm your number one

You'll always be mine too

Anything for you.

Baby Mouse and Soni the Poodle

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Kerry Says - Let's Have a Conversation

One of my favorite Doggy poems by one of my favorite poets, Andrea Gibson

Feline

You sneak up behind me
A cat after prey
Soft and silent
as night swallows day
You sedate with your purr
Rub your body on mine
Make me believe
You're a creature benign
Crystal green eyes
Reflect my desire
Give nothing away
of what will transpire
I reach out to touch
Pull back bloody and scratched
You walk away
Smug and detached.

Submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, FB Friday, The Art of Guido Vedovato

Here is the link to the painting that inspired the poem

Snapshots

Meshes of the Afternoon by Maya Deren

The bread is stale

The flowers are dead

I look in the mirror and see

my mother

The roses are red

So is the blood

The mirror is cracked

The pill is swallowed

The flowers are lovely

The bread is round

The people are celebrating

The door is open

There is no bread

The flowers are pressed

The knife is at the wrist

The baby cries

The baby cries

The baby cries

 

The dirt is on the grave

The mirrors are covered

Where is the key?

Swallowed  by grandmother

The stairs are endless

The phone is silent

The music has stopped

I stare at the key

The bread is stale

The flowers are dead

I look in the mirror and see

my mother.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Bits of Inspiration: Maya Deren

Reflections on My Daughter Graduating

She sat among them-the mothers she had known for years. She had seen them at school events, awards ceremonies, field trips, parties since her daughter had started school, over twelve years ago now.  She glanced over their faces, as familiar to her as her own, and smiled as she thought, “Damn, I hate these bitches.” 

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Flash  Fiction 55