Jazz Moon

Jazz moon shines softly
in the ebony sky
The stars
notes on a staff
of telephone wires
Waiting to be played
by anyone looking up
My love and I walk
measure by measure
beat by beat
down discordant streets
The melody lies
beneath the surface
And we groove
to our own harmonies.

Every Scrap

Life is fragile
You, my friend, are not so
Such a small creature
You have such a
presence
Such a strong grip
on this life-
Claws scratching
Teeth bared
You will not surrender
your gift
until you've scraped every scrap
off the bone.

Le Sang d'un Poète

The blood of a poet

is no more precious than

the blood of a child

the blood of a gangbanger

the blood of a survivor

The blood of a poet

is no more profound than

the blood of a mother

the blood of AIDS

the blood of transfusions

The blood of a poet
is not special

It is not art

It is only human

And that is enough.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Words Count With Mama Zen

Which Princess Are You?

Photo by Christopher Jobson for Colossal

The princesses of Dismaland

are dismayed

by their company's poor marketing strategies

and lackluster consumer demand

Tinderella

is desperately seeking a hook-up

She checks her phone constantly

disappointed by the dearth of hot guys

Snow White Lives Matter Too

thinks she's socially conscious

and not at all racist

but just doesn't get it

Mariel

escaped her country on a crappy little boat

filled with convicts and the mentally ill

and nearly drowned in toxic waste-filled water

Jazzmine

is a brilliant artist

She is addicted to heroin

and will eventually be found dead in the Castle

Belle Jarre

is quite melancholy

and wanders the park 

with her head in an oven

Chip and Dale

two washed-up ex-strippers

try to enliven the girls by offering lap dances

There are no takers

Even Pluto

the princesses' favorite pet

can't help cheer them up 

Corporate deemed him no longer a character

He now sits outside the gates

howling at passers-by

and begging for scraps.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Tuesday Platform 

It's Not Art Unless It Has the Potential To Be a Disaster

Photo by Christopher Jobson for Colossal

The gallery’s ready

The artist is in

The crowd stands waiting

For it to begin

The doors are open

The Chardonnay flowing

Critics’ heads nodding

With insiders’ knowing

Wallets are bursting

With checkbooks and cash

While patrons muse anxiously

“Genius or trash?”

The gasp is collective

Rejection? Disdain?

“It’s perfectly awful-

He’s done it again!”

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Flash 55 Plus

Summer Night

Nocturne in Black and Gold, James McNeill Whistler, wikimedia commons

Night softens the day's edges

The moon erases

boundaries

Rubs out distinctions

Sky becomes earth becomes trees

Feet become sidewalk become paws

Arm becomes leash becomes dog

Separateness becomes oneness

Footsteps blend with

the clicking of paws

the thud of heat lightening

the trill of crickets

the bass rhythm of frogs

A soup of sound,

thick and nourishing

We walk,

an aggregate of bone and skin and fur, 

wrapped in the warm muddy mist

of a summer night.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Non-FB Friday, Finding the Right Tone

Great Expectations

The Artist In His Studio by Rembrandt

Potential looms large

Over an empty canvas

Painter hesitates.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Weekend Mini Challenge - Ekphrasis

Pigeon Superstition

source

You tell me that you love me

But you run so hot and cold

You hug me then you shove me

I just can't get a hold

You swear to God you need me

And then you walk away

You never wanna see me

Then you're beggin' me to stay

You're random with affection

I just can't seem to score

It's pigeon superstition

Keeps me pecking for more

You say that I'm so special

That no one else will do

But then I find your texts

with all the girls you wanna screw

You plead with me to keep you

You need me by your side

But I can't help from feelin'

I'm being taken for ride

You love me then ignore me

It's paradise or hell

It's pigeon superstition

and it's workin' so well

I love you and I hate you

You got me in a rage

It's pigeon superstition

and I'm stuck in the cage.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, The Tuesday Platform  and a very belated
Pigeon Superstition

Crepuscular Creatures

source

Call me

a crepuscular creature

I exist

in the in-between

Not light

not dark

Not day

not night

I inhabit the fringes

the edges

My time

is the time of change

the time of uncertainty

I hover 

along the borders

of this and that

I am at home

in the almost

and the not-quite

I belong to everyone

and to no one.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Weekend Mini Challenge: Poetry Time

A Calling Out

This poem is not polite

This poem means to trespass

This poem is angry

You call me immoral

Your morals are conveniences

You are a hypocrite

No, this poem is not polite

You value life

and support the death penalty

Does inconsistency make you uncomfortable?

This poem trespasses on your comfort

The only life you value

is rich and white

Others you condemn to suffer

This poem understands anger

This poem spits at politeness

This poem trespasses through your morals

This poem is angry.

Too many words for Flash 55+ so submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Tuesday Platform

Trespass

image by Banksy

I finally got you out of my life

Now stop trespassing in my mind!

You trample through my thoughts

like some pesky kid

who cuts through the neighbor's yard

back and forth from school every day

No matter how many times

I chase you away

You always come back

and always with

that stupid smirk!

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Flash 55 Plus

Roxy Calls

Roxy calls all the men "honey"
cuz she can't remember names
Halloween bag full of sweets
Every one tastes just the same

Checks her horoscope each day
Acrylic nails tap on her phone
Virgo, the virgin makes her laugh and say
"I was never one of those."

Roxy wears her fuck-me heels
And a mini dress so tight
like a lime green ace bandage wraps her body
She knows that she's looking right

Mama hasn't called in years
(but who's counting?)
Family says that it's a shame
But she's done with all the prayers and all the tears
Roxy says "It's who I am."

Roxy calls all the men honey
cuz she can't remember names
Medicine chest full of poisons
They all make her feel the same.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, It's A Shame About Ray

Meet Your Meniere's!

Girl In Black

I am the girl in black

I wrap myself in blind heartbreak

thick and dark as pitch

The people have branded me

a witch of sorts

What facile assumption!

I, my dear, am a werewolf

I have no need for spells

or dolls with pins

I have claws more caustic

than a scorpion's sting

Teeth that tear through flesh

easy as butter

Men fear me

I am blood

and bite

I am tides

and howling at the moon

They hunt

what they can not understand

or possess

Are you afraid?

Come a little closer

Can you detect my scent?

I wear my blood like perfume

It is quite enticing

once you get past the gore

I know what you're thinking

"She'd be wild in bed"

Well, come lay with me

and I'll show you wild

I will devour you

Savor your taste

on my tongue

and lick my lips 

when I am finished.

submitted for Magpie Tales Mag 278
and The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 207
and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Tuesday Platform

Sarasota Summers

Children Playing on the Beach by Mary Cassatt

I walk along the ocean's edge today

I feel the warm, wet sand beneath my toes

Remembering the times I used to play

With grandmother in summers long ago

Collecting seashells buried in the sand

Like treasures waiting just for us to find

Along the beach we wandered, hand in hand

Our shoes as well as worries left behind

And though today  I walk the beach alone

I still keep my eyes cast upon the sand

To search for seashells even though I'm grown

Our treasures there to seek within the strand

I gaze upon my shells and feel so blessed

Those Sarasota summers were the best!

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, The Edge

Scarecrow

artwork by Eoin MacLochlainn

You let loose your crows

to pluck the grains from my splintered heart

I stand in the field

cracked and open

Bones escaping skin

Blood colored earth

red clay beneath my collapsed form

A broken scarecrow

Plucked too clean

to even crawl away

I tried to protect what was mine

But your talons were razors

against my flesh

Your beak too acute

Go on and scatter the seeds

of my trust

Your garden will grow to be

such an attractive quilt of lies.

submitted for Sunday Whirl, Wordle 206

Swimming Lessons

Bathers, 1950 by George Tooker

The smell of chlorine and sweat

stings my nose and throat

My feet scrape against

unfamiliar concrete,

step in puddles 

of warmish water

The sickly sweet scent

of suntan lotion

fills the air with

artificial coconut

My bathing cap

covers my head

in gaudy rubber flowers,

the strap pulled too tight

I gaze around the grass,

try to find an open spot

to lay my towel

and glasses

Now I am a mole

in the overbearing sunlight

I want to tunnel

back underground 

Here I am too exposed

My pale skin protests

the scorching light

Shouts and laughter

of other children

are a foreign language to me

I am an outsider

I know my otherness

will be discovered

any moment

Whistle blows

shrill and ominous

The lesson begins

Cold water assaults

my skin,

uncovered and unprotected

We line up

at the diving board

I feel like a cow 

being herded to slaughter

One after the other

the children jump and dive

Then it is my turn

I feign confidence

and walk to the board's end

pray silently to Poseidon

and jump

The sting hits 

my belly

as it always does

My nose fills

with water

My eyes

with tears

I climb up the ladder

Bright red slap on my belly

and a matching one

on my face

I look at the clock

and calculate 

how many more assaults

I must endure

until the hour is

over.

submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag 277

Burn

The darkest places in hell are reserved for those who maintain their neutrality in times of moral crisis. Dante Alighieri

Black woman dared
climb above white men
Silenced hatred
Led away
in handcuffs
Black churches
burn to ashes
Barely make the news
Black men
black boys
shot by white police
again
We shake our heads
Baltimore burns
with anger
and hopelessness
We turn off the TV
Hell is on the way
It's coming for us.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Flash 55 Plus

In the Middle

The last item checked off Friday's list

I jump into my car

Head South

The desk clerk at the hotel

Knows us by name

Our little secret

We take off our clothes

Our identities

Our responsibilities

Giggle like the kids we actually are

Hide under the covers

Two turtles in a doublewide shell

Poke our heads out

Only to get a little water

Or burgers and fries

Come check-out time on Sunday

We reassemble our adult costumes

I drive North, you South

Count the days until next time

In the middle.

submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag 275

60 Words

Ashes to forehead
Hand to the fire
Mold your own morals
Whatever's required

Pray to your God
Know that he'll hear
Hate all the others
The ones that you fear

Enter the church
Wearing your sin
Sit near the preacher
Welcomes you in

Spit out old hatreds
Blue, white, and red
They offer love
You shoot them dead.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Words Count with MZ,