Blog Archive

Tuesday, December 31, 2019

From the Asylum

This asylum was named for some do-gooder priest.
I bet he buggered boys and balanced the bones
on the tip of his nose, sucked them white
as these walls.
I'm a headstone, now,
in this graveyard.

Did you think I'd silent myself in this graveyard?
Or, confess myself clean to some sniveling priest?
You should know me better by now -
from heart beat to bones,
to the flesh you took - unbroken as these walls,
firm, bride white,

and willing.  Yes, bride white,
but shillings short of your station.
Tell me, is it somewhere unmothered within these walls,
or was there extreme unction by some paid for priest?
Where are they buried, those poor bastard bones,
those tiny fingers and toes sucked white?

I do not love you now.
I've had years to watch my hair fawn white,
and my bones are stiff as stones
in a graveyard.
I've outlived the buggering priest
and counted every crack in these walls,

the cockroach crawl of days across these walls -
time is short now.
The new, apple-cheeked priest
offered me paper, crisp and white,
so that I might write to you -
a letter to your dusty bones.

Well, what have I to say to bones?
I've already written it all on these walls,
the years of longing and love and loathing for you -
but it's been painted over.
Everything is blind, unremembering white, now,
blank and clean as the conscience of a priest.

Finding voice again.  For all the Toads in the Garden.

Thursday, November 8, 2018

How Did It Feel

How did it feel
the breath that you held
for heartbeats,
four heartbeats,
a sway hollow knell.
Rattling ribs
till they finally fell
apart - tell me, how did it feel?

And how did it feel
to swallow your tail
for a circle of venom
and snake oil to sell?
I've a Christian's attention
to the devil's details -
so tell me, how did it feel?

Ending with a question for Kerry's prompt at Real Toads

Saturday, November 3, 2018


If I must
   be on my belly
      eating dust
I'll be a snake.

Linked to Poetry Pantry at Poets United

Thursday, October 25, 2018

Please Remain Calm

All witnesses agree that the monster
wears a red MAGA hat.

Beyond that, descriptions are vague;
lurking, lumbering, white . . .

tiny, tiny hands.

The creature growls and groans,
but its only intelligible word

is WALL - delivered in a rabble rouse howl.
The very sound is maddening.

To soothe and silence the beast,
gentlemen are advised to softly croon
Tom T Hall's 1973 hit "I Like Beer"

(it makes him a jolly good fellow)

and slowly back away.

Women, just stay where you are.
The monster has an unexplained fear of vaginas.

For Izy's Out of Standard at Real Toads

Friday, October 19, 2018


I'm remains of the girl
who when she heard the horses coming
scraped a gravel grave
in the middle of the road

and beneath the hounds
and hooves,
loud as lungs would let her

begged "Salt,
Sir and Steed -
a bit of salt!"

But Judgement reined mean.
His malice touch drew blood -
"Copper for a coffin,
salty for the tongue!"

And drowned to sleep forever
in the middle of the road
she rots lucid and pleads

for salt.

For Get Listed at Real Toads

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Anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information about life to last him the rest of his days. ---Flannery O'Connor