Gardener's Secret

Every day's a long day
when no one waits for you at night.
Every day's a long day
when no one waits for you at night.
Get no glory in the bedroom,
Lord, it sure does steal your shine.

Every cry is ugly
when your man done done you wrong.
Every cry is ugly
when your man done done you wrong.
Gotta weep like a woman scorned
when you tell the po-lice he up and gone.

Every crop's a bumper
when the soil is rich and right.
Every crop's a bumper
when the soil is rich and right.
A good gardener's got her secrets.
I plant dem bad seeds late at night.

White Flag

I whispered your name to the sunrise
when I was only half awake.
The emptiness that is my answer
is still a little hard to take.

I cut my hair as a sign of mourning.
The city cut the power off.
I cut the sheets and sewed a flag of surrender.
You're gone.

You're gone.
But, the world moves on.

I haven't eaten since the last time
someone asked when I last ate.
My friends gather to drink my coffee
and worry about my state.

I threw my keys at the repo man.
I couldn't find the will to run.
I cut the sheets and sewed a flag of surrender.
You're gone.

You're gone.
But, the world moves on.

For Marian's music prompt at Real Toads

Lunatics, Lovers, And Poets

Lunatics, lovers, and poets
see signs in the clouds
and hear whispers
from pictures they've taken.
They snip locks of hair
for lockets
to carry in pockets
stuffed full of talismans
and stare longingly at nothing.
Oh, to be
a lunatic, lover, or poet!
To know that a pill, a kiss, a rhyme
can cure all that ails you.

"The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact."

William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

For Kerry's Challenge at Real Toads

The Light Loves You So

The light loves you so
that the sun hangs on in the sky
and refuses rest,
the moon waits
widow white and worthless
without the night,
and once proud time stands still.

I borrow my next breath
from your hands.

The light loves you so
that the sun bares its teeth at shadows,
the moon weeps,
and time sands itself smooth.

I drink dreams
and dine on drought.

The light loves you so
that the sun finally burns itself blind,
the moon creeps
wily
from the willows,
and time regains its fragile footing.

I am as much yours
as I was before.

For Open Link Night at dVerse

Bent

My every beat
and bone and breath
is bent
toward you

like a flower follows light
and swallows the sun

while still remaining rooted
and firmly fixed;

 a blossom breaking sky
 from broken ground.

For Open Link Monday at Real Toads

Em

She writes
to the faint light
of a window
across the way

poems that linger
on her fingers
and smudge her lips;

kisses,
soft as untried wings,
forever longed for
in her singular, untried darkness.

Written with my neice, Hayden, for Fireblossom Friday at Real Toads

Skipping Twilight

Darkness deadfalls quick
and buries day's bruising bright
under bliss black limbs.

For Tackle It Tuesday and Open Link Monday at Real Toads

Inheritance

Flat feet,
thick, dark hair,
a need to please
that bleeds all over
everything I touch.

Absent handed gifts
tied tight

with why did you leave
and forget me knots.

D-Day

Hey, Mama Zen!  After months of torturous planning, the first day of your vacation has finally arrived.  So, what are you going to do now?

I'm going to Disney World!

Be back in a few days . . .

Empty

As I empty
of all there is
to remember,
to forget,
will I rattle like a stone in a sieve,
or will my sleep be dreamless?

For the "dementia" prompt at Real Toads

This Box

Let me lock this box
of disappointments and give
you the only key.

If my traitor hands
tease and test the lock, take these
traitor hands from me.

And take these pearls of
past offense I noose around
my neck; loose them all

and let them fall like
precious planets finally freed
from hateful orbit.

For Haiku Heights and Open Link Night at dVerse

Man Like You

Walkin' be slow, but you too tired to run.
You either gots too much, or you ain't got none.
A man like you bitch if I shoot you with a solid gold gun.

You cuss de watered down liquor and de skunky seed dope.
You cuss de preacher at Holiness for holdin' out hope.
A man like you bitch if I hung you with a brand new rope.

I bake you a pie.  You got yo mouth set fo cake.
I calls up a miracle.  You call me out fo my mistake.
Lord, a man like you bitch till I gonna put you in a fresh dug grave.

A little blues for the mini-challenge at Real Toads.

This Machine

This machine
rides my hips,
my lips wrapped around a microphone.

This machine
breaks curfew
while nice girls sit at home.

This machine
rocks hard,
cradles soft,
and loves you free.

This machine
kills sexists
and preaches wildcat truth in E.

Note: "This machine kills sexists" is a nod to Woody Guthrie's guitar.

For Marian's "Suzi Quatro" prompt at Real Toads.