When Dog Is Done

When dog is done

night eats day

to full

the moon

or so

wolves

say

For Fireblossom Friday at Real Toads.  Also submitted to Poetry Pantry at Poets United.

The Book Of Dog

5th grade, 10 yrs, Dog

Reading from The Book of Dog

these verses from The Book of Dog:

A prophet is a sleeping dog

curled eternal O.

Partaking of The Book of Dog

to remake man as The Book of Dog

trains he can.  From The Book of Dog:

Ye shall know him by your nose.

For Margaret's prompt at Real Toads

Blood Of Summer

Blonde sun in a blue-eyed sky.
Long legged days stretched
from neck deep
to night's full abandon -
consummated by stars.

The earth spins
towards the moon's touch;
the crescent
shining tongue kiss
on the throat of a river -
warm as a willing girl.

But I
have the taste of mud in my mouth.
The form of a man, of woman, of hound.
I killed fire with spit
and spread the ashes around
where I stood
in the blood
of summer.

Black sun in a sky of ice.
Days
lock jawed and trap snapped -
time is a fiction
stars tell to children.

The earth slumps at the corner bar,
her spin spent -
in her glass,
the last of her rivers.
Rare
as girls.

And I
have the taste of worlds in my mouth.
The form of a man, a woman; I howl
to kill fire with will and spread the ashes around
where I stood
in the blood
of summer.

A bit late and rough for Midweek Motif at Poets United

Gratitude

I write
you read
thank you

A silly bit of something for Sherry in thanks for a truly lovely write-up at Poets United.
Spreading the joy at Real Toads as well.

Madding Moon

I fed my bird the madding moon
hoping that she'd sing in stars.
Now night to night and noon to noon,
she flings herself against the bars

of the cage I built for her by hand.
Its tiny swing that lies of space
and open air hangs limp - she fans
and bloods her wings against the gate.

I dark the bars in hopes she'll sleep -
may her ruffled flutter silence soon!
Then to hear the singing of the stars,
I served myself the madding moon.

A rough bit of madness for Kerry at Real Toads.

I'm featured today at Poets United.  Thanks, Sherry!

For Grannie

This world can burn, but as long as she
     lives, I'm still somebody's baby.

For Poetry Pantry at Poets United

A Short Census Of Sounds

Cherokee Chickasaw Choctaw
Seminole Muskogee

Kiowa Comanche Apache
Osage Shawnee

Kiowa Potawatomi
Kickapoo Ponca

Cheyenne Arapaho
Sac and Fox Pawnee

Canopy

When I was a girl, the boogeyman
scratched lightly at my window.
When I was a girl, spring young and sweet,
I let the boogeyman in.
Wild from winter wander,
he made canopy of the covers.
And the girl I was when I was a girl
was never seen again.

Inspired by my childhood fear of my canopy bed and written for Real Toads.

No Small Thing

Sinking deep into your skin
          spread across
          the hard

wood floor
          brokenness
          lives here

     It is no small thing.

The clock tick tocks
     the click of bones
bloodless.

We swap air
     from lung     to lung
the two of us.

Done
     undone
         and done

It is no small thing.

For Paul's prompt at Real Toads

On Balance

Live
sun sober.
Write moon drunk.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Imperfect

be wilder?
   bewilder?
a dull spot on the ear

haunted
   or haunting -
who's at the bottom of the stairs

smeared
and smarmy make-up
I cannot read the lips

my mirror
   is cracked
      imperfect
         imqɘɿʇɘɔƚ

For Poetry Pantry at Poets United

Rooms I've Left

Each a tomb
with a Sisyphus stone,
these are the rooms I've left.

The cheap motel room;
worn carpet
thick with tv glass.

The classroom;
slick tiled,
not even a window
to jump from.

The death room;
the rigor mortis
the I'm fine rictus
of grief.

Outside, my Mary Magdalene;
darling, where
have you been?

His Shirt

There's lavender,
I'm sure of it.
And a melt
of vanilla ice cream.

Leaves of mint crushed
between fingers of bourbon.

Smoke.
The first minute

of rain.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Monday

8:07 p.m.

I keep my eyes on our reflection.  I watch you touch me;
I watch me touch me better.  I am in love with my hands.
The arch of my back is a crescent moon.  You are the sky
I slice through to shine.  Orgasm is insanity, a dark-haired girl.  I know her from somewhere.
Her eyes are my reflection.  Delicious.

11:49 p.m.

I keep my eyes on the flutter under your eyelids, the shifting clouds
of consciousness; our reflection is behind me and beneath me, now,
my back is straight.  I slip into myself.  I watch my steps.
I am in love with my feet.  The sky is ribbons.

For Izy's "waiting" prompt at Real Toads

When My Man Comes Home

I dance for my man -
every bone a shimmy.
I spin myself around for him,
offerings in my eyes.

I come for my man -
at the sweet snap of his fingers -
my tongue liquid with love
for the giving hand.

I sleep with my man -
back to back and dream to dream.
Snuggled safe in my orbit -
earth dog and the sun.

Through the eyes of a dog for Sherry's prompt at Real Toads

Beginnings

To the sky,
dust.
Dead water
in my pocket.
Near my ear,
God.
A conjugal
in lace.
Dead water
sky.
Crow feathers
in my pocket.
Of tender meats the murder
gives my bones a face.

For Midweek Motif ~ Beginnings at Poets United.  Also submitted to Brandon's prompt at Real Toads.

Woman

Remember how it felt, woman,
deciding your shit for yourself, woman -
just letting it all go to hell, woman,
and putting the car in drive?
The weight shaking loose off your back, woman,
and scales falling free from your eyes, woman.
You spit the gag out of your mouth, woman,
and kissed as much as you'd cried.
Remember, so when it gets hard, woman,
you don't forget who you are, woman.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Last Night I Called

to the sun and the moon
to God and the stars
to the Goddess
and to my own mother,
long dead and buried.
Silence.
Not even the night breathed.
Worse than silence
I didn't believe
anymore.

Still, there was morning,
too busy as usual,
till finally free to commune
with my coffee outside
I startled a dove, and a feather fell

slow

as if floating
on the breath of God

slow

to rest
in my open palm

and I saw
I saw

just for a second

A true story for K's prompt Real Toads