Rough Draft

The first (word) is the hardest.
Closing the fraction between you.
Nose to the left?  To the right?
Write what you know,
know if you write
it feels less like flying and more
am I doing this right?
like a stumbling rush
of fumbling forward till
pen to paper
lips touch.

For Izy's prompt at Real Toads

Poetess

I Poe.
I Po-et.
I Edgar Allan Po-et.
I Edgar Allan Po-etess.
Now ain't I just a tell tale mess?

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Small

Your net is spun of sitar strings
To hold the griefs of gods
                             --- Wole Soyinka


The grief of god seems small.
I've buried my mama and several fine dogs.
It was an apple, after all.
Just a sweet in the teeth of a curious child.
Now sparrows fly and fall
watched, but not caught.  The grief of god
seems small.

For Grace's prompt at Real Toads

Seven Scents Of Rain

Toril "Wanna Play" 12 x 24

She came soft as the seven scents of rain.

Quiet as the bloom and birth of the hills.

I know she may not pass this way again,

but I'll belly down in the long grass til

I hear her breath, her careful red dirt steps

quiet as the bloom and birth of the hills.

I sleep under the stars and outside my head

open to the wind and bare to the black.

I can hear her breath, her careful red dirt steps;

then the trip, the scream, the snap of the trap

ripping and chewing and leaving her bones

open to the wind and bare to the black.

But I'll not be taking a fox tail home.

She turned to her teeth to tear herself free

ripping and chewing and leaving her bones

to taunt me.

Then she was gone like the seven scents of rain.

Fur in her teeth having torn herself free.

I know she will not pass this way again.

A very (very, very) rough draft for Margaret's prompt at Real Toads.

Guess what?  Last year, one of my poems was included in the anthology Oklahoma Poems . . . and Their Poets.  Today, I learned that the anthology is a finalist for the 2015 Oklahoma Book Award for poetry.  Since my small involvement with the book is one of the ongoing thrills of my life, I just had to share!

Amnesia

Sometimes, I fantasize about amnesia.
I see myself waking pretty
in a white gown world washed clean
and new; my cerebellum ironed smooth.
Born again without the bruises.
Just a small scar for conversation.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads