Broken Carousel

I am not the one who broke the carousel.
It wasn't me that fed the horses
amethyst and bone
and hid, defiant, in the darkness
to watch the sparks fly
and the strength of the spinning slow.

I am not the one who burned the ferris wheel;
burned it to the ground -
ashes at a hearth of steel.
I didn't giggle
at the midway made oblivion.
I'll cry if you will.

I am just the one who shut the games down.
Pulled the ancient levers
and let the spirit leave the eyes
of all the horror story clowns
we couldn't help but keep around -
you and I.

For The Sunday Whirl.  Sorry I've been slow to visit.  We've had a stomach at my house.

ESP

When you told everyone I had ESP-
extreme stalker potential -
you robbed me

of the radiance of your smile     how many miles
did I drag you
to shape and curve that skin again      every night

has its errors
and terrors        every town
has its open all night

car wash

for the messy side
of love.

55 extreme words for Kerry at Real Toads.  Also submitted to Poetry Pantry.

A Girls Florilegium* Of Necessary Numbers

Zero is the absolute,
the egg inside -
fertile, but unfertilized,
and waiting.

One is the creep of light.
The begetter of two.
The center of periphery.
God in isolation.

Two is a pairing -
a static pull.
Sun and moon.
Prophet and witness.

Three begins,
middles, and ends.
Clings to the body,
a skinside alchemy.

Four holds the world,
perfects the square,
and rivers milk
from ritual.

Five is first counting,
the first wild reach.
The first prayer.
The blooming.

Six is the swallowing
of three and three.
Long days of creation.
Stretched luck.

Seven brings you six
beautiful sisters,
six cows and a bull,
and 80 octaves of song.

Eight is the wind,
the beatitudes;
the plenty promised
after a fast.

Nine calls the muses
dressed in fire;
the purest poetry
dancing.

Ten is the tithe
owed to your order -
Ten Commandments,
Ten Thousand Things.

Eleven is the generous
gift of beauty -
neither male, nor female -
better.

And twelve is the torment
of grim resignation -
the return to chaos
in the hours of night.

Note: A florilegium is an anthology.  It was my word of the day, and I fell in love with it.

For Kerry's prompt at Real Toads

Centrifugal Shake

This is not an earthquake.
It's the centrifugal shake
of Lincoln spinning in the sod
at what we call debate;
at the nastiness and nonsense,
the hucksters and the hate,
and what passes for Republican these days.

For Open Link Night at dVerse

Content(s)

Courage.
Enchantment.
Permission
to work magic.
Persistence!
You have it -
divinity.

Sort of found poem from the table of contents of Elizabeth Gilbert's Big Magic.  For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads.