A Poem

for my mother's slow wasting
for pain blooming black
for girls full of ugly and spewing

for the nights I don't sleep
and the days I don't dream
and the mean honesty between

for something like silence
silence like something
vacant, vacant and aching

for my fears held close and dear
close and dear
as lovers

Previously published in Bop Dead City

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Dandelions

If the dandelions don't lie,
it's going to be a dry summer.
I let them cluster together
and talk about the weather
whatever the neighbors think.
We all drink the red dirt and grow
drought on our tongues.
We all build our fences and spit wishes
when the wind comes.

Originally published in The Cape Rock

Submitted to Poetry Pantry at Poets United

The Door

The door    speaks
in creaks
and sighs
a warped wooden soldier
eyes ever forward
locked tight

          out, I whisper
          where the grain hints
          an ear.
          I pound his lapels
          till I fear
          he may fall
          upon me

                         but, see!  The whole doorway
                         shakes
                         from my fists!
                         Still the damn door hold fast
                         if I wish
                         to enter I must break
                         myself small
                         so's to slip
                         past the dead
 
                                                                      bolt.

For Midweek Motif~Doorway(s) at Poets United

Gaiety

There is gaiety
'mongst the laity
for the season is a spinnin'.

The priest can't hold
his pride or peace
amid such wanton sinnin'.

"Shame, shame,"
he thunders, "flames
shall burn you all to cinder!"

"Promise?" cried a bawdy wench.
"I'll need the heat
come winter."

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

#Rage

all my
incense
smells like
anger

a burning car
a burning cross

mantras
muddle
on my
tongue

peace, a language
lost