To Serve and Protect
A young mourning dove
seeks police protection,
nests on the windshield
of a parked cruiser.
She gets umbrella coverage,
and as many fresh worms
as the officers can find.
Mom and chicks are well.
©Ardelle Hollis Ray
24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
My name is Ardelle, although I'm also known as Ms. Tiger to You, or Ms. Tiger, or Tiger. I'm retired and live in Las Vegas. I began writing poetry and prose when I was 6, stopped when I was 18, then resumed when I was 54. I now write short stories themed to stage magic and illusion, and poetry. Perhaps I'll get courageous and try a screenplay or novel, who knows...
To Serve and Protect
A young mourning dove
seeks police protection,
nests on the windshield
of a parked cruiser.
She gets umbrella coverage,
and as many fresh worms
as the officers can find.
Mom and chicks are well.
©Ardelle Hollis Ray
Hunger
Each casino
has a special hunger,
an acquired taste.
This hunger runs deep
for more than money,
which has no value.
One may devour cars,
spitting metal chunks
into the desert.
One may drink souls,
leaving empties
at its bars.
Flee the casino
where the elevators
smile as they open.
©Ardelle Hollis Ray
nightmare
she began to panic
when the black canopy
of night suddenly tore,
spilling a startled moon
into a nearby lake,
to lodge in her breastbone
so that she couldn’t breathe.
©Ardelle Hollis Ray
Colonist
When I volunteered,
little did I realize
how much I would lose,
that my womb would grow sterile,
that my heart would grow lonely.
Adventure called me,
my footprint in rust-red soil,
a new way of life
away from the blue and white
of my mothering planet.
But now I wander
further from the colony…
I cannot find home
upon Mars, within myself,
or among the silent stars.
©Ardelle Hollis Ray
Praise
Praise be for the poets
Prickly thorns in our sides
Promises of comfort
Placards that admonish
Postcards of memory
Path of our ancestors
Prophets of the muses
©Ardelle Hollis Ray
walkway
a waterfall’s whisper
a glimmer of fishes
a duck’s joyous landing
a bobcat’s silent paws
©Ardelle Hollis Ray
Ghost Train
There is no schedule
When the train is a ghost.
How can I ride
When I can’t buy a ticket?
When the train is a ghost,
It never stops at the station.
When I can’t buy a ticket,
I get to walk home.
It never stops at the station.
I am invisible.
I get to walk home.
Nobody notices.
I am invisible.
There is no schedule.
Nobody notices.
How can I ride?
©Ardelle Hollis Ray
Anti-Angst
Don’t sweat it.
I get it.
Don’t fret it, don’t fear it.
I don’t want to hear it.
I’d rather stay gloomy,
All grumpy and doomy.
Two is a crowd.
I’m not sharing my cloud!
©Ardelle Hollis Ray
Train Tour
Slowly they drift toward the station, iron filings drawn to a magnet. They ignore the steady passage of the freight wagons. They have no time for the sleek, smooth virgin as she rushes down the tracks. Awed into silence, they await the return of a legendary hero.
In green livery,
The Flying Scotsman whistles
As he steams past them.
©Ardelle Hollis Ray
tekhne
the words
the carpentry
the structure of logic
the solid scaffold of grammar
this is the magic of technology
the texture, the well-wrought pattern
the weaving of poems
threads that support
the words
©Ardelle Hollis Ray