The Poetry Marathon

We came home on a tidal wave. It slowed and lapped our front porch;

It receded and then we made pancakes and called them puffy crepes.

We watched reruns of a broken down clown jobless at our carnival.

We made a documentary of my earthquakes and tsunamis.

We placed our feet on land and woke up at 3 am; the heat made us crazy.

We drank pear wine and sipped the air outside of weed and grass clippings.

We drank so thick that our noses turned into rivers and our lungs into ponds.

We left the dog days of summer into crisp red leaves and dry autumn suns.

I am what I am.

My teeth sharp for the chewing of meat.

My tongue long to lessen the summer heat.

My fur sheds on your carpet and couch

And my nails scratch up your kitchen floor.

I sit by your dinner table, my eyes cute,

My stomach big and plead and beg.

I am what I am,

And my four legs need long, long walks

(without leashes, and lots of ladies)

And my tail needs open spaces

(on a daily basis)

And please, no dry kibble

I like my food raw and bloody

Like those birds and squirrels I chase,

But never catch (on purpose)

I am what I am

No questions need be asked.

Oh, and can you give that bone to me?

I can’t say no to a feast.

Your crags of shadow driven thicker by the morning light;

I never knew so many shades of white, until I saw you;

The glare of your western face in the 6 am orb of sun.

The wrinkles of century old glaciers ribbed with dirt,

And your nose’s highest peak, tallest above all others.

Still, in the summer heat, you contain a million diamonds

And shine more celestial than the brightest, rarest star.

chocolate chip and vanilla ice cream drips onto

ice caps are melting and chocolate chips

ooey gooey

right out of the oven and mixed in vanilla ice cream

strings of chocolate hot and rich and the icebergs

ooey gooey

and glaciers melt like vanilla ice cream

they pool and puddle near my feet smooth as glass

ooey gooey

on the concrete and I am melting in the sun

cars speed by and exhaust fills my iceberg lungs

We need a deep well and a clay pot.

We need a furrowed brow and wet feet.

We need the marble polished smoothe, veined with black.

We need the oil lamps shining toward the east.

We need mosquito nets, green grass, and shade trees.

We need a temple of cold rain to wash India into eternity.

Fingernails with my grit underneathe,

I wield my diry nails of fortitude;

I destroy the humid heat with my water tank,

My back hoe, and an ice cube down my shirt.

I dig the black earth into deeper night,

Filter in the manure and mulch.

Sticks and stones won’t break me;

They only make the soil richer.

And all of the pebbles in the soil

Sweep inside my stubborn heart

And layer the garden of my soul.

His Wife, His Marriage

I sit in his bedroom and in his home.

Now, he orders me to cook and wash his dishes.

I am Crocodile

I wait in the blue burqa of water

For my time to surge up and bite my jailer’s throat.

I have power buttons and thunder sounds,

And they complain I run too loud.

But I stand still, balanced

On their window sill,

Half in and half out,

In the heat and in the house.

I may not look like a ballerina,

But that is what I am.

I dance my cold air dance

Like a swan in the moon light

My boxy shape and industrious frame

Dances en point in the cool

Relief of restful human dreams.

Naoise tied a red string in her hair

And whispered her name.

Deirdre, with the voice of the forest;

Deirdre, with the litheness of the sparrow;

Deirdre, with the song of the three rivers;

May the music of your body beat

To the rhythm of those who came before us.

May our love, even in death, grow.

His stomach watched the trout,

With their rainbow fins,

Glide like rainclouds in the river.

Without a pole or line,

That blue eyed boy,

That bullet legend,

Cocked his hungry gun in desperation.

He shot the water;

The blast rippled the current

And blood and fish billowed

Belly up to the sky.