Spin Out

Pedaling backwards
To catch up to younger you
You’re always trying

Gazan the Destroyer

He is a jealous neighbor’s glance

Or the bloodthirsty’s war dance.

Or finger pointed at those who don’t belong

Hate feeds his hunger like blissful song

His drums boom when all is lost

His lieutenants collect blood at any cost

With axes hewn of human skin and bone

Into battle he spins a demonic cyclone

With a fiery breath to burn the foolish

Gazan devours ignorance most ghoulish.

Poem 9: I do not wish

I do not wish to write a poem about a spider

instead of I want to write about a fly

that does not want to die a pest

but see himself as an aviator,

a hero of the World War.

Or maybe about a Dean Young’s moose

in lyrical fashion

I would rather a write an article

interviewing a worm,

half-drowned by the August rains

about the dire situation of the ravenous seagulls.

I have tried to do the taxes of the ant colony but

their deductions got too complicated, too many pheromones

or the romance novel of bees.

I would prefer to write an encyclopedia of famous beetles

in their little impeccable hats and their striking moustaches

or lacey parasols.

I won’t write about the ballet of spiders

that pirouette around the windowsill,

tip toe across the floor.

I just won’t.

 

 

 

 

Tarantula Obsession

Each night, peeking under my pillow

Waiting for the eight-legged monster

To strike.

Each day, opening the front door

Waiting for the furry arachnid

To attack.

Every visit to the zoo, lurking by the terrarium

Waiting for the fanged creature

To escape.

He didn’t strike, or

Attack, or

Escape.

He just sat there

On his furry ass

Eating bugs.

Common Ground

Sometimes

I can’t believe

we ever found

common ground.

You want to be

hard and cold.

I want to be

more compassionate.

I can’t decide

if you consider

your good qualities

as strengths or weaknesses.

I love those things

you hate about yourself

(even how you try

to deny them).

Poem 9- The Spider

We watched her for days

Clinging to the helium birthday balloon

An intricate web spun

from balloon to string

She stayed in the middle

Cast to her winds of fate

A tornado from the ceiling fan

Around and around

No other spider

Had her own carnival ride

I was curious

Was it enjoyable for her?

Did she know she could climb down the string to get off?

I wondered if she got nauseated or dizzy

Did she feel overwhelmed, confused?

 

She was there for days,

Spinning, swaying, swirling, dipping

Dipping, swirling, swaying, spinning

Her own distorted vision of a world gone mad

 

She disappeared

Had she got off at last?

Had she spun her way to safety?

Did she meet her spiderly demise

After a lunch of delicious gnat or fly?

I hoped for a happy ending

 

Today a confession

She had been murdered

My weary husband

He had grown tired wondering

If the spider would land in his hair

 

He either ended her misery or ended her joy

 

Her web is gone

The balloon still sways,

Dipping spinning swirling

As if she were still there

 

No other spider

Dare take her place

No other spider ever could