10 pm
slow and deliberate, with calculated steps,
the cat advances, silently stalking, the intruding mouse
who will not live to regret the visit
Moody Tree
Your name means mountain ebony,
a certain Bauhinia,
common to coastal California,
but I call you moody.
You own my front yard,
dominate passages and pathways,
burgeoning weight of verdure or
leafy reaches for spider’s webby catch to
neighboring anchors–rose bush branch or
parked car side mirrors.
How you please my wispy-boned mother braked still,
the dog leashed to the wheel chair,
under a relenting shade,
cooling an afternoon zephyr.
In spring or autumn, sometimes winter too,
you boom-blossom burbling orchids,
delicate pink and purple hazy bells
that sometimes ring in summer too.
That’s when your leaves burst butterfly hearts
of hunter green fringed in lemon-lime edges, a
hovering, healthy, verdant vibrancy.
But on any given week without reason,
your leaves brown at the edges,
then all the way through,
baring skeletal bramble
like bones of the cancerous,
exposed,
radiated,
burnt
for the winter–or summer complaint,
marring the yard, baring the hidden wreckage behind you.
That’s when the pods hang dry in rusts and reds, seeds
to bake or burst, sturdy uterine drip packets,
like dry, pea pod icicle tears crying,
yet unyielding to the grip.
And the next week,
they’re gone,
replaced by the brilliant buds like
poking penis plants peek through tightly tubed petals,
orchid splendor,
the softer side on a misty Monday.
Until Tuesday.
When the mood strikes.
Which outfit to wear for today?
Remember
Like chocolate for water is how i use to remember her. Now all I see is Darkness for light. Love for Anger and hurt by way of pain.
Floating Plastic
Plastic floating back and forth,
against ocean waves pushing it away from the plant and animal life it has sworn to protect,
it crashes against the beach,
crushing sand castles left by young children playing in the sun,
litter of the ocean,
must have come from across the way,
where rafts of yellow manufactured plastic are life giving opportunities,
rafts that struggle against the waves and weight of some people’s world,
floating back and forth,
powerful ocean waves determine its direction,
clashing with the ocean tides,
it struggles to find a balance,
shreds of yellow plastic float to shore,
clothing of children existing no more,
an overlooked reminder of man-made injustice.
Dystopian Dog Dinner
Toxic sunset radiates dull red rays into the neon twilight
Falling satellites leaving smoke trails across the starless sky
A lone cockroach crawls through scattered shattered glass from storefront windows
Perched on decaying styrofoam throne, it’s antennae quiver as it waits for the day to die
Moon rises, inspiring howls from packs of wild dogs roaming abandoned superhighways
Roaming skeletal remains of half-rusted freight trains derailed decades before,
Before the war, before nuclear winter sprinkled soft grey ash over amber fields of grain
Before the concrete streets eroded under torrential downpours of acid rain
Before the warplanes vomited their toxic payload on unsuspecting citizens and militants alike
Before the cockroach disappears with a crunch into the mangy dog’s maw as it snarls into the night
(iv) Winona….
Broken hearted, lavender sky, drips
amethyst tears on her unstirred lake;
calm eyes, cold breath, unquivered lips,
a breast that love would soon forsake.
Blood-drenched waters, viscous spread,
lachrymose in lilac his half-sobbed sighs,
a heliotrope horizon which for her has bled,
that which trickled from his stilled skies….
Hour 13
Doubt went on a trip to Arkansas
He wisp and played around
He thought oh what a beautiful life
Just to be free out in the light.
Dreaming of a life so free
He ventured into the enchanted wood
To see how wonderful it wpuld be
He saw trees spring up
Birds chirping in trees
Late evening came
He said oh I am lost
How will I find my way
He saw a little hut
Went in to peek
Well kept and neat
Just what he needed
So he went into sleep
The others wondered
Where was mr doubt
As he was ni where
To be found.
#14 – Chief Injun Joe (Nature – Different Twist)
Barren boughs arch upward like broken puppet arms
askew and akimbo on invisible tangled strings
while leafless gnarled finger branches give the shadow shape
against the hoary winter skein and the black lined horizon
The wind blows, swirling up white snow, puff tornadoes
dancing along the rocky ground in haphazard patterns of chaos,
defining cold and aridity on the great plains of the Dakotas
A fractured, ancient pyre rests disassembled beneath the tree
a memorial to some warrior or chief long since forgotten
whose exploits earned a privileged place, once green and sacred
The people knew nothing of oil and pipelines and uranium,
exploration of nature, of the Mother, were solitary walks and berries,
hunting, with great thankfulness, the vast herds of bison and deer,
stalking the giant grizzly, knowing the bear most often escaped
Beneath the snow and rock, and, in the path of progress
lay his bones, ashen gray and brittle, just as the soul of his progeny.
The oil will flow and pipelines built and flowers planted in the spring
but we will miss his tree and the old man’s spirit dancing to life.
14
My legs must just be dry, I thought, and I went to the spa where a woman in black
panties and bra scrubbed until the skin rolled off like old pieces of erasure.
But the more time I spent in the pools and feet up in the steam room (I snuck
in every time a friend fell asleep somewhere, the pull like a volley or pendulum)
the roughness came back. I started sleeping in the bathtub, and when it got
cold, I pretended I was too drunk to notice but really, I loved it. My husband
lifted me up and asked me not to drink so much, but the sheets, well everything
really, felt like large-grain sandpaper, every object about to break through.
I showered so much the grout came up and the floor caved in. Before it all leaked
beneath the door, our small bathroom was the lake I’ve always wanted. My legs
had turned so scaly I couldn’t walk, not dignified anyway, and now that the bathroom
was broken, we went to the beach, and my husband had to carry me. He’s a saint
or kinda like one, and he watched as I swam away. I used to try and visit him
but he’s so afraid of sharks he wouldn’t come into the water, and you can’t maintain
a relationship with someone who is always on shore. You have to get rid of all that
negative energy, you know? Spend a little time on yourself.
Hour 14: Magma
You are the fire
I, the earth
Erupt within me