Ode to a Bed
Mellow hollow, shaped by time,
Safe, familiar, soft and warm.
Where I sleep, sit and recline,
Dawn to noon, to dusk, to dawn
I mostly live inside my head,
And leave my body on my bed.
Prompt: Sleep
Form: Ode
#25 – Opening new channels in your body
It’s not finished
Your glands are working
Opening new channels
In your body
Straps and belts
Move along your gristles
And you feel like an alien
In a gadgets shop
You’re looking at your body
And cannot recognize it
When suddenly your glands
Are over secreting their juices
You feel invincible
In front of all women
When they run away
From your true love
You want to buy yourself
A new body
But you can’t
And don’t need one
You are repelled
From all stores
When it’s night
And your body is already perfect
It’s not finished
Your glands are working
Opening new channels
In your body
Poem 23: I Doubt If I’m Up For This
How many times do we say that
to ourselves, when we smell the baby’s
diaper, and know the parents are out on a
date we sent them on, and won’t be back
for hours? When we see the old dog falter
in its steps, and know we can’t stop cruel,
inexorable time? When you, my love, look
puzzled when I try to play that game with you,
or read that poem you’ve always loved, and I
know you don’t remember, you’ll never remember
again, because so many details of our too-short
time together are already lost in the hippocampus,
where young memories go to die. I know I must
be up for this, for loving you, as your steps falter,
and you grow dim. I promise I will take care of
you, and make you laugh, even when you think
I’m just someone the agency sent,
to change your bedclothes.
He Wants a Greenie
I don’t love you, idiot!
And I wish you would
Stop!
Just stop!
I know what you want.
So leave me alone.
Your face disgusts me.
What is it about your culture
That leads you to believe
A woman my age
Might want to get plucked
By a young man
In need of a green card?
Recourse
Getting back what’s stolen can take
time,
Stealing back what’s gotten can take
rhyme,
Backing time gets old if your time’s
stuck,
Sticking back gets old when your time’s
up.
Words Too
Another chance to sleep
To dream to wake
Phrases slipping in and out
Red bubbled balloons
Anatomy awards autonomy
Giving getting second place
I shall write forever another day
Limpid pools of chlorine
On the porch of circumstance
Our hostess mostly cupcakes
Everything comes to those who wait tables
Sad story of an almost amoeba
My mother myself my grandma my other grandma
Of all the gin joints in the world
This is the one where I find sobriety
Gloria is god at her highest
Intoxication intones irrelevance insanity
There is nothing like a dime
Call me a cab, you’re a cab, I’m a cab, we can
Can we talk? No I would rather write than be President
For my next number seventeen, now done backwards, neetneves
When the going gets tough, the tough get steak
Adam, Eve and all the other folk who lived in Eden in the year one
I love you, I love you go home and sleep the sleep
Of the just can’t do it can you yes no non si nyet oui
This is the end my friends until we meet again.
Farmers Market Friends
Farmers Markets are the best when I go with you
I know they smile when they see you approaching
“pick me, pick me”
They plead for your attention.
Stone fruits and strawberries
Dino kale and daikon
Bok choy and blueberries
lemongrass and tomatoes
Your touch is tender and careful
you respect their flavors and protect their souls
Infused with passion & love
Your farmers market finds,
Become farmers market treasures.
Irish Poet
Dancing poet
In the air
Luck is fair
Dreams dare
A man or women
As everyone stares
As, the golden one
Dreams endlessly
About his or her loves
And win
The race
One has seeded
Within the
Trace
Of
Irish blood