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

20150419-152548-427PureJewelsHarmony copyIt’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