No Country for Old CrittersBein' an owl, I reckon I see most things that other woodland folk are just too blind to see. Can't see the forest for the trees, an' all that. Mostly simple stuff, nothin' worth writin' a book about. But I seen a couple things, mind, as could make a creature ponder its rightful place in the world. I seen a rabbit once't, possessed by the devil (or an adrenal excess) who done broke the nose offen the fox what was chasin' 'im. True, it's an unusual twist to see sich a thing happen, but that weren't nothin' compared to how that same rabbit feller got his nose broke by a female what he done decided to make friendly with. Glories of nature, spring . . . phooey. March madness, that's what it is.
Now, if he's wise, a creature might take a lesson from this here yarn. Might learn somethin' how danger'll getcha most easy in your own backyard. Another might see in this story as how despite all 'pearances no one is ever truly helpless. Me, near as I can figure I jus' reckon as how women is the mos
Western HaikuWestern Haiku8 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
First-chair violin, playing Canon in D,
Stabs ear drum and violates a masochistic
I rewind, turn up the volume, and tremble
Will there come a time when books of paper are
Completely replaced by electronic plagiarisms?
"No," my boss tells me. But when he grew up,
He didn't have a Kindle or a wi-fi laptop to read
Under the blankets
With a flashlight
After lights-out time.
Coca-cola has appropriated the flavor of vanilla.
It's delicious, cool, and fizzy, and would have been
An aneurism of genius had it not been done
Fifty years ago in drug store soda fountains
And promptly forgotten
Like young George Bailey.
Will I ever find true love?
Never doubt it.
She Dazzles Me...She Dazzles Me...8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
She Dazzles Me with Sepia Tones of Light
She dazzles me with sepia tones of light
and lets me touch her earthenware brassiere.
The pounding of my blood distorts my sight.
I hesitate, knowing that I must fight
to whisper silver passion in her ear,
but I am dazzled by her sepia light.
She freely shares her warmth when snow falls white.
She offers all, but seeing her shed tears
can freeze my blood and still distort my sight.
Her earthy glance, her eyes, can down my flight
and bury me in worldly cares' veneer
were I not dazzled by her sepia light.
She hears my soulful song and holds me tight
and preens my wounded id and drowns my fear.
The pounding of my blood distorts my sight.
Her earth and body win my lust. I bite
her flesh and drink her in and hold her near,
and still she dazzles me with sepia light.
She stills my blood to give me earthly sight.
To Drown a Rat I met my first rat in São Paulo, Brazil--not in the sticky summer when you wait for your turn to feel the oscillating fan for a few seconds each minute, all night long, but in the cold, sticky winter. Winter in São Paulo (starting in June and humidly freezing its way through August) is the time when you mix flour with rubbing alcohol in a small cereal bowl to burn and heat your room all night, because central heating in Brazil is more ridiculous than Gonçalvo Braga da Silva's jokes that gently skirt humor without bedding it down. "Why did the Hulk's girlfriend dump him? (Pause for comedic timing.) Because she wanted a more experienced man; he was too green." . . . But the rat.To Drown a Rat7 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
He was having a leisurely time in the kitchen late at night, as was his custom, until the guys and I tried to flush him out from behind the butane stove tank with broom handles and other weapons that made us feel safe, as though we were th
Urinal EtiquetteUrinal Etiquette8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
What are you thinking, taking
the stall next to mine? It's pissing me off!
There's no personal-space buffer zone.
Your body heat encroaches
upon me, a vigilante electric blanket.
I'm only looking at you to make sure
you're not peeking at me and my best
friend. From the cradle, we've been joined
at the hip, he and me, surviving Freudian anxieties
and staying up late, telling jokes, sharing a drink
when Susie Davis blocked our hopes as
a roid-raged linebacker might, and
here you come, taking the stall next to mine
when it's clear you could choose any other.
I'll flush you like a bean burrito if you even
think about casually brushing my elbow,
but maybe it was my fault in the first place.
I could have gone one over next to the wall,
but that would've left me checkmated.
There's nothing left for me but to wash my hands
of this urinal, and of your lack of etiquette.
Keep It CoolKeep It Cool8 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
All you swingaz out there
Gotta keep yo'selves alive
Wit' a tiny twist 'a lemon
An' a healthy dose 'a jive.
Keep it cool, daddy-o,
And you can't stop the beat.
Keep it way past cool,
To the tip of the Top Hat.
Biddley-dee da doo-bop,
Zah, da zwee da zoo-bop.
ba, da'dn doo-bop.
Keep it cool, hip cat,
When ya bring yo scat to bat.
Knock it clear out the park,
To the tip of the Top Hat.
Far AwaySometimes we grow up like this:Far Away6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
gyroscopic, like sunflowers, our faces turning
towards the sun. And the sun is more than a ball
of burning gas. The sun is warm and bright
and alive. And we are warm and bright and alive.
I am no bloom. Wings do not rely
on the kindness of strangers. But sometimes they will tell you
that people arent things you can own.
They will tend to the flowers, they will lean into the garden,
prune dead leaves and reshape
innocent bushes. Their sweat will drip into
your faces, my glittering lilies, my lonely and cynical roses,
and they will tell you how to
come into your own. They will say the world is a
cold and frightening place when you are
far from your home soil. They will pack your roots with compost
and entice you to stay.
Rise from the dirt and move on.
Un.an.tic.i.pat.edUnanticipatedUn.an.tic.i.pat.ed7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Unanticipated, as I showered
today, I watched long black strands of your hair
coil like water snakes toward the drain,
whipping their muscular way
toward the sewer, slipping through
the surge, singing silent songs of entropy
as they left me to cry
over the scent of your shampoo and the pitted
razor blades that did not leave with you
when death came to take you from our house
and, before the kitchen felt
my feet and fingers searching for
routine, before the bed unmade me
more than yesterday, I again
turned down the frames of you Id
set atop the shelves wed hung
to hold memory unanticipated.
EPIC HAIKU QUESTION-A-THON"Just three days behind -EPIC HAIKU QUESTION-A-THON8 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Better late than never, right?
Have a platypus!" <3
"My friend, your cat is
Flying through the stratosphere,
Chasing flying fish."
Day 2: (Needed two for this one! xD)
"The cake tells untruths
Because it didn't get loved
In its sad childhood.
Its mission in life
Is to deceive others, but
All it wants is love!"
Day 3: (Points if ye get the reference in this one!)
"A wizard's beard is
As precisely as long as
He means it to be!"
Ode to the sweet stuff:
Chocolate has a bash on tongues.
It's better than sex
Ah, Freddie, my dear,
Wherefore comes thy dandiness?
Gotta be the 'stache. <3
Sugar highs are fun,
But won't make your rocket go!
... Er, that came out wrong.
Day 7: (>D THIS ONE NEEDED TO BE A LIMERICK!)
Shalafi doth think it quite fun
To cause madd'ning bunnies to run
For Raist needs no clone,
He kicks ass alone,
Because THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!
X-Ray eyes see all;
But they still can't see what life
Is really here for.
Scourgeleaves shuffled alongScourge6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
from breezes gone bitter
across a river
with maternal blood
from my thighs that
with the onset
of autumn, and
of our union-
clay soil darkened
with cooking oil
and human waste
in the dying light
of day and a life
the way summer
only to turn away
The Drug OperaAs dusk dripped thick through a coffee filter brume, the edges of the sky blistered and curled in on themselves like a photograph aflame. The orphaned troupe Alamort marched - no, limped, dragged their fractured marionette legs over the macadamized road towards a sizzling neon sign, the vista bathed in its bright red panicked heartbeat. A plaque of hoary grout plugged the fossil veins of crack-toothed cobblestone, whispered salty scandal to their tattered shoes. Rainwater crept through seams in the jigsaw stone, trilling toward Canaan in days-long fingers of living mercury.The Drug Opera9 years ago in Transgressive More Like This
And they followed it, the five pairs of abandoned feet, walking the dew lines like liquid tight rope toward their aqueous juncture, to where the melted clouds converged in pulsating chrome puddles; at the grand and pompous feet of The Drug Opera.
Relic, Whimsy, Fustian, Antic, Sorry; kith ranging in years from seventeen to twenty-eight. They dissolved into a line, hand melding into hand like the grimy pearls
Spring Bash Haiku-thon 31 DaysSpring Bash Haiku-thon 31 Days8 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
My poems will be in the artists comments, for some strange reason - DA will not let me edit the text - so all 31 days will be in this deviation until I can get it figured out! Dang DA sprites....
Dying Changes EverythingClouds and pearly gates,Dying Changes Everything7 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
I dream of sailing
into the west.
On a Very Clear DayOn a Very Clear Day7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
On a very clear day,
the wheel in the sky hides what he knows,
but I still see a very long way.
Truth, found slant in shades of grey
a screen of falling leaves for projecting my family slideshow
on a very clear day.
Freshly-cut bales of hay
crumble against the early onslaught of snow.
I can see a very long way,
can pluck the darling buds of May
when spring is still a gift unbestowed.
On a very clear day,
a scene no artist could portray,
feel our passion ebb and flow
while gazing very far away.
My kingdom for the palette of Monet.
All life breathes, loves, fadesI suppose.
On a clear day,
I can see, see a very long way.
A cupboard full of dreamsA cupboard full of dreamsA cupboard full of dreams6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is all thats left in my kitchen.
You took sugar, salt and spice
and left me monsters, castles and knights
to cook our meals with.
Cant you see this isnt enough?
You say youll be paid some day,
and till then, well survive, somehow.
But the cupboard is empty to all but us,
and to me, its contents are fading.
You built good dreams
they lasted longer than all the others.
What kind of preservatives did you use?
I bet it was sugar and lemon and love.
You knew that this way, Id never get enough.
Haikuthon July 2009Haikuthon July 20096 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
gnarled tree roots
stretch down into the pond
resting for a spell
a thousand flags
whip in the wind
praying for profits
in the cool building shadow
in the distance
beyond the looming storm —
hint of orange dusk
a golden half-moon
hangs near distant streetlights
amid gentle rapids
an old tire
over waves of tall
Fionnuala's SongMirror-light curls and carvesFionnuala's Song7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the ripples of the
cool as a northern caress on
I think that I
might be a
stop the clocka sea of houses comes rolling instop the clock6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
rusty roofs bending
shingles popping like fireworks
(expressing their independence, they die)
while you and I
(nothing more than genetic flotsam, now)
turn our eyes from a shattered-glass snowfall
and dream of the winters of our youth
this will be the end of days
this will be clouds folding into the earth
thunderstorms growling from foxholes
rain tumbling from rivers
as a clumsy conflagration stumbles into our skin
stealing our silhouettes
painting our ghosts on walls
(oh, had only we learned such passive resistance)
as you and I
(only numbers and figures, we know)
truly wear our hearts on our sleeves
when the world turns inside out
when sandcastles swirl into mountains
only to melt and flatten
until the rock has no wrinkles
when flowers shrink into their stems
like amateur stop-animation
when grass stalks and grandchildren
twist ever upward into smoke
and I no longer have any metaphors
for what the world made me love about yo
The BerlinerSick of writing about the pianist,The Berliner6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
she leaves for Berlin and makes her
home next to the absence of a wall
She contemplates the American Embassy
and changes her cigarette brand
She sets out walking
and considers percentages of lives,
eats alone, begins to consider meat as flesh,
removes paintings from their frames
and in their place hangs mirrors
Calling home small voiced
she asks after family and friends
politely, washing dishes as she does so,
the phone in the crook of her neck
She makes no friends, does not make love,
resents nothing and leaves no
holes in people's lives
Immigrant's Guide to ColoradoI was promised horses. I remember this distinctly.Immigrant's Guide to Colorado8 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
My dad knew as well as I that moving isnt easy, especially to a place so very far away, so he would cushion it with promises such as these. Thoughts of horses and mountain ranches made the process of tearing away from my homeland all that more bearable, so I complied. My visions were of a log cabin situated on the hips of the foothills, with gentle mares that would lean their heads in my window in the heat of summer mornings. Of dirt roads and tractors, of cattle and barbed wire. But mostly horses, of course.
Colorado is not all horses and ranches. Our house turned out to squat in a quiet patch of suburb that seems a subtle copy of the very neighborhood from which I had come. It is a pale ivory and not made of logs, and the grass lives in trim, green patches like quilt squares, not in long stalks that whisper to my elbows. And the mountains?
During Murder in the DarkDuring Murder in the Dark8 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
During Murder in the Dark, we played our own games.
We had a nook in the corner where nobody ever came and wed meet in there for a few moments at the beginning of every round, snatching intimate memories under the cover of darkness. It started when we were children, and was therefore childishly innocent; wed tap out messages on each others arms, using a mixture of Morse code and our own kind of shorthand that made things go faster. We were thirteen when he tapped out, Can I kiss you? I tapped back Yes, and we had a new game.
It always was a game. It never failed to send shivers down my spine when, as we prepared to part, he whispered in my ear By the way, youve just been murdered. And I know it was the same for him.
Things progressed quickly and within a year I had my hand down his pants as we were making o
i think it was a fridayI walked about 4 miles home while nursing a bottle of vodka.i think it was a friday6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I've seen these houses, these businesses, every day for years
but now they glow with that pre-dawn illuminance offered by
speeding drunks and cops and kids on pcp screaming down alleys
when I'm the only one who can hear.
I don't remember it raining during the night
but the puddles huddling against the curbs seem to remind me of something.
Something lost and stagnant like the abandoned bastard water that exists
without the rain to blame it on.
I left the party and the friends when I realized that I hated everybody there
and I took the rest of the hard liquor with me.
It doesn't cure the loneliness but it makes the cars sound pretty on the freeway,
that undertow of loud and dizzying hums matching red and white lights
and the occasional blue sirens that ease beneath the overpass I almost fell from.
I watched the headlight streamers stare me down until they disappeared
beneath the concrete balcony on which I swayed.
Haiku Collection - Marchspring haiku-a-thonHaiku Collection - March8 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
1. for denise
nose touching soft skin
drinking deep; erotic taste
do I smell perfume?
2. the reality of seasons
police sirens scream
a shooting down on broad street
springtime in philly
3. not from around here
explaining to an
out-of-towner what the fuck
is a mummers parade
4. the color red
crimson contrasts against white
lipstick on my collar
5. a frown at father time
hours hasten onto dawn
nights grow short again
6. hard to write with it
skilled bladesman; sharp steel
sheath conceals the poet's pen
a martial artist
7. good evening, philadelphia
sunset paints the canvas red
glowing city lights
8. solitary dining
candlelight and wine
rose petals and fine linen
she never arrives
9. unreliable meteorologist
spring ahead once more
no shadow for the groundhog
meanwhile, more snow falls
10. poetic distractions
words upon a page
paragraphs give birth