Details |
F. J. Norton Poem
AT THE PICNIC
The friends of my five wives
Have this nefarious aura
Of having shared a secret.
Their eyes lowered
But when I ask them
What for
They only glance at each other
And smile,
Which only increases my desire
To know.
Something they did
Long ago,
Heedless of the consequences
That left
Such an indefinable bitter palatableness.
Is that the explanation?
For the way
They rest their breasts
In the palms of each other’s hands,
Their eyes closed
In the winter heat?
Come tell me
Or give me a hint.
Trace a word or just a single letter
In the wine
Spilled on the table.
No reply from any of them
With the waning sunlight
The breeze of the evening
On their faces.
They are freely drinking
And saying nothing
Dazed and mystified as they are
By their treacherous feminine power
To give
And to take away happiness
As if their heads
Were crawling with serpents.
Copyright © F. J. Norton | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
F. J. Norton Poem
THE HAUNTED CABIN
Now the cabin that we call earth, was not always a cabin.
There was a time when nothing decayed, a time only of sterilized
Molecules. There was no smells, no disease, no flowers, no rats,
The earth was filled with water pasteurized organic eggs.
Death arrived with life, they built this cabin to hide their secret.
They were lovers from the beginning. They nursed one drink
All night long. Life fed death but death fed life. It was their
Pessimistic custom, they could not live without the other.
The Pantheon said, let there be life, but let it be guarded by death.
Copyright © F. J. Norton | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
F. J. Norton Poem
SUMMER IN THE PARK
One shows me how to lie down in a bed of tulips,
Another time how to gently slip my hand under her blouse,
Another moment how to kiss with a mouthful of berries and cream,
Another time how to catch the Blue Morpho
In the lace of her skirt.
Here in the marble boat house behind the lake in the park
A single white stallion
And the proof of oh Gods’ existence,
Riding in a ruby night gown blowing open from the summer breeze.
Oh
Devils’ child or whoever she was
Having the nerve to ask me to go get her a whip.
Copyright © F. J. Norton | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
F. J. Norton Poem
THE CANDIDATE
A man looking for employment writes,
Dear employer I would like to work for you. I’m not very good
At everything but I am able to sit quite pleasantly
On uncomfortable furniture sipping whatever beer you might offer.
I wonder if you have an opening.
The employer writes back,
Dear candidate, I’m afraid you’re a bit over qualified.
We would not be able to pay you what you’re obviously worth.
The man writes back,
Dear employer, all I ask for is some uncomfortable furniture and
Some kind of beer. It would be my pleasure just to be getting out
For a few hours.
The employer writes back,
As of now consider yourself hired. We will be ordering a set
Of fine bar stools and imported beer, on draft.
Not to mention hiring, a wet hostess to quench your thirsty desires.
Look forward to meeting you.
Copyright © F. J. Norton | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
F. J. Norton Poem
MARCH TO THE RIGHT
Millions were harassed, everybody else were innocent.
I stayed in my room
The elected
Spoke with bigotry as of a magic love potion,
My eyes were opened in astonishment.
In the screen my face appeared to me
Like a twice cancelled evening show.
I live well, but life is awful, so many advocates of this belief that day
So many refugees crowding the roads.
History was licking the lips of its bloody mouth.
On the news channel, A man and a women
A man and a women
Were trading hungry kisses and tearing off
Each other’s clothes while I looked on,
With the sound off and the room the darkest black.
Except for the screen, where now colors from droplets
Of the rain, filled with the sun.
Copyright © F. J. Norton | Year Posted 2015
|