Who ever invented French Kissing?
Certainly, it’s nothing to be missing!
Open mouth – let alone
Other mouth – duplicate clone!
Two open-mouths lock so close
Lip-to-lip and beak-to-beak like two crows!
One tongue encircles the other
Round and slow, hearts churn butter!
Wet and slithering saliva swap
Heaping exchanges in drooling glops!
Taste the gallons or taste the drops
As heart beats race and minds all flop!
No…No…Whether gallons or droplets of drips
I’m certainly NOT missing saliva sips!
The pecking quick peck
Of a Woodpecker’s peck
I’m certain won’t make me gag nor sick!
Keep it clean…Keep it gentle
The Woodpecker’s peck is more sentimental.
Like two young “kinders” on Valentine’s Day
When simple cards are handed away
And both are bashful and way too shy
Mustering every courage to bypass both their “Shutterflies”
And the card is quickly handed with a quick closed-peck
One-second peck causes no harm, no foul, or even wreck!
Cute and quick
is the Woodpecker’s Peck
Such sensational expression of innocence exchanged between two
Our Heavenly Father may better approve
She spreads the butter
on a square of toast
with scratching impatience,
smearing and slapping
the hardened bread
with a dainty butter knife.
She uses a fork like a harrow
in the jelly jar,
leaving lines across the top
where she dragged it across,
then glops it on
unevenly.
She uses a fork.
because she likes to lick the bits
between the tines,
and feel the hard metal
with jelly in her mouth.
Scrape, scrape, scrape
with the butter knife again.
I love her hurrying hand
that orchestrates
this action every morning.
The cinnamon toast
is slightly burnt,
and her sleeve is damp
from the coffee spill
on the linoleum table.
A crumb clings to her jawline.
She takes a guzzle, not a sip
from her cup that says:
“The Queen of Everything”
and smiles at me, knowingly.
In the backyard, the goldfinches
returned to our feeders.
A small female
turns her beady eye
toward us
with shared understanding.
Chainsaw Poetry
David J Walker
The blum blum
Purrr
Blum blum
Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Ignition of the
Whirrrrrrrrrrrr into
Action
The attraction of
A curio crowd
Loud
with big gulp glops of dripping
snow cones drops melting on the summer
mountain of a westbound sun
they have all come
to see me cut
Poems out of Pine trees
And catch prose
In the breeze
Of a hot grease
Smelling salts
Tourist trap gas station
Not even
On the map
To some other destination
The chain saw whine
Drowns other sounds
As I cut
Four letter words
That rhyme
With Pine
The blum blum
Purrr
Blum blum
Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Ignition of a blur of
The naughtiest words
Learned on the playground
Found and impounded
Into poetry
As the parents hide the eyes
Of the kids and stop and watch in shock
At the artistry of
Chainsaw poetry
I'm reading "Daring Democracy,"
Frances Moore Lappe and Adam Eichen,
noticing here too
racial justice glops onto EarthJustice.
This isn't news,
although maybe gospel GoodNews,
that polycultural regenerativity
and multicultural democratic health
are two reverse faces
of White
and Climate
Fragility,
In turn,
the ancient green health/wealth Face
resisting white nation-state western privilege,
militarism
colonialism
patriarchalism
nature/spirit dualism
fundamentalism
Anti-evangelical multicultural health,
regenerative wealth.
I lay my Daring Democracy paperback aside
lost in wonder
how we ever could imagine
degenerative monocultural elitism
as more worthy of a healthy democratic republic
than regenerative polycultural privilege
of sacred grace
Equally true
and cause for gratitude
whether atheist,
and/or monotheist,
and/or polytheist,
and/or pantheist,
and/or panentheist,
and/or ecologist,
and/or co-redeemer for EarthJustice.
Emergence
Out of darkness and ice
Freezing mountain caverns held tight
Elemental crystals bound up light
No running water or cool stream's breathe
Planet was barren, sea water still
Starlight broke through, as galaxies changed
It was just me and you
Potential and empty form
We were there with our starry hair
Filling glops of rain as they came
Plundering through the tundras
Out of energy rearranged
Tall trees climbed to their peaks
Nothing then was the same
Species bred insane
It was all a new game
Vertebrae and brain, the path to see
Monkeys gathered closely, singing tree melodies!
No blues were shattering the peace
Monkeys breeding furiously
Having a passionate shopping spree
And look what came to be
An upright heart!, countering
Nature's grace
An ape man heart lifted skyward
To contemplate the way
Buried subconsciously, dizzying sound
Teased the walking ape
With fireplace dreams, morphing skull rocks
Paint across the sky and palms
At every deadly cost!
Caves and plains were scattered
Splattered through the shaman desert
All else is history
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