Thanksgiving cats get into the pumpkin pie.
They drink down bourbon, saying “here’s mud in your eye!”
We see them arrive with a thump, a clap, a thud and a sigh.
They will put their tails all over every allergic-to-cat-guy.
They are climbing the walls now, riding the tree to the floor.
Grandma Maizey is angry, she counts them, they’re four.
Get rid of those mangy beasts, she says, irritated with them.
One is patting down her tummy, another is riding her hem.
Where did all these cats come from? Uncle Bill yells.
They are making all kinds of noise, ringing neck bells.
Two more arrive, wearing top hats, carrying red canes.
It is all we can do to not sing “cats” songs, with their refrains
cooing blackbirds drowned out with quick ugly squawk
dairy barn invaded by an irritated jay
wooing bovine herds mooing down by eagle rock
airy haymow fragrance potent on this summer day
nest in rafters, possibly of a small frightened wren.
able farmer’s wife shoos prickly crow away
rest of barn’s hay is harsh, prickly and rather thin
stable in August is usually in bit of disarray
Written 1-23-2020
Sponsor: Dear Heart
Contest: Let’s Write a Lento Poetry Contest
They surrounded the house and we were terrified
Because they looked different, magnified.
Some wore smiles, others mean as a rusty nail.
What are they? Our children whispered in their ale.
Pterodactyls I told them. No worries at all.
But their mouths are enormously long, creepy and tall.
Let’s go out and see why they are here. Do not be afraid.
Their demands were easy. Chocolate cake and pink lemonade.
I made them their cake but the only drink I had was tea.
That is okay their leader said, nice as he could be.
They look odd my children said. How can we be friends?
Every day chances for life’s lesson simply never ends.
Within a week each one of my children had a best friend bird.
Pterodactyls in the house no longer seemed absurd.
They stayed ten years and became family members we love.
In the spring we get excited when we see giant wing shadows above.
In the spring rain,
the cedars bear alien fruit:
gelatinous growth
like orange sea anemones,
slimy creatures whose
slippery tendrils quiver
sporeful
revolting and fascinating
life
fills all niches
4/22/2018
I am me
Who said this?
So is my body
An invaded custody
Occupied by her
Thoughts and memories
Two sided glossaries
Not a reflection is mine
That would determine
My own identity
Out of my sanctity
I may be a string
Of any cacophonous Sitar
Where she creates
On my wounds
Riot of sounds
Without bounds
An iron portal
as brittle as a tear
in memories
or moments
designate
a miscreant burgeons
from emotions
the graphic artistry
of expendable smiles
to bypass hope
and linger in a clause
of could be
Yet the thrust
has to wretched put you
a glinting steal bloodied
by your heart
leaves you wrenching on breath
the choke
the broken despair
can lay no claim
to comfort unwanted
for all of agonies penitence
and purgatory
swallows you whole
There is no God
no justice
bitterness stamps it’s mark on all those pages
this inundation desperate
devours all logic
searches
though devoid of any meaning
but the ghost of a reason is all that you want
You would so wish to lay blame
yet it is no-one and everyone
who stands at fault
you are no more
and if sorrow could write the words
it has written them
with embers
into your soul
And one more mothers child
dies unknown to the world.
Invaded by the tribe
The old station wagon
Pulls to halt in my driveway.
The five children fall out
of its rusted doors
shouting and laughing.
She turns off the noisy engine.
Slips ghostlike from the drivers seat.
Her five hours of driving
In a bedlam of her children’s noise.
Looking so slight and frail.
My heart melts again.
I enfold her in my arms
And whisper thanks for coming.
Even though I have moaned
About her children’s disruptions.
The extra work cooking
And entertaining.
I look into my sisters face
And whisper I love you Sis.
You are always welcome
In my house.
And in my heart
This Grand Opening
I attended: Scene
McDonald’s, Moscow,
Queue extended over
Under Pushkin Square
(Some saw the poet’s
Spirit rise and sniff
The air). No
Royalty to cut
The ribbon, courtesy
Of Comrade Lenin,
Just some shivering,
Hatless Business Guys
With Cheeseburger Eyes,
Cutting Communism down
To size with French Fries,
Beating back
The Russian Winter
With Hot Apple Pies.
My territory was invaded yesternigth
Rendering powerless an army of soldiers
Conquering doubts with her bulwark of beauty
Where do I go from here?
To whom shall I confide?
Who is this heroine?
Stooping to conquer my ego
Nurturing nature’s longings
Oh, do I anticipate?
Anticipate, anticipate?
Yes, I shall anticipate for pure satisfaction.
awoh awoh
Defenseless, he prayed
"O God Forgive me, I let
sin invade my soul."
You
You are still a thorn in my side
A burying pain I can never excavate from under my marred flesh
Like a stubborn octopus you cling, spreading your tentacles of despair
Into every trembling nook and cranny of my feeble form
Parasitic, you devour me from the inside out
Hollowing my bones and softening my resolve
Until my desire to shuck you off has been melted into a sludgy pool
And all that’s left is you
Everywhere
Colonizing my soul, dictating my every thought
Delving even into my most private dreams you choreograph taunting fantasies
And then rip away the cloak of sleep and reveal my yearning face
Caught in that pathetic stage between dreams and waking
My eyes, searching
My lips, puckering
Anticipating your smoldering kiss that could make all this suffering worthwhile
But no kiss comes
There is no sign of your face
Like a will o’ the wisp you have fled again into the gloom
Retreating behind broad daylight’s skirts
Until the night comes again, bringing with her my doom