Short Scrimshaw Poems

Sharks swim in their bones,
the little teeth of little fish
hollow whales away.

Shrimp and krill
scrimshaw a limitless hunger
upon the white crests
of dark waves.

On a basking beach,
apelike,
the first and last humans
scream at the sun....

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If I knew how to carve a scrimshaw
I would carve the world’s prettiest scene
I would carve out a catfish jumping out of a lake
After I carved a frog sitting on a lily pad
I would carve one on a dinosaur’s bone
And the other on a whale’s tooth
If he would let me...

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Chair of Fire

My father's naughehyde 
recliner was the dusky,
sudden pink of pale pigs.
Hair-oil halo
Scrimshaw headrest

He died in bed

My brother, Richard,
did not weep...
he hosed out the hulk
that had held 
our father's 
few possessions

My brother burned
that old recliner
in a greasy
reluctant fire

Gasoline hissing like snakes
took the place of tears...

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Trees turn their features inward.
Cool winds
wander in like stray cats.

A fiery death is in the air.
the party colors
are flame and ash.

Leafy campfires
burn the residue of mammoth bones
long since devolved
into the soot of charred mice.

Autumn is the charnel season,
its love is cruel, its farewells
a promise of relentless demise.

Dead poets scrimshaw its beauty
on last year’s death masks,
mice-tusks root up the sun
to warm the naked spaces....

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