Who are you?
I am the happy tree
The Mammal
The eggshell you avoid crushing
Who am I?
You are a red dress
Covering bruises and cuts
Socked in fabric and blood
Who are we?
You are the deep ones
Your faces don't appear
on white cellulite
Who are they?
They were here before us
Or arrived later
They linger on toilettes
Because they can
Who?
Not you. Not me.
A passing cloud shaping itself
around our daydreaming
A monster in disguise
Are?
Isn't it time to unveil
The new old face of blue
Seeking sand in a beach
Now?
Or later
Time can be shaped around our nightmares
In flows and breaks
Up?
Or down
Depending on where your head is
Earth is above
And old sadness below
In?
Or out
A body moves itself
As it learns to bend
Happy?
An Obligation in and by itself
Looking, searching, losing
Far from oneself
Intimacy?
Away from or direct soul penetration
shapeshift or mold
Run or freeze
Small?
Keep growing smaller
Until one day
we will call this cold drawer home
Topography Lesson
Geography, I was good at it in school but somehow I missed San Marino.
I vaguely remember a movie with some lady star of yore making
a film about the place, maybe I have got it wrong and it was Monaco,
which has a royal house with princesses and a prince or two?
San Marino is a republic one of the oldest around and that is why it is
unknown. What, no princesses, no romantic castles or a mad king?
Sorry no. Just dry republicans, banks and a vinery and wild boars which
is of no interest to popular ladies´ magazines like “Halloo”.
In Serravalle, near the Apennine Alps; there is a butcher who specialises
in cured ham which has some claim to fame, and in San Marino,
the capitol city, there is a good restaurant. Humiliation, going through
life not knowing about this tiny republic its history and coinage; my shame
is total. Should you go there do not drive too fast, because before you
know it you are back in Italy, spaghetti Bolognese and smelly toilettes .
did Picasso dream up Guernica
while taking a *****& did Van Gogh
fantasize about Starry Night whilst
draining the lizard? how about
Pollack---though we have been
told via Ed Harris’ film (the only
art history anybody has anymore)
that he came upon the splatter by
accident, but how do we really know?
coulda’ been when he was
pinching a loaf---
coulda’ been
coulda’ been.
insert the name of your favorite
painter here:
_________________ &
ask yourself if s/he really got all
their inspiration from long walks
at night, heavy alcoholism, endless
orgies into the morning, a good
smack habit, brushing one’s teeth
with Absinthe, or, if in fact,
it may of just been an amazing idea
which revealed itself while
said artist was in deep potty
meditation.
saw in an interview with Tori Amos
once, that she got the idea for many of
her songs while she was sur les toilettes,
but then again, she believes in fairies...
the point is, all those ideas that come out
when you’re pissing,
just might be the next Sistine Chapel,
the next Notre Dame or the next
piece of brilliant architecture that our
species brings into being---
hopefully without said artist(s) being on
the goddamned church payroll.
Lost in the Translation
“Donnez-moi un verre de vin”
My accent seemed strange at the Paris café
They brought me an entire carafe of wine
And I drank it all to my escort’s dismay
When I asked, “Ou est la salle de bain?”
Le confused garcon led me to the alleyway
“Où sont les toilettes?” I tried again
“C'est à l'hôtel,” was all he could say
Groaning, “Sacré bleu, PARDON MY FRENCH!”
I spun and jogged miles to my hotel in haste
Two thousand for airfare, far more for a tutor
Such an investment seems quite a “waste”
When all you want is to relieve yourself
And still cannot locate the proper place
*Assigned phrase for Deborah’s contest: PARDON MY FRENCH
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.