Bug-Day Afternoon

[Maria2394]

garden gate speaks

The wrought iron garden gate isn’t old,
please don’t judge her
by one barely audible squeak.
Close your eyes, listen as she speaks.

~

The path into the garden is now covered
with a slight comb-over of late winter rye.
The yard nowis fit for barefoot walking,
love making, stargazing.
Nearly gray kids up late, though
not nearly often enough.

The wisteria vine you trained
into the oak tree thrives
even when you aren’t here.

And the green anoles you’ve grown so fond of
do not die when autumn skies
cool reptilian skin, and slick black frogs
aren’t threatened by
promise of upcoming winter wind


You have learned to make rainbows
garden hose in hand,
you’ve fed the birds and tilled the soil
and now it’s time to let the garden go

Just one thing before you leave,
please don’t oil my hinges.
I’ve earned every grate and squeak,
and besides, what else could ever hide
the crackling of your knees
as you travel towards the end
of your own oxidizing life?

~

*author’s note; had I known
the gate had such attitude,
I would have oiled her sooner...*

 

[Maria2394]

carrion

the dead thing lies there, loudly
its stench caws and caws
until the ground is livid
and squirms, too bad
that dead thing cannot flex
its throat into focused words
that one might hope
to understand

 

[Maria2394]

Stellar bright or fluorescent blight,
I cannot tell the difference anymore.
Why won't someone attempt to define,
with foundation, structure and frame,
this gnawing known only as hope?

is it light or perception of right,
or visions of an afterlife
immersed in virtuous glow, I do not know,
nor do I wish to know, for now
six senses alert and accepting
warmth in any form

to light a way, casting shadows of yet
another day,
always ending to pale, when appraised

alongside carnal self.
How arrogant it seems to assign a value
to how I reason, dream, or feel

this essence never changes
and mirrors return the same reflection-

absorbed by thought, acutely aware
of every mortal blink and sigh,
and knowing tomorrow, already surrendered,
is in itself, a version of life,
each second awash in noon and night.

Hope is a soul is a constant, it shines
especially in artificial light.

 

[Maria2394]

poems moved from the passion thread





He's a red-headed aggravatin'
short-legg-ed cowboy
dog. Spends his time
diggin' up grubs-
backyard rodeo.

leash-time, lunge time
rustlin' up cats
from culverts they spring
screech and startle
Cowboy dog retreats-


mailbox posts and tree trunks
mark his way back home

~~~~

the women, 1

The pod is
never empty
but filled with vacant
eyes and hearts
hopeful souls which have tired
of hope and the ever-present
scent of bleach
reminds that there is
cleaning to be done

~~~~



toga night they wrap
in ragged sheets. the
product of an under-wash
overuse, keep them dirty
and submissive
attitude.

the only starch
comes on trays, same time
every day. there is famine
in the pod- fruits are rare
and vegetables
must be a mistake.

they have all learned to love
clown meat and cold beans

~~

aspersions

aspersions

cast upon me hate
with unsympathetic eyes
and my own, like a mirror
will divert them
to dehydrated bricks
that thirst for the shedding
of tears, the tears of mothers
and daughters who have died
their daily deaths and inscribed
the pain of living, one drop
two drops at a time. the faintness
of the damp, tiny tears like dew
lost in a prison, are the diaries
each entry absorbed then faded
into cinder-block sentries
that do not know their names

~~


i gave him my hand
to have and hold
along that path which was
supposed to be our lives
but i wonder and
have wondered
for too long a time now
why this man who is so lost
must always lead the way

~~~

the ground is hard, earth still frozen
and the trowel has trouble scraping
enough earth up to bury
my little feathered friend.

Stella passed first now Dahlia
but Lilly Belle is sitting
on three tiny eggs. So there
is hope, inside the finch's nest

waiting to hatch is more than
birdie babies, it is hope
and anticipation, for Spring
comes slowly but is dependable


as morning's bleary blink
and evening's yawn

 

[Maria2394]

State of Mind- lost girl



she tries to write
poems and she tries
to pay attention,
but her thoughts
are dandelion scattered
among phrases that remind her
of the outside,
phrases that take wing
and elude
her grandest reach,
songs of self
that beach themselves
then swim back out to sea
where furiously they tumble
with starfish and urchins
whose random rhythms tickle
and tingle like toes dug in
to scorching desert sands
then curl like notes, or shed
from paper birches
that take to wind
then float away in
super slow motion
and as I watch I find myself
wishing
that my thoughts were
free as hers, and my head
as clear as hers
but my poems are just a kite
anchored in the sky
no wind, no waves
no motion to propel them
the bright side being
an endless unobstructed view



~~~~~edit~~


she tries to write
poems and she tries
to pay attention
but her thoughts
are dandelion scattered
among phrases that remind her
of the outside
phrases that take wing
and elude
her grandest reach
and her songs
are songs of self
that beach themselves
then swim back out to sea
where furiously they tumble
with starfish, crabs and urchins
whose random rhythms tickle
and tingle like toes
hiding deep
in scorching desert sands
then curl like notes
written in a hurry
then peeled and blown
in a fury
from paper birches
that take to wind
then float away in
super slow motion
and as I watch I find myself
wishing
that my thoughts were
free as hers, and my head
as clear as hers
but my poems are ragged kites
anchored in the sky
no wind, no waves
no motion to propel them
the bright side being
an endless unobstructed view
of the girl and her poems

 

[Maria2394]

swamp water, a parasite's lament
i dont mind being compared
to that deep dark water
that grabs your face and devours
all reflection because it leaves
me with a feeling that nothing
ever dies, the feeling that everything
survives, down deep
where them llil old amoeba swim

i would gather myself amongsth them
perhaps attach myself to the belly of a gator
or the webbed feet of some long-legged booby
lurking like a painting of a long-legged booby
against a bacdrop of sea grasses, tall and proud
plucking oysters from the marsh


minutia dancing the minuet, they thrive on the brine
and the ocean's backwash
never noticed
until a decomposer is needed-
theres alwaysw room for worms
and select bacterium

( sometimes)I dread low tide, and it always seems to be low tide
on my side of the causeway and of course
the gator's belly is full, metabolism slows
and me? ---my tender underbelly
always exposed


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~edit 1

I don't mind being compared
to that deep dark water
that grabs you by the face and devours
every deviant reflection because
it leaves me with a feeling
that nothing ever dies
a feeling that everything survives,
down deep where amoeba swim

I would gather myself amongst them,
perhaps attach myself to the belly
of a gator or the webbed feet
of some long-legged booby
lurking like a painting
of a long-legged booby
against a backdrop of tall sea grasses
and pluck oysters at my leisure

Minutia dance the minuet,they thrive
on brine and the ocean's backwash
never noticed until a decomposer
is needed- there's always room
for worms and select bacterium

I love low tide, and it seems
to be low tide only half the time
on my side of the causeway and
of course the gator's belly is full,
the water is cold, metabolism slows
and me? my tender underbelly
is always exposed

 

[Maria2394]

poor Jenny, (no eggs ever again)
Jenny lamented at breakfast

that tornada shore as hell
chewed through that peanut field


The wind had peanutbutter breath as the sun was comin up
Lord as my witness, I dont know what
we're gonna do, cant spend another season livin on nothing
like we do

the final straw was losing them chickens durin last year's storms, I tell ya what
I been thinking about going vegetarian
but the squash looks bad and the calves are lookin better than
any of us expected,
Pa said we might could weather one or two more of them cur-sed storms
but I dont know, I got that ache groin up in my knee where that old pony kicked me all them years ago,
Pa says he has some linament that might help, but the way I see it, that ol knees been a might helpful over the years, yep. I reckon I better go get up some greens f0r supper tonight

Jenny, oh Jenny, how strange you seem to be, but we know that you know
what's coming and what you see,

we dont have the guts to want to see

``````````````````````````

Poor Jenny, (no eggs ever again)

Jenny complained at breakfast

that tornada shore as hell
chewed through that peanut field


The wind had peanut butter breath
as the sun was comin' up
Lord as my witness, I don't know whut
we're gonna do, can't spend another season
livin' on nothing like we do

the final straw was losing them
chickens durin' last year's storms,
I tell ya whut
I been thinkin' 'bout going vegetarian
but the squash looks bad but
the calves are lookin' better than
any of us expected. Pa said we might could
weather one or two more of them
cursid storms but I don't know,
I got that ache growin deep in my knee
where that old pony kicked me years ago, and
Pa says he has some liniment
that he thinks might help, but the way
I see it, that ol knees been a might helpful over the years, yep. I reckon I better go get up some greens f0r supper tonight

Jenny, oh Jenny, how strange you seem to be, but we know that you know
what's coming and what you see,

we dont have the guts to want to see



~~~~~~~~




I Googled happiness
I was sitting here thinking,
mostly about you and decided
that I do not know
the meaning of happiness
with or without you in my life
so I Googled that word
happiness, searching
for the means and a way
to measure and define
the time I have spent
wondering about you, wanting
to get to know you and presto!
Wikipedia tells me that happiness
is a state of mind, to paraphrase,
and that one's perspective
on their state of mind
is the main defining theme
so, when I sit here thinking of you
and the meaning of happiness
I realize that your name
was not included in that definition,
there was no picture of your smiling face

 

[Maria2394]

just another garden poem
hell hole, by selfish gardner

~~~~~

There’s a patch of soil in my backyard
where almost nothing will grow

spineless okra last year,
grew to my knees, but that’s short stuff
as far as okra goes

Shasta daisies do well
roots all wedged in clumps of soil-
stems meet thickly, collared by green

denim knees are blackened
constantly kneeling and digging,
and blue cotton garden gloves
soaked in errant puddle
several hours ago

but that’s okay,
cause maybe one day
I’ll get something worth writing about
from that god forsaken hole

~~~~~

poem as roadkill

i found a poem in the road this morning
run over by trucks and cars
and lying up close to a possum
killed three days ago, and it stunk
worse than the possum and I thought
could this possibly be my work?

I wondered if the poem felt pain
as the weight of eighteen wheels
flattened it free of feeling and legible lines

and I wondered if poem was hot at noon
sticky with asphalt and slick with oil
slung from under cars as they sped
so far and so fast away
from the sad, tattered poem

but poem held up, despite weather
and tread marks left on face and back
I could still read her words and she said

I am your words, I speak for your heart
when it can’t speak on it’s own,
you gave me life on paper and ink
and who really cares if I am dirty
neglected and worn,
these words do not mean less
because they were discarded,
actually, they mean more

so I listened and picked her up
tucked her in my pocket and
forgot that she was black with road
wet with oil and shamed by neglect,
she still is, and she is now,
with me


~~~

my ex-cave man is articulate
he speaks, he seeks,
he conks her
on the head, pulls her hair
drags her kicking and screaming
into the wasteland of shadows
that is his heart

its dark in there
surrounded by walls
and narrow
passages lead deep
where sun would never shine
but he's fine

with leaving me to wither
into plumes of acrid smoke
sucked from his ears
like disoriented ,
but well intended
wind devils
trying to clean house
with all exits closed

so the shit piles up
no where to go
it stays in his cave
and he nurtures it

cause he's full of it
but that's okay because
I have rubber boots
and a shovel in each hand

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some men want us,
women to believe
that it is our mothers' fault
that we are the sum of all
the parts he sees. Does he
remember his father? Drunken
and beating the woman
he professed, promised to love
and cherish? It's alright, go ahead
blame her, after all, she bore
the son who knows no, shows no
respect, but do children not learn
by example?

I remember the lessons I heard
as I lay motionless in bed, next to
my youngest sister. Mama always
left the window opened just a crack
in case we had to leave in a hurry
to go for help. I would help Sarah
down her tiny gown stained
with the red clay soil that defined
us and the region we were from.

Little Indians, Papa called us, but
truth be told, we were only a quarter
Cherokee and I considered myself
an in between and never really belonged
anywhere or to anyone.

I was pilfering through an old box
of photos, you see, I am keeper of
visions and the teller of stories
in my family. When my uncle passes on,
I will be the eldest and I feel I am
ill-equipped to handle the fact
that I may be the next to die
and have yet to accomplish anything
with my insecure, pathetic life.

I want to go back, to be the little girl
who rode with her Papa on patrol
when he was "High Sheriff" of Polk County.
I want that innocence back, that time
before I knew that things were not
perfect, that men were not princes who
rescued you astride white steeds
and placed you on a pedestal,
loved you, and meant it.

 

[Maria2394]

like sand in need
craving breaths
absorbed by beach and waves
tumultous weight,
eight pounds to the gallon,
drowns
sadness so fast
worry lines have no time
to find a place
on my face
before exfoliant Time
washes away the inner pain
and before I even realize
its already low tide, again

 

[Maria2394]

To whoever ventures in here.

I post my little attempts at poetry because some people liked them. I also post them here because I know that if my computer crashes as it has done in the past and I lost everything, my work is relatively safe in here unless the site is shut down.

If you wish to comment constructively on my work,please feel free to do so. If you wish to post a poem similar in that your work deals with fantasy like my frog poems, please feel free to do so. This isn't a vanity thread. It is a thread , like I said, where I keep my work, sort of like a poetry bank.

I return from time to time and edit them, I post work I had on the passion thread and work on them as well. Everyone and anyone is welcome here in my murky little pond. Just no mean people allowed, no hatefulness allowed.

Bring a picnic and sit and enjoy the koi that swim around. Think happy thoughts and good will come to you. I wish no one anything other than peace and joy.


~~julie

 

[Maria2394]

whaaaa, I want my Mommy! to hug me, love me and fix me some chicken soup for my throat. BUT that's impossible because she is in heaven and I like to think, there will be daisies in the graveyard pretty soon.

My Daddy used to own a little grocery store after he retired, and he was such a kind-hearted man, he would extend credit to people who were having hard times. I worked for him for years and we had a little book for the credit and when he passed away, I went through the book to audit and there were almost a hundred people who owed him in excess of 10 thousand dollars.

He knew better than that, he always told me that if you extend credit, you will eventually lose the money you loaned and because they owed money, you would lose the customer and the business they brought as well......

Well, when he died, we had a viewing and visitation at the funeral home and only 2 people came. That made me so angry, after he helped so many people. I don't know why I am thinking of this now, but 3 years after his death, I was working at a bank and a former customer ( who owed the store money) came in for a transaction. He said,

"Hello, Julie!" He sort of looked embarrassed and then asked, " How is your Daddy doing?"

I looked him square in the face. He knew my dad was dead because I had told his wife... Well, I looked at him and said, My Daddy? Oh, he's pushing up daisies..."

The man turned bright red and I said, but then, you knew that, didn't you? And by the way, he thought the world of you ( which he did). The man took his money and receipt and said, I'm sorry and left.

I couldn't resist saying that and my dad would have loved it. It just blows me away how some people can be so ungrateful. That man and his kids didn't go without food because my father was so generous, but my father lost his home and subsequently lost his store because of the people that didn't pay their bills...anyway

I've been thinking about my parents a lot lately, since I found out about my own medical problems. I know it won't be much longer before I am there. Or maybe, God will let me here on earth for fifty more years, who knows. I am just trying to do right and be kind and make sure I do not owe anyone anything when I am finally gone.

My youngest daughter, Kristen, got the news via email yesterday that she has been accepted into grad school in Illinois ( archaeology) so my baby is leaving. It truly aches, the thought of her being gone. I cannot say I am losing her, I'm not, but she is my best friend. She's only 22, just barely 22 and going to grad school. Paid for it all except the first year, on her own.

I am so proud of my girlies. My oldest graduated with her degree in art history and museum management last December and is going to apprentice to learn to restore art. She is a published short story writer and poet and a fabulous artist in her own right. I have been so very blessed. I've pretty much been a failure in my life except for them. I did raise two good people to carry on. I just wish my Mandy would make me a grandma before my ticker quits ticking, lol.

Oh well, enough of this talking to myself. I guess I will take some more thera flu and go back to bed.

g'night froggies, and fishies and all my little poemies.

 

[theognis]

whaaaa, I want my Mommy! to hug me, love me and fix me some chicken soup for my throat. BUT that's impossible because she is in heaven and I like to think, there will be daisies in the graveyard pretty soon.

My Daddy used to own a little grocery store after he retired, and he was such a kind-hearted man, he would extend credit to people who were having hard times. I worked for him for years and we had a little book for the credit and when he passed away, I went through the book to audit and there were almost a hundred people who owed him in excess of 10 thousand dollars.

He knew better than that, he always told me that if you extend credit, you will eventually lose the money you loaned and because they owed money, you would lose the customer and the business they brought as well......

Well, when he died, we had a viewing and visitation at the funeral home and only 2 people came. That made me so angry, after he helped so many people. I don't know why I am thinking of this now, but 3 years after his death, I was working at a bank and a former customer ( who owed the store money) came in for a transaction. He said,

"Hello, Julie!" He sort of looked embarrassed and then asked, " How is your Daddy doing?"

I looked him square in the face. He knew my dad was dead because I had told his wife... Well, I looked at him and said, My Daddy? Oh, he's pushing up daisies..."

The man turned bright red and I said, but then, you knew that, didn't you? And by the way, he thought the world of you ( which he did). The man took his money and receipt and said, I'm sorry and left.

I couldn't resist saying that and my dad would have loved it. It just blows me away how some people can be so ungrateful. That man and his kids didn't go without food because my father was so generous, but my father lost his home and subsequently lost his store because of the people that didn't pay their bills...anyway

I've been thinking about my parents a lot lately, since I found out about my own medical problems. I know it won't be much longer before I am there. Or maybe, God will let me here on earth for fifty more years, who knows. I am just trying to do right and be kind and make sure I do not owe anyone anything when I am finally gone.

My youngest daughter, Kristen, got the news via email yesterday that she has been accepted into grad school in Illinois ( archaeology) so my baby is leaving. It truly aches, the thought of her being gone. I cannot say I am losing her, I'm not, but she is my best friend. She's only 22, just barely 22 and going to grad school. Paid for it all except the first year, on her own.

I am so proud of my girlies. My oldest graduated with her degree in art history and museum management last December and is going to apprentice to learn to restore art. She is a published short story writer and poet and a fabulous artist in her own right. I have been so very blessed. I've pretty much been a failure in my life except for them. I did raise two good people to carry on. I just wish my Mandy would make me a grandma before my ticker quits ticking, lol.

Oh well, enough of this talking to myself. I guess I will take some more thera flu and go back to bed.

g'night froggies, and fishies and all my little poemies.

It sounds as if your father was a good man who left behind a good daughter and two good granddaughters. Whether you realize it or not, you are no failure. Far from it, actually; you are a successful link in what sounds like a very, very strong chain of utmost importance. Much respect to you, dear lady.

 

[Angeline]

whaaaa, I want my Mommy! to hug me, love me and fix me some chicken soup for my throat. BUT that's impossible because she is in heaven and I like to think, there will be daisies in the graveyard pretty soon.

My Daddy used to own a little grocery store after he retired, and he was such a kind-hearted man, he would extend credit to people who were having hard times. I worked for him for years and we had a little book for the credit and when he passed away, I went through the book to audit and there were almost a hundred people who owed him in excess of 10 thousand dollars.

He knew better than that, he always told me that if you extend credit, you will eventually lose the money you loaned and because they owed money, you would lose the customer and the business they brought as well......

Well, when he died, we had a viewing and visitation at the funeral home and only 2 people came. That made me so angry, after he helped so many people. I don't know why I am thinking of this now, but 3 years after his death, I was working at a bank and a former customer ( who owed the store money) came in for a transaction. He said,

"Hello, Julie!" He sort of looked embarrassed and then asked, " How is your Daddy doing?"

I looked him square in the face. He knew my dad was dead because I had told his wife... Well, I looked at him and said, My Daddy? Oh, he's pushing up daisies..."

The man turned bright red and I said, but then, you knew that, didn't you? And by the way, he thought the world of you ( which he did). The man took his money and receipt and said, I'm sorry and left.

I couldn't resist saying that and my dad would have loved it. It just blows me away how some people can be so ungrateful. That man and his kids didn't go without food because my father was so generous, but my father lost his home and subsequently lost his store because of the people that didn't pay their bills...anyway

I've been thinking about my parents a lot lately, since I found out about my own medical problems. I know it won't be much longer before I am there. Or maybe, God will let me here on earth for fifty more years, who knows. I am just trying to do right and be kind and make sure I do not owe anyone anything when I am finally gone.

My youngest daughter, Kristen, got the news via email yesterday that she has been accepted into grad school in Illinois ( archaeology) so my baby is leaving. It truly aches, the thought of her being gone. I cannot say I am losing her, I'm not, but she is my best friend. She's only 22, just barely 22 and going to grad school. Paid for it all except the first year, on her own.

I am so proud of my girlies. My oldest graduated with her degree in art history and museum management last December and is going to apprentice to learn to restore art. She is a published short story writer and poet and a fabulous artist in her own right. I have been so very blessed. I've pretty much been a failure in my life except for them. I did raise two good people to carry on. I just wish my Mandy would make me a grandma before my ticker quits ticking, lol.

Oh well, enough of this talking to myself. I guess I will take some more thera flu and go back to bed.

g'night froggies, and fishies and all my little poemies.

Hope you feel better soon sis. I'm sure you will.

You know my dad was the same way. He and my mom had a little coin and stamp store and people would come in and he would extend credit or give them breaks. He used to put together grab bags of cancelled stamps that he sold for 50 cents a bag. And he'd have about ten bags every Saturday morning for the kids who collected stamps that would come in the store and love to go through those bags. And my mom would get mad at him because he'd always put some stamp worth about 20 bucks in one of the bags because he loved how delighted the kids would be when they found the good one, like he had made a mistake and they had this great find. But he knew it all along. For years after he died, I'd meet people who, when they found out I was his daughter, would tell me of some kindness he'd done for them. And he never expected anything particular in return; he was just a good guy. He considered himself lucky that after working in a factory so many years, he was able to do something he loved.

I always try to shop at the little mom and pop businesses because I remember how much of themselves my parents put into that little store. I'd much rather give my money to that kind of place.

Thanks for jogging my memories and take care of yourself, girl.

 

[Maria2394]

Oh my I just realized how lucky I truly am to have a virtual Sis like you Ange and you, Theo, whom I barely know. Giant hugs to both of you for your sweetness.

 

[Maria2394]

down

i am tinder
in search of a box
of self-striking
matches

i am obesity
in search of
cheese cake

i am a virgin
in search of
a roaring volcano

i am not
in search of
never was
and never
meant to be

 

[Maria2394]

cook


She works days bending
her already stooped back
the hump she carries
with her a reminder
of days spent on knees
scrubbing and late afternoons
pulling weeds from every aspect
of her garden.

Cucumbers still remind her
of her late husband, snap
beans of her youngest child
the one with fragile X
and corn invokes the image
of the housewife with her
perfect smile, row upon
row of perfect kernels, teeth
she lost so many years ago
when even the tooth fairy
was known to be broke,
and how she could have used
a quarter or two which she
might have spent
on needle and thread
to hem her potato sack dress
O how it sucks to be poor!
she would lament, as she sucked
chicken grease from her fingers.

 

[Maria2394]

It just doesn't feel like home yet

I still get lost in the hall;
I forget where I was intent
upon going. To the backyard
or the kitchen, the den or patio?
But I know that it's because
the hill still feels like home.

Azaleas and pink dogwood
are flowering in the yard
but they aren't my plants-
were never gazed upon
by my parents and it
just doesn't feel like home.

I want another koi pond. A pack
of pups protecting us
from stray dogs and trespassers.
A wall of Leland cypress and
a stand of bougenville that will draw

all of my attention to the garden
where I'll sit upon my swing
and melt.I want to wake to lizards
napping on my striped-blue shirt
and the whir of hummingbirds
that echo off the trees.

I need a place that comes to life
yet always seems oh, so quiet.
I 'm at home in the bushes
among the flowers and trees
which host a choir of birds and frogs
that would be home, to me.

 

[Maria2394]

It just doesn't feel like home yet

I still get lost in the hall;
I forget where I was intent
upon going. To the backyard
or the kitchen, the den or patio?
But I know that it's because
the hill still feels like home.

Azaleas and pink dogwood
are flowering in the yard
but they aren't my plants-
were never gazed upon
by my parents and it
just doesn't feel like home.

I want another koi pond. A pack
of pups protecting us
from stray dogs and trespassers.
A wall of Leland cypress and
a stand of bougenville that will draw


all of my attention

to a cool and misty garden
where I'll sit upon my swing and
melt.I want to wake to lizards
napping on my striped-blue shirt
and the whir of hummingbirds
that echo off the trees.

I need a place that comes to life
yet always seems so quiet.
I 'm at home in the bushes
among the flowers and trees
which host a choir of birds and frogs
that would be home, to me.
__________________

 

[Maria2394]

random

the giant black ant crawled in
through the open window and
heaved his way across the mountain
of my pillows while the mockingbird
that lives too close to the window
of a neighbor who hits snooze
nothing wrong with that except
he has taught himself the alarm code-
perfect pitch and meter- eep eep eep

eep eep eep and how am I expected to sleep
till noon after a long night when that fucking
bird insists on eeping while I am not sleeping
and that is when I noticed the ant, pincers
weaving to and fro, its massive hump
just barley makes the mountainous lump
of the crumpled comforter and I almost
flicked him onto the floor, husband's shoe
waiting to quash him, but I couldn't do it
no reason to it so I scooped him up
and sent him out the window which
I firmly closed behind him

 

[Maria2394]

double post post

 

[Maria2394]

..............

 

[Maria2394]

glutton



It was one hit wonder
but I took two
buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

 

[Maria2394]

Birdie Comes Home (just for the pie?)

She flew north before
the cold came, looking
for an education
for her final maturation
but I still see those baby
fine golden hairs that framed
her face before she learned
to smile.
She said this might be
the last year she's here
for Christmas
for presents, her presence
still overwhelms me
a glorious tearful heart-swelling
realization that I
gave birth to such beauty.

The realization makes me feel
old and capable, young
as if unborn, a fetus aware
that its sole purpose for being
here was to bear
that beautiful soul
that I'll always know
as my Birdie.


I love you Kristen

 

[BooMerengue]

This isn't my garden. Yet I come here
feeling like I'm home. But it's cold now and
The Frog Prince is away.

If I should stumble just a little
the one who lives here might find me.
It would be ok. Strangers, yet with similar souls.

Maybe then this is my garden. Another place, secret
in my mind where I am allowed
to be me. Just me.

Just like she does.

Merry Christmas, you. And many more.

 

[BooMerengue]

a visit

Oh, drat! lol!