poetry

Seasoning

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it is recipe,
apple,
zucchini,
pumpkin
season.

the kitchen smells
like cinnamon
concocted with cream
and nutmeg, cloves
pungent with their
pinch in the pie,
spiced apple skins
and pumpkin shells
lining the counter tops
and floors,
sticky with sweetness,
sticky with sweat.

hours at the stove steaming
and prodding and pulling,
wafts of breads,
pumpkin glop,
pies perfectly rounded,
pot roast waiting
for the midday meal.

it is recipe,
apple,
pumpkin,
zucchini,
bread,
pie,
harvest
season.

Juxtaposition

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they are a juxtaposition
placed together for effect
tall as a beanpole
short as a stump
how could they fit?

it is a juxtaposition
that we are late
always early, us
always late, them
and now they’re complaining?

we are a juxtaposition
placed together for effect
introverted tech-o,
extroverted poet,
together making every position work.

Pastured Cow

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black and white
today, yesterday
calm and fright
there is no gray

a pastured cow
a startling contrast
the future now
my mind the past?

i take away
i give it back
they sway and sway
with words attack.

tomorrow is now
and blindingly bright
this pastured cow
shall see the light.

Idiom (Idiot!)

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you have taken the cake
on an already black-letter day
putting your foot in your mouth
and ruining every cliche.

it’s raining cats and dogs
but you beat around the bush
i wish the cat had my tongue
instead you’ve turned shove to push.

i’m about to blow my top
because you’ve gotten out of hand
your idiom (IDIOT) won’t stop
but I am not a yes-woman or man!

you have worn out your welcome
I’m not wet behind the ears
you may think I’m wishy-washy
but you’re jumping the gun on your tears.

Flashes

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flashes of light
taking the night
flashes of day
take me away

flashes of pain
oh the disdain
flashes of angst
on temples bang

flashes of now
pounding my brow
flashes of then
coming again

flashing frustration
on this situation
flashing impatience
removing my patience

flashes of light
taking my night
flashes of day
take me away.

Election Day

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it’s election day
and instead of red or blue
i’m wearing purple

i didn’t consider
when sleepy-eyed
i picked this passion,
two layers of
red-mixed-with-blue,
violent violet,
that i’d be combining
both parties.

this is where i am now.
no, not in the middle
no, not wary of my political stance
no, not accepting the other side.

just purplish
feeling a bit
done
done
done
with politics
that with any combination,
redbluepurple,
bring angst
into our lives.

Luna

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if i could be any animal,
i’d never choose
a ferocious lion,
a bravely scavenging bear,
a hawk hunting all night.

how silly
to think anyone would.

i’d be you, of course,
my always-a-baby Chihuahua
curled up on top of her owner’s cold feet,
snuggled under blankets all winter,
given scraps right from the fork,
sleeping and loving and breathing.

yes, that’s the life.
no hunting, scavenging, ferocity.
just peace, love, simplicity.
just you and me girl.

The Devil’s Show

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they’re all decked out for
the devil’s birthday
(Hallelujah!)
in Princess Mulan,
clown, cheerleader,
lion, samurai, and pirate.

no hallelujah party for us tonight,
but steps down dark streets
ringing doorbells
and saying hello to neighbors
whose blown-up pumpkin balloons
hover like glowing monsters
over the kids’ trail of treats.

we’re devilish, aren’t we?
letting them plan out this night
for months, pulling seeds from pumpkins,
creating costumes to die for,
seeing them work up a sweat
in their mad dash for candy?

yes, we’ve missed the hallelujah party,
given in
to the American dream of Halloween,
but for one night a year,
when we all pretend to be
something other than ourselves,
when we all remember
the thrilled excitement of the candy rush,
i think this steals the devil’s show.

Just

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i just can’t imagine
a day without words,
blinded by a burka,
unable to read,
children at my feet,
a whip near my back.

i won’t imagine it,
but instead relish
the freedom i have
to show everyone
just who i am.

Emperor Penguin

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I am the empress
you the emperor
as you sit for over a month,
our young tucked
beneath your flaps of skin, fur
protected from windy storms
harsher than hell
while I waddle my way
across Antarctica,
weak from giving birth,
starved from lack of fish,
the iciness engulfing me
until I feel I can move no more.

But it is you,
it is them,
huddled together in fatherly love,
that push me forward,
reaching the sea
with its wealth of life,
bringing it back
for you, for them,
for all of us to taste
as we form a new season.