the pious sex toy

The pious sex toy feels that its daily life
does not reflect its deepest yearnings.

Why is it that others' desires must always come first?
The plunging, buzzing, frantic inanity of the toy's utility
masks a quieter, more contemplative nature.

"Oh God!" screams the owner, but the owner knows nothing of piety.
Her rosary hangs from the door knob,
reduced to the status of unseen ornament.

Tucked in its drawer, the pious sex toy has hours to devote
to prayer and fasting.
How jarring to be taken from these musings
and made to gyrate and probe,
leaving lubricant everywhere.

Dignity is hard to come by for a sex toy,
and eternal life is only a joke when, after all,
the toy is completely dependent on its off-brand sale-priced batteries.

"I am not even a real rabbit, like in the storybook,"
says the pious sex toy.
"I am not velveteen, but rather, hard plastic.
My owner reserves her love for Bob, who never appears,
though she calls out for him.
I think he may not be real himself."

The pious sex toy cannot even request to be taken to church.
How absurd!
What a scandal!
At least there is a bible in the drawer where the toy is kept,
along with a Tarot deck missing The Fool,
and an old tube of hooker red lipstick
with which the pious toy underlines its favorite passages
to be found again easily
like a G Spot.
___________

Infirmity

Dr. Van Stiefer, a man alarmed by illogic
and disquieted by the slightest chaos,
opened his surgery on Carriage Road East
to very little fanfare.

That would shortly change.

As a medical student, Van Stiefer could barely contain
his boredom when faced
with the halt and lame.

At St. Cecilia's Hospital,
attendings had to stop the young man
from amputating in cases of sprained ankles
out of ennui and expediency.

But now,
now is his moment.

Dr. Lars Van Stiefer has a revolutionary idea.
He hopes it will alleviate, or entirely prevent
an array of difficulties and infirmities.
He will treat romantic love as a neurological disorder,
like tremors, or rabies.

His patients, beset with every variety of odd behavior,
will be brought in by stretcher,
sedated,
and he will bandage their hearts, tightly,
with clean bandages,
leaving only the tiniest new scar.

Good order will be restored,
and following a brief period of recovery, 
they can go back to work,
or to their wives and husbands,
ready to face life with new health and calm.

Dr. Van Stiefer is celebrated, feted, 
asked to speak before august gatherings of renowned physicians.
The dreary halls of St. Cecilia's fade into dusky memory,
and the doctor takes to his celebrity
with dignified grace.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Van Stiefer's womanly emotions
begin to wobble on their axis.
When the doctor arrives home,
without ceremony,
without display,
without humor,
she broods, and piles his plate with medical texts,
inviting him to use them as
supper or suppositories,
though she does not phrase it exactly in that way.

Unknown to him,
she forges a sympathetic connection with his nurse,
a certain Miss Pelby.
By the time they have lunched once,
been to the variety stage show twice,
and kissed a third time,
the wheels are greased for her own severe case of nervous illness--
that is to say,
Love.

No surprise, then, that Dr. Van Stiefer,
faced with the unfamiliar landscape of this domestic hiccup,
should have brought her,
the very next day,
to his surgery.

Was Mrs. Van Stiefer homicidal?
The doctor's own writings declare this an impossibility
in a woman of good background.
Still,
she was found in the waiting room by a medical equipment salesman,
with a bloody sleeve and a fit of the giggles.

Dr. Van Stiefer's esteemed colleagues,
arriving at graveside,
discussed among themselves what ought to be done for the new widow.
"Death by misadventure" having claimed her husband,
it was decided,
for her,
by these learned men,
that the prudent thing would be to recommend her into the care of the late doctor's nurse.

Mrs. Van Stiefer stayed on in her house,
under Miss Pelby's expert care
for the duration of her uncommonly long convalescence.
________

Thank you to Shawna for the word list!

tea

Millicent Menzies-McPhee
Invited me over for tea.

The mood was torpid, the talk was vapid;
The descent into fidgety misery was rapid.

Millicent droned on and on and on 
About her dismal daughter and stuporous son;

Neither was wedded, or even employed,
And of any interest completely devoid.

I sighed and suffered and wished I were dead,
As my mind dissolved and my poor ears bled,

Then, unable to take it, I exploded in laughter,
Took off my clothes and swung from the rafter.

"More tea?"
Inquired Ms. Menzies McPhee.

I said, "You are a tiresome, torturous bimbo!"
As the S.W.A.T. team came and rappelled in her window.

I was removed to the sanitarium post haste,
Which saved her life with not a second to waste.

And the moral is, most obviously,
If you want to have tea...

Don't have it with Millicent
Menzies-
McPhee!

_______

for Ella's photo challenge at Real Toads.

Always there, wearing fur of a bear...

This post is dedicated to my BFF Hedgewitch, who, when she isn't polishing the horns on her Viking helmet, is about the best friend a girl could have.


Even when I bore her to death with my 19th nervous breakdown, she doesn't run me through or tape my mouth shut. Teh coolnezz...she haz it!


^^Keef!

And....we're back!

Well that was fun! Blogger's little bout with blogbonic plague, or whatever, wasn't so bad. I simply found other useful things to do, such as rocking back and forth in the corner, twirling my hair around my finger and then yanking it out, all the while muttering. "wtf? w...tf?"

Now, if you would just give me my Teddy, and leave the door open a crack, I think I may be able to regroup.

__________

Rant At 8 A.M.

I sat in the corner at AJ's Cafe,

With a biscuit on a shishkabob skewer, and a x-large coffee full of caffeine;

It spoke. It went:

Double, double,

Toil and trouble.

Drink me.



I'm your Alice, sugar.

I sat in the corner on a wooden bench at a wooden table,

And became a tree spirit.

My limbs suddenly grew the boardinghouse reach, and I rudely swiped shit from other tables,

Cracking blackberries like walnuts,

Delighting in the screams and inventive new curse words.



People stared but wouldn't approach me.

I sat in the corner at AJ's, writing a new poem--

The page began pale as a virgin bride, but I filled it up with bad notions, backtalk, bullshit and beauty so sharp the baristas wept.

Then it got up and flew,

Its still-white wings waving at me,

Its mother,

With my head of flapping crows, I use no product,

I am a feathered Medusa,

A vintage hat full of crafty crazy,

Here,

Let me set it on your head,

You will hear it sing.



Maybe it was mermaids, or somebody's ipod.

I sit at AJ's Cafe on a Wednesday morning--

I wait like judgement,

I idle away the hours,

I am just a girl,

I used to be sweet.

Pour out that lo-fat decaf bathwater, baby,

Come over here,

Live a little--

Drink me.

_________

Entre Nous

This is where I love you.

Oh yes...

Here, where little black plastic wheels bring the dawn in on a cart,

Where lightning has turned our little sand burrows into glass

And we goggle

At how many different faces we have broken into.



The rooster is dead.

We soon will be, so kiss me now,

Right here...

We'll pretend the black mold is dark grapes

And that we are goddesses

Lazing in the baths, those spaces between panic and blankness.



Did you think I loved you

In a better way?

With dainty little shoes to kick off as I sit on the fresh hotel bed?

Would there be little mints?

A magnum?

A rose falling  with the languorous, unpromised hours?



I tell you,

The rooster is dead,

The fox is hiding.



Here, we lean,

Like sick trees, denied enough light.

It is here that I love you,

Here that I tat together the bubbles that will stop my heart

In the moment that I reach for you,

To place a veil between this place and every hope that ever came in carrying a clip board,

Saying,

Oh yes, yes, bring this one,

And we will see...



The rooster is dead,

The fox is hiding.

This is the place where I love you,

Where the corridors split like bronchi,

And I finally whisper,

Please,

Don't leave me here.

I am instantly shamed by my weakness,

But I never know whether to crow, be silent,

Or just

Admire your beauty through the musty parallax

Of this place I have always called home.

_______

for One Shoot Sunday 

I am back, darlings, typing away madly on my new netbook. My welcome back is to be soundly outdone on this prompt by the evil Hedgewitch.

Decompensation

I had a fever, but only in one eye.

I opened it--

Tripped-out fractals,

Colors,

Bullshit.

I closed it--

My naked love

With a wicked smile on her gone-gypsy face.



I wrote poems, but only with one hand.

The other did the most batshit-crazy things, all unbidden--

Got a job,

Wore a ring,

Spooned pablum til I wanted to cut it off and fling it away.



So I cut it off and flung it away.



Now I spend afternoons reading Soap Opera Digest by the freeway,

Nestled between two stone-loony lunging German Shepherds I have named Bonnie and Clyde

But I call them

Doll-Baby and Pookie-Face,

And I wink at them as I feed them Sonic burgers and stroke them with my stump.

They know

That I have a beautiful heart,

And who but them will love this heart?



I have a fever, but only in one eye.

I open it--

Tripped-out fractals,

Colors,

Bullshit.

I close it--

My naked love

With a wicked smile on her gone-gypsy face.

_________

Permanent Squirrel, Part 2

(being once again a joke within a rhyme)

You may remember Permanent Squirrel and Magpie--

One couldn't stop talking, and the other couldn't die;

And don't forget their pals Dream Baby and Coffee Sheep--

One remains awake while the other stays asleep.



Permanent Squirrel is a million and a day.

Magpie has a hundred thousand zillion things to say.

One wears out years;

The other, ears.



Coffee Sheep may safely be described as Type A,

While Dream Baby fills the world with Z's all day.

One wants cream,

The other, dreams.



Oh why was the lesbian jealous of the whale?

Did it have more fun

With its seventeen-foot tongue?

Or was it something else, something other, instead?

Was it cos the whale can breathe through a hole atop its head?



Permanent Squirrel likes to ponder things all day,

While Magpie does her processing by chattering away;

Alert for the answers Coffee Sheep has always been,

While Dream Baby likes to look for wisdom from within.



One is eternal;

The second quite verbal.

One has eyes like plates;

Another is insensate.



Now they must return to the place from whence they came--

To curl up and hide

Inside Fireblossom's brain.

_________

Ramona Of The Crows

Ramona Of The Crows cannot sleep.

When she lies down, she becomes a superhighway--

The day goes by,

Each detail with its own little headlights;

None of them can read a map.

Circle.

Accelerate.

Exit.

Enter.

Well fuck me, thinks Ramona Of The Crows,

Who can sleep on the center line?



All day, she longs just to close her eyes.

If you and a coffee pot were drowning...

Well, it's probably better not to ask.

She begins to feel a little unreal,

Like a movie of herself.

She would love to pitch a meltdown, and go stalking back to her trailer like a deliciously offended Queen,

But there is no trailer--

There is only her life, and its million little cars.



At night, her body is like a roomful of restless spirits.

Her neck says, "I have lost so much. The things that I love vanish."

Her shoulder says, "I have failed at business. I am ruined."

Her knee just whines like a cranky toddler.

There are only two things that can make Ramona Of The Crows sleep--

A really good orgasm or three,

And televised baseball.

By the third inning, the little stitched spheres become sheep, leaping over the fence,

And the droning announcer becomes the Sandman.



Together in a car, they all set out--

The players, the sheep, the announcer, the restless spirits, Ramona Of The Crows, everybody.

Soon, she is inside herself, keeping herself awake.

She gets up, muttering, "I'm not serene enough for this shit,"

And puts on the coffee.

She is Ramona Of The Crows, Queen of the Dawn, lost Daughter of the Dream-Time.

Don't fuck with her.

She is a woman and a gypsy,

Always there, and always gone.

_________

Allons Nous

Bertha, the place is burning, burning,
And it's just as well--
You were never happy here.

Come down off the roof, girl.
We will glide across the wet lawn like two foaming new ghosts--
Fresh as morning.

Sugar,
You will not miss
The grim-faced help bringing tainted chicken soup.
You will not miss
All the new wives with their tiresome luggage.
You will not even miss your husband--
He loved his dog better than you.

Madwoman nothin'.
Come, we'll hit the early sales.
Whatever it is,
I will kiss it better.
Whatever it is,
There's an endorphin for that.

Bertha, the place is burning, burning,
And yet the outside air is so sweet--
Dearie, you were never any madder
Or one bit crazier
Than me.
________

for Willow's Magpie 25

________

Rain!

"Don't let the rain come down

Oh no, don't let the rain come down

Don't let the rain come down,

My roof's got a hole in it and I might drown"

--Serendipity Singers



"When the rain comes, they hide themselves in bed

They might as well be dead

When the rain comes

When the rain comes"

--The Beatles

Here, like many places this summer, we have been having LOTS of very hot steamy weather. And, as many of you know, yours truly earns a crust by carrying the mail. I am that woman wearing the pith helmet, with a dog hanging fashionably off of each shapely leg, shaking her fist at the sky and shouting, "Curse you, sun! Curse you!"

Well, today was another baker, and there I was, a little steamed vegetable wilting in the heat. I was walking around the 'hood in my postal shorts and red tank, having abandoned my diabolically designed, heat-retaining postal uniform shirt. This is strictly against the rules, of course. One must be in full and proper postal costume at all times, but you know how I get with rules. I know they exist, but I am foggy about why, or what they have to do with little old me. 

I had no sooner started my third walking loop, when clouds rolled in and the skies opened. No, I don't mean that J.C. stepped down out of Heaven and gathered all the good people with him, leaving me to turn out the lights. I mean, buckets, torrents, absolute walls of rain started pouring down out of the sky. At first, the drops were actually cold against the skin of my neck and back. It wasn't long before I was practically swimming up the block. And do you know what? It was glorious.

Remember when you were small, and a summer rain would start, and you would run outside just to horse around in it and cool off? I am thinking that, unless you have young kids to be your beard ("I'm just out here with the kids! Honest!"), the only way a grown woman of a certain age can wander around the neighborhood in a rainstorm, grinning like a fool, without being taken away by the police or hospital orderlies, is to be a mail lady.

Uncomplicated joy. Kids know all about it. I remembered it today. I had it today.  Oh yeah. *dances* How ya like me now? Uh huh! Yes, I got soaked. And I loved every second of it. Now, if it had been 45 degrees and blustery, then that's another matter. But it was 92 degrees and raining cats and dogs (gatos y perros? was that it, Ily? or did I just say "cats and alarm clocks" or something? Ha!) and it was just as nice as a free popsicle.

Rain, I don't mind. As the Beatles sang, the weather's fine. :-)

____________

 

I Can Haz Coffee Break? (dedicated to all my friends who are moms)

Mama Year was trying to get some stuff done, but nooOOooo.

May jumped as July set off another firecracker behind her.

"Make him stop it, Mama!" she cried, and then went back to posing in front of the mirror, in her colorful new spring outfits.

January sat in a corner, trying to read a book. "Make them all stop it. I've read this same line ten times."

September and October were squabbling.

"You always wreck all my stuff!" yelped September.

"Oh so what? It's all so last season anyway," countered October with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue," sang June, making all her plans.

"Oh please," sneered February. "You'd think no one ever jumped the broomstick without you."

"You're just jealous because you're short and dull," replied June in a superior tone.

February looked hurt, then said, "But people say I have a good heart," and spread her valentines out in front of her.

March came blowing through like a whirlwind, scattering the cards.

"Mama!" shrieked February.

"Not now," called Mama Year.

"Stop hogging everything!" November warned December. "Stay on your own side, you crazy shopaholic!"

"What's the matter, Piggy? Scared I'll ask you to share that turkey and stuffing? If you love turkey so much, why don't you marry it? Huh? Huh?"

April added to the cacophony by crying loudly.

"Cry baby, cry baby," taunted August. "Why don't you come outside and do something?"

"I'm going to send you all outside in about a minute," warned Mama Year. "Where's my Tylenol?"

"Send them now," groused January.

Mama Year shot a look and said, "I brought you into this world, child, and--"

"I can take you out of it," mimicked December with an eye roll. 

"That's it! Everybody out!"

They all knew, when Mama Year used that tone of voice, they'd better listen,

And so they all trooped out, except January,

Who was so quiet that she remained unnoticed in the window seat,

Smiling to herself,

All wrapped up in her book.

_________

Arrest Me

Arrest me. Please please arrest me. C'mon, Saffron Burrows, what else have ya got to do today? 

Oh hell yes, I've broken the law. All over the place. I turned right on red at that intersection where you're not supposed to Monday-Friday. Not enough? Well...I copied a dvd even though it had that FBI warning on it. I even loaned it to a friend. C'mon, this is practically an ongoing criminal enterprise.

I stepped on an ant. Check my shoe. I killed that ant. It will never carry a dirt clod twenty times its weight again, or be on Animal Planet. I took all that away. Look, Saffron, I'm a real bad-ass. (stop that laughing, Ily!) Riot Kitty sent me a bag of chocolates last Christmas, and I didn't report it on my taxes.

Still not enough? Talk to Mama Zen. Go see how often I've been first in her comments. Creepy stalky, right? Get me off the streets. Saffron, c'mon. Protect and serve. A role for each of us! 

I'll be here waiting to be thrown in the back of your unmarked car. Throw the book at me. I prefer women's fiction. I'm waitinggggggggg.....

_______   

Family Album

Here on the rolling lawn,

I feel alive and not drugged by that stuff I was on.

It reminds me of how things used to be back then,

When I had my dolls

And Mama had her men,

But I can see you don't believe me.



Springtime is so lovely here.

That's when Papa had his breakdown every year,

Strolling without a care on the factory floor,

Or the courthouse square

In his underwear.

Such a sensitive man, you have no idea.



Don't look so nervous.

Why can't we be friends? Is there some rule?

Some terrible taboo?

Minutes are like hours here.

Experience this.

Really be in it, dear.



Soon lunch time will arrive,

And the police, and the townies drinking beer

Along the fence line. They know that I'm a handsome woman still.

Yes, I know what they're thinking,

And how to use this thing.

My brother robbed banks and taught me well.
____________

Breakfast

Breakfast rebels.



"What makes you think," challenges a crepe,

"That you can just arrange me, serve me up and consume me? Am I not human? If you prick me, do I not bleed?"

I blink, fork in hand.

"That's strawberry juice," I point out.



Orange juice burbles, "You have taken me from my fruity womb, and poured me into this glass body, where any may stare at my nakedness!"

I have never encountered a modest breakfast drink before.



Strawberries moan, "You have rent us, and thrown us upon strangers, to die!"

"You're a fruit garnish!" I protest. "I just got up! What is this?"



"You see us only through the prism of our utility to you," whispers the entire group. "You see us as less than you, as existing only in relation to you. Shame, shame..."

"And you have made us party to it all!" shriek the plates.



"But I'm hungry," I plead weakly.



Whipped cream implores us sweetly, "Can't we all just get along?"



I drink some of my coffee, and am denounced as a murderess and a heartless savage.

The stand-off drags on.



"You are getting cold," I point out.

"We are frozen in our resolve, impenetrable in our determination," declares breakfast.



"Look here," I say, "It's early. I brought you into this world and I can take you out!"



"Liberty! Equality!" chants breakfast.



"All right. I've had enough. Time for the Ultimate Weapon!" I set the plate in the microwave and turn it on.

"Monster!"

I laugh dementedly.

"Our younger siblings, lunch and dinner, will avenge us!"

And then it is silent, except for the little bell dinging.

"Ask not for whom the bell tolls," I intone, setting my plate back on the table. "It tolls for thee!"



I begin to eat.

My dog looks up at me accusingly.

"Et tu, Bosco?"

He licks his lips.
_________

Permanent Squirrel And Magpie

(being a joke within a rhyme)

This is the story of Permanent Squirrel and Magpie--

One can't stop talking,

The other can't die.


It's somewhat like the story of Dream Baby and Coffee Sheep--

One can't wake up,

The other can't sleep.


Magpie said to Dream Baby, "You listen so well! It's quite extraordinary!"

Permanent Squirrel whispered to Coffee Sheep,

"She's not hearing a word. She's simply asleep."


How many lesbians does it take to change a light?

17 would be the answer that is right.

1 to change the bulb,

15 to write about it all,

And 1 to film the documentary.


Permanent Squirrel said, "You're killing me with this stuff."

Magpie decided that she'd rambled quite enough.

Dream Baby woke up

And put Coffee Sheep to bed;

Then all four went back inside

Of Fireblossom's head.
_________