Ooga Booga

 

Ooga booga, darling.

It's me, sunflower face

the fox-hearted misdirected letter of your dreams.

I live in the space between the walls.

I play Candyland with brain-injured devils

for a pot of chilly blue dawns.

I raid your fridge while you dream of dolphins.

I tip-toe around your place, judging the art,

boiling the pasta, making a mess.

That's me saying, "love me" from the heat vents.

That's my voice on the tv during your ballgame,

making you fuck with the settings.

Give in, please. I haven't got all day.

Once, I was an Egyptian queen.

Once, I was a Dutch laundress.

Now I live inside your Jiffy-Pop, getting hot, expanding suddenly.

It's me, sunflower face,

the fox-hearted misdirected letter of your dreams.

You'll wake up in love with me.

You'll wake up as a black horse wearing a feather plume.

You'll wake up to find me in bed next to you, staring.

I've put my stamp, my kiss, my spell on you.

Easy, my high stepping Friesian, shh shh...

It's all right, I'm a specter and I've got the cure

for all your missteps, I'm an oval track, fresh spring clover,

a pinch of salt, and a lot of black cat. 

______

Abra Cadabra Alakazam

 

Oh my darling,

my one and only love,

watch me pull a rabbit outta my hat.

There is nothing dirty

about love such as ours.

Get a load of my white gloves. 

When two people join

in matrimonial oneness

or as volunteers from the audience,

Magic takes on its special sheen.

People just want to be seen,

not sawn in half,

And so we make each other more than we were

like an endless knot of scarves

pulled from our sleeves or our hair.

If I should suddenly disappear,

my angel, my dear,

let me let you in on my schtick...

(Though it may make you feel sick)

it's one of love's magic quirks

that that trick

never works!

________

for What's Going On? "Magic"

Don't forget, the Word Garden Word List is still active through Sunday!

Why So Pale & Wan, Fond Lover?

 I'm not a vampire, silly.

No more bewitching than your auntie's 

freestanding lamp,

all hat and flat feet.

Yes, I favor red

lace, a little lipstick

and I'm Irish pale

but I only bite muffins.

Just a harmless mouse,

shy of cats and mirrors.

________

for Dverse Quadrille #208

Music: The Motels Icy Red

Free House Hunter's Guide from Herb West's Second Chance Realty!

1.When buying a new house, do not search via Ouija board.

2. A reputable realtor is key. Avoid any who keep a muddy shovel in the corner of their office. Notice his/her attire. Plague masks or hooded black robes are red flags.

3. Ask about pets. Some homes come with pets included, but inspect cupboards and attics for them before deciding.

4. Landscaping is important. Is the yard tidy and pleasant? Things such as grave stones, bright green industrial by-product bubbling up, or yellow crime tape are hints that the property has not been well maintained. 

5. How many bathrooms are there? Are there bathrooms at all? While outbuildings may lend a certain retro charm, how will you feel about it on a cold winter morning? Inspect indoor pipes and fixtures, if any, for gaping holes, flaking rust, or evidence that thieves have removed the copper. This can be ascertained by examining walls for smashed plaster, large missing sections, and graffiti. These are subtle signs of future trouble.

6. Is the house original, or have additions been added? Is there a mother-in-law apartment, and is someone's mother-in-law currently residing there? Do you think you could get along with her, or is she a total bitch? Would you want to have to bother with bricking or boarding her in? Very few new home buyers consider the inconvenience of police investigations and felony charges while still trying to settle in.

7. Is the exterior protected with aluminum or vinyl siding? Are there gaps where large birds have built elaborate nests? Are there apertures for archers or cannon? Are chimneys constructed of sturdy brick, or hastily applied papier mache? You'll want to know, before closing on a house. 

8. Finally, you know the old maxim: Location, location, location!!! Is the house near, or built on, a bog or nuclear waste dump? (Remember, the only glow you should have is that of a proud new home owner!) Is the house part of a military target range? Inquire as to their hours, national affiliation, and size of ordnance before moving in. You'll be glad you did! Also, check to make sure the property is not being used as a large cat sanctuary, winter grounds for carnies, or as a headquarters for an illegal religious cult.

Happy house hunting! My name is Mitzy MacIntosh, and I'd be delighted to help you find the home of your dreams! Just call Herb West's Second Chance Realty and ask for Mitzy!

_________

for The Sunday Muse #179. 

The List

Get on the list.
You can't do that unless you're on the list.
Tell me your hopes, desires, etc.
Then let me check them against the list.

Once upon a time, there was a list.
Through all the ages,
through every epoch and century,
the list endures.

Behold a lamb, stumbling through the verdant fields of April,
aware only of its mother's calm presence,
the sun warming its back,
and the list.

Those not on the list will be stopped,
tuned up,
seized and thrown from moving vehicles into ditches
where they may contemplate the majesty of the list.

In the Great Hall of the List,
a lamb clatters aimlessly across the marble floor.
Where is its mother?
Where are the dewy clover stalks, 
the fragrant dawn-lit pasture,
the benevolent black-and-white dog, the lamb's guard and guide?

The list is silent.
You should be, too, except to sing its praises.
_____

for The Sunday Muse #101 and for day 6 of my 39 poems in 39 days.

Good Woman

Baby, I'm a good loving woman;
I can make you feel like birds are flying all through you,
and singing their heads off, too.

Honey, I'm a good faithful woman;
Once I'm yours, I go deaf and blind to anybody else,
knowing only the braille of a singular devotion.

Sleep in, sweet thing--
I'll put on heels and get a job.

Anything you want in this big round world,
I'll find it,
fetch it,
bread it and fry it.

Sugar pea, did I ever tell you how my last love kissed and crossed me?
Never mind, I made your favorite dessert!
Just sit.
Just enjoy.
Just try it.
__________

Some culinary foolishness for LolaMouse. The image is "Always" by Jim Doran.

Lies Looking For Girls To Tell Them

Lies looking for girls to tell them
gather in groups--
little ions looking for a charge.

Girls grow up greedy to spout the wildest stuff
about each other
or boys
or you.

Girls spend hours in front of mirrors
telling lie upon lie.
I'm ugly/ I'm pretty/ that's enough/ never enough.

Girls grow and haul a whole hope chest stuffed with lies
behind them to college,
to the altar,
to the nursery.

Lies looking for girls to tell them are never lonely for long.
Diogenes ran a girls' school until he lost his mind.
The students lied and said he went sailing.

Sit with me. Talk.
Our mothers did the best they could.
We'll always be like sisters.
This tea is good.

Lies looking for girls to tell them
don't stop when friends go home.
They circle when you're
anxious
afraid
alone.

At sunset I shake all my gathered lies from my apron to the sky,
and when they work together,
oh my,

how the feathers fly.
_______

 

Goodnight Kitty

Excuse me.
Please lie down on this plate.
I will watch over you while you sleep.
If anything happens, just jump inside my mouth.
I will rock you on my big pink tongue.
Wear these bread pyjamas.
Just trust me.

Believe me,
despite our differences,
I am here to protect and serve you.
Say goodnight to the cameras, it's past your bedtime.
Goodnight stars, pop-popping in the street.
Goodnight moon, goodnight air.
Kitty's here.
Kitty cares.
__________

for the real toads mini challenge. my absurdist take on the nauseating, paternalistic, entitled, baffle 'em with bullshit, tone deaf authorities in Missouri, USA.

apologies to Margaret Wise Brown, author of the beautiful and beloved children's book "Goodnight, Moon".

 


 

Dainty Maid

I'm a delightful, dainty maid
with a girlish giggle and a live grenade--

I felt silly,
so I blew up Billy.
An evil devil murderess,
that's what the judge says.

But let me run and gain plurality,
then my prank is simply policy.

What a dainty little duality.
Would you like to play with me?
_________

for Marian's music prompt at Real Toads

Moon Fable

Once upon a time, on the dusty plains of Africa, a lion chased a zebra.

"Come in to my mouth," urged the lion. "You can rest there. My teeth are like the rails of your childhood bed. Then, when you're ready, you can sleep in my stomach." The lion spoke gently, making all of this sound quite reasonable and appealing.

However, the zebra knew about lions and so she kept running as fast as she could. Even though the zebra was quick, and had marvelous hooves and strong legs, the lion kept gaining.

"I know what I will do," said the zebra. As dusk fell over them both, she used her black and white stripes to play a trick on the lion. She split herself, giving her black stripes to the night, and her white stripes to the stars. "Try to chase me now!" she cried.

The lion never missed a step, leaping up into the sky after the zebra, but, unable to see her in her split disguise, the lion leapt all the way to the moon, where he stood blinking and still hungry.

Now, lions are good climbers, but are better at getting up than getting down. "Won't someone help me!" the lion called, again and again. "I am just a poor kitty stuck in a tree." Close enough, thought the lion with a shrug.

Far below the lion, a Gypsy slept. The Gypsy dreamt that a lion was calling, calling for a song from his guitar. The light of a full moon woke the Gypsy, and he found that his dream was true; there really was a lion up there, calling for a song.

So the Gypsy began to play. 

Como canta la zumaya,...

(How the owl sings,
ay, how it sings in the tree!
The moon crosses the sky
with a child by the hand.

Inside the forge the Gypsies
scream and weep.
The air is keeping watch.
The air is watching over her.)*

The Gypsy became caught up in his song, playing and singing with such emotion, that without thinking, he raised the neck of his guitar so high that the lion stepped out onto the strings and slid back down to the African plain.

"Thank you," said the lion. "I am so sorry to have interrupted your sleep. Come, rest in my mouth. My teeth will be like the wicker shades the Gypsy ladies make. Then, when you're ready, you can sleep in my stomach."

The Gypsy was feeling sleepy and the night still had hours to go, so he agreed, and climbed into the lion's mouth. After a while, the lion burped and spit out the guitar, which made a musical sound when it landed on the ground. 

The lion's appetite was satisfied, but he didn't get off Scot free. After eating the Gypsy, the lion could never stay still for very long, and spent the rest of his life wandering the African plain, as his children still do to this day, chasing zebras and roaring at the moon as if they had been there, and remembered.
______

*the Gypsy's song is actually a section of "Ballad of The Moon, Moon" by Federico Garcia Lorca.

The top painting is The Sleeping Gypsy by Henry Rousseau. The bottom painting is Repast of The Lion also by Rousseau.

Written for Mag #209.

 

Dybbuk

Oh loosen up--
go ahead, go crazy,
open the mail on a Saturday.

Angel,
I can see that you're gonna need my help.
Pop this--
you'll relax in a jiff.

Mama said,
"A girl's reputation is all she has got!"
I've got a whopper,
but don't believe everything they say.

F'rinstance,
what would happen
if you didn't buy that PR about the Red Sea
and how it turned into the fucking Dixie Highway
just cos Moses needed a fire exit?

Ooooh, you know what would happen!
The Dybbuk will get ya!
Well here I am. You peed your panties yet?

I've been misrepresented, yanno.
Mind if I sit closer?
See? I'm not some stenchy horror from a nightmare.
I've got French nails
and fishnets.
Nothing but class here, honey.

Lemme in, lemme in, lemme in!
What've you got to lose?
What're you gonna do--
keep the inventory at the family business
until you kill your mother in law or she kills you?

Almost asleep?
Let me rock ya.
Just let go and I'll slip into your skin.
We'll be together and then the fun begins.

Did you hear the one about
the Hasidic rabbi and the massage therapist?
Baby?
Aw, she's asleep.
Time for me to make my entrance
and for the crickets to sing:
Dybbuk
Dybbuk
Dybbuk.
______

for Izy's Out Of Standard challenge at Real Toads

 

A Vulpine View Of Common Maxims

(in 40 words)

"A bird in hand..."

I got
no
hands.

"A stitch in time..."

one
ring,
twelve crows.

fox by flock,
sleepin' on the
snow.

"Which came first...?"

church
or
stones?

good books stacked,
heavy and
black.

look quick, child,
foxy smile.
________

Truth In Advertising

I COULD BE YOUR DREAM GIRL

SGWF
seeks same,
for friendship, romance,
long walks in the rain.

I've got big green eyes
and a very open mind;
clear delicate skin,
and fingers long and thin.

My heart is near the surface,
and always plain to see;
but I can be tough, and I've got guts,
you'll see as you get to know me.

So give me a call, I'm a fly on the wall,
just listening for the right one--
and if she's you, with sweet love true,
just watch me come all undone!
______

A little light-hearted poem for Real Toads mini challenge #24, in which we get the chance to write about some truly remarkable dolls. This one was created by Emma Whitlock. Great job, Emma!

Kind

The snake curled around my arm is not jewelry.
Go ahead; touch it.

Oh dear. I should have warned you
that I sometimes give terrible advice.

Never mind. Let me suck out the venom,
even if never quite enough--

and if my lips taste bitter as I kiss you, darling,
I apologize.

Please, while there's still time,
be kind
by whispering me your forgiveness--
my love so saturnine.
_______

 

Ghosts In Blue Ice

The lost picnic family ends up in the Arctic.
Father should have noticed the GPS glowing a deep ominous red;
Mother should have caught the smell of brimstone.
The children should have paid attention to the cruelty they heard in the voice that said,
"Turn here. Trust me."
And alerted their elders.

Instead, they are tipped on their side on the tundra,
Fried chicken spilling, attracting polar bears.

With powerful swipes,
The bears free the family from their safety belts and torpor.
They tumble out like Cheerios,
Their mouths the round open centers.

See, children?
No cute talking penguins in sight.
See, father?
Racquetball seems such inadequate training now, doesn't it,
For war with white behemoths?
And mother?
You worried for nothing. There are no ants.

The lost picnic family should have prepared itself for real eventualities--
Devils, ice, ravenous beasts--
Instead of going soft in front of television.

Now, they are the show that no one watches,
Glowing souls too frozen to rise;
They are the club-wheeled SUV in the reserved parking space of oblivion--
They are the unseen, unremarked ghosts in blue ice.
______

for Hannah's Transforming Friday challenge. 

 

Fox Confessor

Once upon a time, on the coldest day of the year,
a little red fox sat on the snow.
Before him, at the edge of a grove of frozen trees,
was a black-haired woman with the darkest, most bewitching eyes
that the fox had ever seen.

"I have black tea," called the fox,
"and I have black bread.
Come share them with me,
or you will soon be dead."

The woman at the edge of the grove
of frozen trees waved her hand,
and the sun, already weak, began to melt
right into her hand.
"What good is your tea," she asked the fox,
"without company?
What good is your loaf
without butter fresh and sweet?"

"I have fur," called the fox,
"and a sable blanket on my burrow bed.
Come share them with me,
Or you will soon be dead."

"Perhaps you are right," sighed the one so dusky and fair.
"Come here and I will tell you a secret;
Be quick, for it is the coldest day of the year...
I cannot walk and can no longer move,
But I will share this butter for your bread
and tell my secret in your ear."

Very slowly, the little fox came close,
with the tiniest steps and the most hesitant tread.
The fox meant to have both butter and bread,
And tea and secret, before the lady was dead.

The woman at the edge
of the grove of frozen trees implored,
"Come faster, dear fox,
come close, let us talk,
For I have but a single breath more."
Never confess to a fox, they say,
but more important than that,
Never trust a lady whose secret desires 
are tea, a loaf,
and a new fox fur hat.
______


My little poem has as its inspirations, the top photograph by Richard Schear and the Russian folk tale of the Fox Confessor. In the tale, a fox tries to talk a rooster down from a tree by pretending to be concerned for the rooster's soul. "Come confess to me," urges the fox, who only wants to eat the rooster.
 

I Was Not The One

I was not the one who poured the night and all its stars
Into the cold curve of evening's cup.
I was not the stupid virgin
Working up her nerve.
I was not the one who fetched or served.

I was not the one who brought the bile or the blade
And not the one who baked a loaf of death.
I was not the cook
Who wrung the rooster's neck.
I was not the portion nor the plate.

In my gaze find the small gloved hand;
In my words sleeps the fox.
In my veins find the sweetness that killed
The bantam in the laying hen's box.

I was not the one who sent the master down the mad-path
Or the one who set him swinging from a tree--
But the one who slipped her son
Past the sere red eye of dawn,
In the silent early morning, that was me.
________

for Real Toads OLM

A Fable Of The Western Plains

Even in the beginning,
When Goddess laid Her fingers across the land and brought forth the prairie grass,
The West has had two-lane highways
And little diners by the road side.

In those times,
Horses had the power of speech,
And they said,
"The Man Who Knows Everything doesn't need a menu
Or a map.
He is usually divorced;
When he opens his mouth, it makes a muffled, dusty foomp,
Like blackboard erasers being knocked together."

"There is also the Woman Who Knows Everything;
Her children's feet are on fire for the sunset,
And they leave her alone, like a cricket inside a geode."

Still, there are things that even horses don't know.
For these, one must find a waitress, and ask her for the Secret Meaning Of Eggs.
Don't be shy--
She is the Queen of Honey & Jam,
The Voice of the Goddess in the everyday world.

"Eggs," (she will tell you,)
"Contain the dreams you had last night, but can't remember;
The obstacles you fought with.
The woman you've longed to kiss, and did, until your lips were deliciously sore."

"There is a way," (she will further reveal,)
"To retrieve these dreams,
But there is a special method for it."
Watch, as she yanks the checkered table cloth out in one quick motion,
Leaving your coffee cup and plate of pancakes
Undisturbed and serene
As a Western morning.

"So it is with dreams.
You can charm them out, like barn cats,
But you must do so without breaking the shell of the egg."
If you can do this,
You can find the Horizon,
Keep the knowing of the Dream Time,
And cross the border into
The Anasazi village
Of your own absent Joy.

______

for dverse poetics--borders.

Morrin

Morrin lives in the shadow-bog, the storm-side, the cold hour.
She has no lace gloves, no roof--
She has no mother, no confessor, no beguiling face;
She fell full and bloody from the wolf's mouth,
Like a moon-pale broken tooth.

Morrin nay speak, nor sing, nor pray upon her knees.
She kills cuckoos, catches crows, kisses bees.
When your carriage passes by, Morrin writhes and spits;
She wishes your horses snort, bolt, and carry you quick
Out beyond the road and the twisted trees.

Oh but you, sly and sick with dull ennui,
Bade your driver stop, to set your tiny foot
Upon the mossy grave where Morrin sat.
How delicate your fingers, how soft your tones,
When you touched her, told her she was beautiful, bold, and good.

The grateful girl let you see her cry
In the moments before new devotion turned to helpless rage--
The servants cross themselves as your carriage comes back,
Carrying your smug, giggling face beneath a wide-brimmed hat,
And broken Morrin locked in a gamesman's cage.

______

for Real Toads

Done, Devil

What have you done, Devil?
Jimmying the front door this time was a cute touch.
Look at my walls, my rugs--
What have you done, Devil?
I suppose you're going to clean this up?

Devil, get behind me.
Rhumba down,
Cha cha back.
Look at all the black heel marks on my precious linoleum--
Look at all your stolen souls, gone amok.
Who is going to control them?

Devil, let me straighten your tie.
If I didn't know better, I might think that you had arrived
A tiny bit high.
Have a cupcake, Devil.
I made them myself, and went to no small trouble.
Of course they're chocolate!
You're such a fuckwit.

Devil, you think you're so wickedly smart--
You smear brimstone on the hearth stone
And tell me it's pop art.
Be glib--
Very nice, very well.
Let me say this in the most loving way:
You don't look so good.
You've let yourself go all to hell.

Til next time, Devil.
Go walk up and down upon the Earth.
Do whatever it is you do,
But for what it's worth,
Pink is the new red, and goes just as nice with classic black.
Oh, don't try to tell me, Devil,
That you never thought of that.

________

for dverse poetics