Arabesque

I am the spine of a book, pages open on either side.

I am steel rails down a valley that two greening hills divide.

I am the corpus callosum, of two minds in every thought.

Am I sleeping or here wakeful, one eye open, one eye not?

I am the nest with two birds calling, both the same but different still,

I disperse myself in potions, both the doctor and the ill.

I am the worm who grew two wings, one of blue and one of gold,

Meeting in the middle when in flight and when in fold.

_______

for Sunday Muse #161. This had three stanzas but I liked it better with just the two.

Smoov

Hey Smoov,

talking out both sides of your mouth,

tell HER, she's got the rabbit ears for ya;

me, I'm deaf, don't waste your breath. 

All night, she toss and turn if you don't call;

me, I dance all night,

kick the phone right off the wall.

Smoov, you think I'm stupid?

Think you not made of glass, I can't see through ya?

Save your bullshit tap dance for HER,

she hear ya but can't see a damn thing.

She the sweet child, 

I'm the stone bitch.

Everywhere I go, she got to follow me,

crying the blues over you.

She's in my ear,

under my skin,

out to double every losing bet.

Tell HER whatever made-up fairy story you got.

Tell HER how it's gonna be different from now on.

Tell HER, you whiney-ass pencil-dick motherfucker.

Tell HER, not me,

Cos she's the one who loves you.

_____

 for The Sunday Muse #5

Equinox

I'm as plain and brown as mud in March.
I'm a stone in a river; I don't move much. 
I'm the dull-bound book with the faded cover,
But my pages will call you to next and another.

See the yard all strewn with last year's leaves--
See the unassuming chair, the sparrow, and...me
Dreaming at mid-day-- as roots are, too,
Seeming still-- but restless and drawn to do

Our turning and rising as the season commands
with sure sense of continuance--like ampersands.
_____

For Fireblossom Friday : Poetic imagery. I'm hosting at Toads. Come by and join us!

What I'm Made Of

Sugar and spice
and all things nice;
red strawberries and
shards of ice.

North wind, south wind,
night bird's call;
prayer and peaches and
folderol.

Some from the heart and
some for show;
wouldn't you, honey,
just love to know.
______

for "I Am Made Of..." at Toads.

Bee On My Tongue

There is a blush on my cheeks,
the devil in my eye,
and an angel on my shoulder.

I am a red leaf on a white breeze.
I am the woman who can be counted on
not to do what you have told her.

Still, hold me.
Fuck me if you want.
I'll be waiting for the moment when I speak of my desire. 

As a girl, I went to school
and church as I was bidden.
I learned a lot on empty pews in the dark long after choir.

Now--
hold me. Wrap me up and say I'm home.
I'll press my lips so silent-grateful to your ear.

On my tongue, a hidden bee;
queen of sweetness, queen of sting--
feel my fingers in your hair. Hear and shiver. Show no fear.
_____

for Magaly's mini-challenge at Real Toads. Obviously, I wrote about bee #3.

Happy Birthday....

...to me.

 

Process Serving

Izy, at Real Toads, wants us to parody ourselves for her Out of Standard feature. Allrighty then.

Okay, genius. We need an opening line. 

It was a dark and stormy night.

Oh, truly, that's brilliant. You're such a fuckhead. Something original would be nice. So...rewind. Gimme a decent opening line.

I can't think of anything.

Well, why not just jump start it? You know, trot out some of the same old trusty shit and see if it flies.

A Gypsy walks into Danny's Coffee shop.

Good, that's a start! Sounds kind of like the intro to a bad joke, though...

Hey, so two femme lesbians go on a dinner date. Why did their legs get sore?

Why?

From standing up all night, waiting for the other one to pull their chair out for them.

Oh please.

Why did they have to walk home?

I guess you're gonna tell me?

No one brought the car around.

Are you done?

No. Why did they almost drown?

No one to fix the leaky faucet?

Oh. You heard that one. Well, what did they finally die of?

Bad jokes?

No, they died of old age, waiting for the other one to make the first move.

Can we write this poem? Can you stay focused long enough to do that?

I'm hungry. Doesn't a sandwich sound good? Then we could turn on tv and--

FOCUS!!!

All right. A Gypsy walks into Danny's Coffee Shop. 

Now throw in some random observation.

She wears five rings, one for each of her possible moods.

Which are?

Envy, sloth, lust, resentment and sniping?

That sounds like 7 Deadly Sins For Dummies, or something. You can do better.

Not for what you pay me.

Think! Come on. What are the Gypsy's five moods?

One ring is gold, for when she feels satisfied. The second is silver, like moonlight, for when she feels dreamy. Another is turquoise, like water, for when she feels deep and mysterious. One is brass, for when she feels bold and mouthy. 

You're on a roll! What's the fifth ring?

Ask Dante, maybe he knows.

Don't be an ass. Get back to the poem. You were actually getting somewhere with it.

You make me crazy when you're bossy.

Focusssssss...

All right. The fifth ring is made of bone, with a ruby stone, for when she feels passionate and broody, as if she might burn herself up from within.

You had me until that last bit. It feels tired. Punch it up.

For when she feels passionate and broody, a bryndle spirit wrapped in Old Country colors, a moment's flame between low ash and high smoke.

Yeah baby. Now throw in a dash of religious junk...

Even God stops counting the inventory and looks up, almost in spite of Herself, when the Gypsy walks in.

I think you can take it from here.

Huh? What are you gonna do?

Oh, I'm gonna go read Verse Escape, or Another Damn Poetry Blog. They can really write!

You bitch!

Thank you, thank you...
________

dubious cat is dubious about this post.
________