Good-Girl Dandy

It gave her pain

to part with anything

as if piss were wine

and pennies perfect

tears from Jesus' eyes;

as if fun were debit and deduction

from the piggy bank of Good-Girl Dandy.

It gave her pain

not to ledger the world

and if nails were dear

and the wood too fine

she would purse her lips

at the Sufferer on the tower, and

serve Him vinegar and year-old candy.

_______

for dverse poetics "Halloweeny Humans."

M-M-M-M-My Shadormas

zen master
drinks too much coffee
says to class
pardon me
leaves lotus, runs down the hall
but not fast enough
____

zen master
visits his sister
she hands him
new nephew.
our bodies are illusions
but shoulder puke real
_____

zen master
ponders the spring rain
when stupid
car breaks down.
meditation does no good--
fucking thing is shit 
_____

zen master
can control his mind
but sometimes
unlucky
erection comes at wrong time
don't stand up just yet
______

zen master
says souls can migrate
from body
to body.
unsightly skin condition
will end when you do
______

zen master
has the hots for jane
but he must
ignore this.
concentrate on breathing or
think about baseball 
_______

zen master
should avoid dairy
but didn't
and now he
hopes he will not blow sour note
while teaching flute class
______

zen master
left his trash novel
on the stand
by the bed
with just ten pages to go.
"be here now" my ass
_____

zen master
opens his chakras
to clear them
and cleanse them
wishes there was E-Z-Off
or some shit like that
_____

zen master
sleeps on a pallet
on the floor
but dreams of
room with big-ass hotel bed
escort and happy ending
_____

zen master
hates fireblossom lots
and wishes
she would stop
writing stupid shadormas
with him butt of joke
______ 

for: Fussy Little Forms/ Shadorma at Real Toads.
 

 

The Perspectives Of An Idiot

The perspectives of an idiot
may a certain beauty bear--
as a sorceress in stocks, under questioning and locks,
shorn of her hair,
fed on flung incivilities, poxy blackbirds in the air--

Tell us.
Do not reject the embrace of mercy.
Confess to us
what you are capable of; healing, harlotry and heresy...

The choreography of the somber
may dark comedy conceal--
as a seductress sent to ash, under pretense, purpose and mask,
purified by flame,
removed from those grinning cretins who call hypocrisy by name.
______

photograph: Cristina Scabbia of Lacuna Coil

tongue-in-cheek musical accompaniment 

  

The Abbess

The Abbess said,
--each loaf has its limit--
--each fish, its own skin--

Though I am here, you there,
and the wall with its cross upon it strong between us,

Don't breath and beat sit side by side
within the same breast
wrapped in soul, keeping it?

There is God,
and there is You,

One seeming to keep me from the other
like words obscuring prayer
until I feel dizzy, and more lost than before.

I must accept what cannot be mine,

Remembering that the door without a frame
is superfluous,
mocks itself,
and leads nowhere.
__________

for Real Toads. Kerry wanted a monk's tale, but femcentric me wrote about an abbess, instead.

The Stone Baby

Blessed Saint Creola appears in a village where, they say,
A woman has borne a stone baby.

No suitable bassinet can be found, and so the stone baby is placed
In a wheelbarrow. Religious graffiti soon covers it.

The mother is unhappy. Her baby does not have babysoft skin.
He does not smell nice. He seems to belong in a quarry.

Driven mad by having to lift her baby with a hoist, she takes him to bathe
In the lake near Saint Creola's shrine, but of course,

He sinks immediately to the bottom. A tow truck hauls him out
On the end of a good sturdy chain; the good news is

That the stone baby has no injuries. No skinned knee, no
scraped elbow. Still, he cannot play with the other children

Out of fear that he will will topple over on them. Sitting by himself,
He is accosted by the village bully, who hits him, breaking his own hand.

"Beautiful Saint Creola," cries the mother. "I have given birth to a
Cannon ball. His own weight breaks his bed. What can we do?"

It is said by those who were there, that the lovely and holy Saint Creola
Took up the stone child in her slender arms, and prayed over him,

Turning him to a cloud, which disappeared into the open blue sky.
In time, the child's mother gave birth to numerous birds,

Unmatched in the perfection of both their feathers and their souls;
"Behold, I give you sisters to bear your spirit up to God," spoke the mother.

It is another miracle of the celebrated Saint Creola...
Birds and brother, wheeling upon the very countenance of the Divine.
______
for Ella's mini challenge at Real Toads. 

How To Make A Poet (Though Making A Milk Jug Lantern Would Be Better)

I was delivering the mail.
No, the actual mail.
There were steps,
It was icy,
and bullshit bullshit bullshit...

Anyway,
I slipped.
Something deep inside my ears whispered to me:
Whee, whirlybird,
Going down.

I might still have been all right, except--
I landed in the spokes of some kid's bike
Left on the walk;
Then I was dead
Cos I broke my neck just like Mama always said.

Lady come out, lady say,
Omg, call the lawyer.

Then I was floating above my body,
And I thought,
No.
No no no no.
I had almost finished reading a novel, and
I had thawed some hamburger for tonight and
I had a movie that came in the mail,
Set aside,
Like a a potentially distracting
Arranged bride.
So I can't die.

But I died.
I saw souls whipping into the light
Like their hair was on fire.
The love!
(they said.)
The well-being!
(they cried.)

Well, that's not how my experience went...

God looked at my life and then at me and said,
WTF?
And I looked at my life and then at God, and said back,
wtF????
I came back as a cat.

I peed the little potted tree,
I bit the hand that fed me,
I shed and shit and scratched and that was me.
I was angry.

Then I died again, and still,
No love for Shay.
I stood before God in her Radiance,
And was sent back as a geranium this time,
That I might learn patience
And the art of being still.

I was pink, and pretty,
And people said, how nice.
All the time inside I was screaming
GAHHHHH! GAHHHHHHH!
Cos I was angry.
Then some kid, maybe the child of the one with the bike,
Said off with your head, 
And I said
Nothing after that.

I screeched at God, WTF?
And God said back, well, wtf?
I went back as a tropical fish
And an ant
And a dung beetle
And a labrador retriever,
The only one in history that bit.

I died and died and died and died.
And stood before God,
And got the trapdoor in the floor,
And a bon voyage.

It stopped being funny pretty fast.

So, after I was a monkey and a microbe and a
Frozen test tube baby in a basket,
God finally sighed.
One more time, She said, and 
Off I went.

My mama tried to kill me cos
She knew she bore a poet.
But I wouldn't die, not again.
No no no no no,
Not having it.

So I grew,
And scribbled, 
And went GAHHHHHHHHHH!, but
I did it pretty, so pretty.
I didn't love no men, and they didn't love me neither.
I loved some women til it made me cross-eyed,
But they said, we can be friends, such friends.

Then some dweeb at the mall told me God loves me,
And I smack him hard upside the head
With my latest volume.
I beat him
And beat him
And beat him
And beat him,
And that's the most use poetry ever was. 
I beat him, but I did it pretty, so pretty.

I went to jail and they said,
What's your name?
What's your gender?
What's your credit score?
What's your sign?

Then they gave me ten to fifteen years
To contemplate the Divine.
______

picture found on weheartit.com

60 Second Theology

The executioner with the short attention span
Sometimes fails to finish his work.

The feathers on a lady's hat
Send him off into the crowd, and then into the fields,
Looking for a warbler
Or a milliner.

A certain condemned aristocrat, thus semi-reprieved,
Was left stumbling in circles, a broken clock,
Holding one hand to the bloody side of his neck,
The other still unblemished as a girl's.

The distracted executioner is called on the carpet.
He is censured by the king himself,
Though it comes down from corporate.
Still,
Five minutes later,
He has forgotten it all and is riding a tiny tricycle through the stone-cobbled streets,
Trailed by a snotty, wailing child.

Say hello to the distracted executioner.
Lay your head here, please,
Just so.
If it helps, pretend you are at the salon for a shampoo;
Many have pleaded for mercy,
While others have spat and cursed as you do.

Will you be saved by a passing minstrel's tune,
Pardoned by a colorful butterfly?
Or will your head roll like a bowling ball,
Blinking in sudden surprise?

Your fate rests, it seems to me,
With the shifting vagaries,
The chance inanity,
Of a buffoon elevated to deity.
_______

Hopeless Prayer

I would like one day when it was not a struggle--
To know ease in the morning,
All the way to the midnight chime.

Devil won't let it happen.
Devil not about to let such ease be mine.

Wish I felt sweet Jesus near me.
Wish I felt that holy shine.

Instead, each day is fret and trouble--
Dodge the devil in the morning,
Cheat the reaper at the midnight chime.

Wish I felt sweet Jesus near me.
Wish I felt that holy shine.
_________

A Parable

On the beach at San Creola
--the very one where the famous Miracle occurred--
A little boy cries because a sea bird has stolen his candy.

If he were older,
He would curse the bird colorfully and with passion;
But if he were older,
What confection could matter so much?

Suddenly, the child senses someone near.
He looks up, a fresh-faced little ball of innocence, tears, and snot;
And sees a lady--
It is the Saint herself!
The beautiful and wise Saint Creola!

"Once upon a time,"
Says the saint, carefully blowing her cigarette smoke off to one side,
"There was a greedy sea gull."
Saint Creola wears a black dress,
A silver cross,
And a shawl,
Yet even by Divine standards, the woman is hot.
This is truth. 
She continues.
"This gull stole so much candy from the local children,
That its fine white feathers turned to sugar.
'Foolish bird,'
Scolded an old woman,
'Now you can never return to the sea.'
And with that, she caught him and kept him inside of a sugar bowl,
So that he could never steal candy again."

This is why, over the doorway to the girls' school at San Creola,
There is a seal,
Composed of a white bird with its beautiful wings spread above a gleaming and holy sugar bowl.

The little boy, despite being visited by the Saint,
Can never attend.
He is a boy.
Tough rocks, Butch,
You will have to wait for a mixer when you're older.
On that day, you can approach one of the girls as our beloved Creola once approached you,
And you can ask her to dance.
She may refuse you,
Or she may pluck your offered heart high into the air and spin with it
Like a pilfered trifle.
______


for Real Toads fairy tale prompt

Missionary Stew

"Don't you believe

In the literal word of God?"

Said they.



Let me think.

Let me see.

Let me consult my heads on sticks

With their eyes so pretty stitched

So wise.

So gay.



They say no.

No, we don't.



Besides, we find it surpassing odd

That you believe in one single lonesome God

Watching "House" on Hulu...

Such a strange drooping deity

Will never do.



I believe in

My neighbor's thighs,

And

The sun and stars.

Things that aren't,

And things that are.



"Would you like to discuss these things with me?

Stay for tea?"

Said me.



They say no.

No, they wouldn't.



All one can do,

(I say to the heads)

Is offer the truth.

They nod,

Painted and beautiful in the evening breeze,

They hang.

They agree.

________

photo from Beetlejuice


________

Meditation

I said to the wind,

"You have cheated me"



And the wind said,

"So,

Have you learned that the sky is not as empty as it seems,

Nor the earth so strong?"



I said to the wind,

"You have carried from my bones the flesh I deserved,

And replaced it with old leaves and bullshit from bins"



And the wind said,

"So,

Have you made peace with the lead dress?

Have you learned to dance at the bottom of the sea?"



I said to the wind,

"Cut the shit.

When do I get some answers?"



But the wind said nothing,

And swept my words away into silence.

_______

Jesu, Je T'adore

I told the girl at the salon,
"Here is a picture of my favorite star,
Make me look like this,
Mysterious and
So perfectly blonde."

She said, "Sure thing, but first,
Pray with me,
Pray with me now, right here on the checkered floor,
For Heaven to send a miracle--
Jesu, je t'adore."

Who knew?
Who knew He was French?
They never wear anything twice because of all the smoke...
I'm saved from the miserable shadows, saved by Eurotrash--
This is no light matter.
This is not a joke.

And when you hold me, I'm set free.
You complete me with the way you are;
Then I say, "Darling,
Never love anyone but me."

You say, "Sure thing, but first,
Pray with me,
Pray with me that I won't tell you big whopping lies anymore,
For Heaven to send a miracle--
Jesu, je t'adore."

Who knew?
Who knew He was French?
They never wear anything twice because of all the smoke...
I'm saved from the miserable shadows, saved by Eurotrash--
This is no light matter.
This is not a joke.

An Edifying Ellipse

Seek purity of thought and deed.

Do nothing from selfish motives.

Enter with a kind word,

And when you leave, take nothing with you that would better serve those left behind.

If you fail in any of these things,

Look cute.

It will remedy a thousand sins.

If you wish to understand God,

Study cats.

If you wish to understand cats,

Observe women.

If you wish to understand women,

God help you,

Even if you are one.

God, cats, and women all like to be listened to.

Each uses her own special parlance.

Those who attend well shall become wise, and perhaps, accidentally, happy.

All three expect worship and indulgence.

Each demands certain rituals.

All are omniscient.

(we know.

we know you know we know.

all else is predicated on this basic truth.)

God, cats, and women are all inherently beautiful, capricious, brilliant, divine, and occasionally prone to huge huge blunders.

This is when having nine lives,

Saying, "I meant to do that,"

Or wearing gigantic dark glasses can be remedial.

Failing these,

Look cute.

It will absolve these periodic lapses.

_____

Cleopatra

God messes up and creates Cleopatra two feet tall.

"Dude," complains Cleopatra.

"I'm the Queen of Egypt.

Men are supposed to go weak-kneed in my presence.

And I'm a midget. Hello?"

Cleopatra sets her jaw in a way that says I Can't Believe I Am Having To Explain This, and continues.

"Marc Antony walked in and asked me if my mother was home."

Her voice rises.

"I'm supposed to be Queen of the Nile and I can't even get on the rides at Six Flags or Cedar Point!"

Cleopatra flips her black hair, crosses her arms and goes silent.

Her entire aspect says, "What the fuck?"

"My child," begins God.

"Oh fuck, fuckety fuck fuck FUCK!" says Cleopatra, stomping her feet and flailing her fists with her eyes shut tight, looking like a two foot tall stick of dynamite.

"All right then," amends God. "Dude..."

One Royal eye opens.

(Now, you might not know this, but God can handle being called out.

She likes a challenge, and that is exactly the reason She has created some three billion females and filled the earth with them.

Males She tossed in later to tweak the women and keep things agitated.)

"...I'll fix it."

And so it comes to pass that Cleopatra grows three feet and four inches in a single summer, nearly all of it legs.

Marc Antony stops asking for her mother.

In fact, he finds it difficult to speak at all.

"Oh put your eyes back in your head," chirps the Queen.

Egypt becomes great.

CBS announces the premier of "CSI:Cairo."

Cleopatra hangs out on the beach with a mojito and listens to her mp3 player.

God says, "Sweet, right?"

Cleopatra tips her sunglasses up onto her shining black hair and smiles that smile that makes Marc Antony walk into walls.

"Dude! I feel ya!"

_______________

Photo: actress and celebrated beauty Lily Langtry "The Jersey Lily" as Cleopatra.

Stone Angels

Blame Daryl for this one. ;-)

Stone angels

Fall out of Heaven,

Landing in church courtyards

And people's gardens.

Some come down in cemeteries,

But are quickly stolen.

Stone angels

May appear serene,

But their thoughts are jangled:

"My nose itches, but I can't scratch it!"

"Here comes that dog again!"

"I'm one step removed from garden gnome. Oy."

When they flutter their wings,

Gardeners and priests end up in casts

And flight is out of the question.

They cannot ride bicycles.

They are poor joggers.

They have trouble getting warm on cloudy days.

The stone angels

Don't get picked for badminton

But they have beautiful souls

And, like small children and honest lovers,

They can describe the Divine

In an easy and familiar way.

_________