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. 

______

Weebles

 

Remembering my dollhouse,

full of thalidomide Weebles, armless, legless

and sleepless as well--always upright,

awake all night wandering the rooms.

No use locking the doors or pulling the shades--

the entire back of the house open to flood and tornado.

The whole place an ossuary--urn your keep, Weebs.

And me, Queen of the whole shebang, a six-year-old Persephone.

No surprise, then, to find me in new adulthood,

still covered with the vernix of near-innocence,

living on tuna fish and rainwater, perched

in the henhouse on my hope chest, waiting.

That was when you appeared, rising like a helium balloon,

floating in place beneath the crude umbraculum

with a censer in one hand and a lily in the other,

in full Papal costume, my real-life Weeble-God. 

We fed each other party crackers and absinthe,

le fee verte, "The Green Fairy," faux artists in our henhouse garret. 

Our flock all turned from Rhode island Reds to common crows.

We are a House that cannot be toppled, like Weebles ourselves,

though the giant half-grown bitch beyond the open back wall

keeps trying to poke us, smoke us out, or otherwise tamper

with our great love and legacy--hers if only she would pause,

consider, and accept us as deities. cast in plastic and immortal.

_______________

for Word Garden Word List--Four-Legged Girl

Music: Van Halen Little Dreamer

 

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!

Edwina Eileen Etiquette

Edwina Eileen Etiquette
got all she could getiquette.
She caught her neighbors' Galliformes
and turned them into Maniformes.
Exclaim! Exclaim! (went other dames)
and loosed uncomplimentary names,
but were her needs all metiquette?
Edwina says, "You betiquette!" 
__________

Galliformes = chickens and other large ground-feeding birds.

For day 7 and for "Just One Word" at Toads.

The Retired Poetess

And lo, the heart doth open on golden springes,

Oh how fucking stupid. Lo. Really? Lo dee oh doe. La la la. Down shoobee doo down down. I wonder what Neil Sedaka's doing these days? He might be dead or something. Never mind! Write!

The heart, bedded neath its blanket of care, opening on golden--

No! It sounds like a burrito or a pill dispenser or something. I can't work hungry. What's in the house?

~one trip to the store, and fixing lunch, and eating lunch, and a nap, later....

heart cart fart part K Mart

Maybe if i walk the dog, my head will come up with something. Don't forget poop bags. 

~one dog walk later~

Lo, the

I wonder what's on Face Book? Ha! Talking cats, I love those. LIKE. Oh here's that silly woman asking to be friends again. She actually posts pictures of her bunions. That's low...

Lo, the springes of the heart open under Psyche's...

Psyche? Circe? Mars? March! I'm gonna march you down the aisle! April! You're the Easter bunny when you smile! Yeah, yeah, my heart's in a whirl--

Spring-ed heart, lo the ...cart? chart? Convenient Food Mart?

I'm hungry again. Then bed. Zac's tired. Wait, there's an "ER" re-run on. Oh wow, the guy's in a coma. That's rough. They say that waking up is hard to doooooo, I know it is, I know that it's truuuuuue... What about the poem? *yawn*

Zzzzzzz. 
_____


for Metafiction with Kerry at Toads.  

 



   

    

Candlehead

in a cup of ceramic moon bone,
i nest my ignited constellations.
i keep two eyes--
one for hot, one for cool--
kiss me and taste the entire sky.
______

this is my attempt at a tanka, for Real Toads. my dislike for oriental forms is widely known, so if this doesn't fit the bill, please choke on a cherry blossom!