Pony For Dray Horse

 If milkmaids dance,

I haven't seen it.

That doesn't mean it doesn't happen

when I'm asleep

or dying.

If apples can be poisoned

I haven't tasted one.

That doesn't mean to trust your grocer,

lover,

or restauranteur.

Oh you, decked in white blossoms like some ironic saint,

evangelizing my arms, my tongue, my will

like the loving dead.

I know now that I was kissing a corpse--

one heart beating for two,

pony for dray horse, dragging along.

I can't swear that I'll be smarter next time,

but I mean to be.

I'll remember your face, your ways, your smile,

turn my head like a lady

and spit.

_______

Note: I will be participating less in poetry blogdom, though I will still post my poems here, and continue the Word List. I am mostly HERE now. 

Magnificence

In order to photograph the natural world,
one must love that world.

In order to capture the essence of a wild thing,
one must allow it beneath one's skin and never flinch.

Only an amateur,
only a poseur, a human monkey with thumbs,
disrespects his subject.
Let such cardboard-souled dabblers eat scorn and vomit shame.

I have been waiting for hours,
flexing my fingers to restore blood flow,
stamping my feet as quietly as I can,
training my telescopic lens on a mountain side,
hoping to capture an image of the rare and beautiful snow leopard.

Today, she has left her injured mate behind,
and she hunts alone, looking for the nimble mountain sheep.
I am nearly as electrified as the leopard when she spots one,
downwind and oblivious.

I should have left the gin alone last night.
I am finding it hard to maintain concentration,
a recurring fault my ex-wife would be happy to tell you about.
I blink hard and refocus...
Yes, there she is, nearly upon her kill!

Too late to double check my settings,
no time to choose a better angle;
I can almost feel her empty belly in my own body,
and I know how badly she needs this meal.

I put my fingers slowly to my mouth,
and let out a shrill, sharp whistle that echoes off the rocks.
The mountain sheep jerks his head up, then bolts,
and the snow leopard misses him by a body length,
or at most, two.

She turns in a quick circle,
beside herself with furious frustration.
I take several dozen shots at high speed--
Yes! I can demand twice, even three times the going rate
for the best ones.
The cover of a glossy monthly will not be out of the question!

The snow leopard disappears among the rocks high up,
and I put away my gear.
The injured leopard may die tonight. The huntress will not eat.
That's a shame, but I can't keep the grin off my face as I stow the last of my equipment.

This could make my reputation,
and pay for a lot of Tanqueray
and eager whores.
________

for Kerry's challenge at Real Toads: the unreliable narrator.



 
 

Break The Sugar Stick

Break the sugar stick,
Spice the thorn;
Split the night bloom
Two, then four.

Your kiss is the cat with the blood-bird held--
Your promise is the Gypsy with the well-oiled wheel;
Press me, honey, to the walls of the well,
Where the brick-water sweats and the rot-fruits peel.

Sewer flowers vased
On the table by the bed;
Six red hens
On the white sheets, dead.

Break the sugar stick,
Spice the thorn;
Love me for a little,
Then never any more.
______

this one is your fault, Brendan. you got me thinking about the undead.

The Dead Woman Got Up

The dead woman got up--

Thank Goddess for hard rains and fingernails.

Those who would rise, give up black for blue,

Earth for sky.



The dead woman leant against a tree--

Its bark like the skin of a mummy-baby,

But her with no heart to be lured back with,

Exchanging love for leaves,

Mud,

And droppings.



She can lure no man,

Bear no child;

She doesn't care how clean your house is.

She hasn't got a thing to wear,

She has forgotten her own name,

She kisses the dogs who fight over her bones and names them--

Cerberus,

Anubis,

and Sugar.



The dead woman gets up--

Spends a week in the underbrush, falling apart,

Skin flaking away, blood turning thick and black.

Underneath,

A changeling, a hoodoo queen, neither virtuous nor innocent

Shines in the moonlight,

Smiles, starts walking,

Fearsome,

Careless,

Not really dead at all.

________

Late Winter Delirium

My dreams ice at the edges when I get this tired.

They stand like winter stalks

Or dead brides,

Miles from the main road

Or any comforting verse.



See the hag, the hearse,

The hard frozen road and the half moon hanging--

They whisper,

Here is your baby girl you lost.

Here is your youth.

Here is your easy life in summertime, the crickets and clear stars,

The lavender and clean sheets,

All the things forgotten, disbelieved or denied.

Here is the basket with no bottom, and here is the hope of carrying them with you anyway.

Here is your heart--

We have saved it through the deepest freeze and weakest light.



I had made a heart of brown leaves and birds' nests, thundersnow and feathers.

Now,

A whole flock flies from it and still, it isn't mine.

I take the new one offered, as if it were strong and worth possessing.



If I have to feel my real heart, let me feel it plain--

My voice will crack the river as I scream.

Give it to me anyway,

I am too tired to fight.

Lie if you need to,

Tell me there is a Mother in Heaven, a Love in the Spring;

Tell me any mad tale that comes to mind--

That what God creates, she loves,

And does not leave behind.

________

Thomas Hardy Zombie

with apologies to Pete

Radiation from the Archbishop of Canterbury's cell phone

Wakes Thomas Hardy Zombie from his rest.

He emerges,

Crosses himself,

Genuflects,

Then eats the Archbishop's worthy brains.



Thomas Hardy Zombie shuffles out of Westminster Abbey.

He needs a men's clothier.

He needs a haberdasher.

He needs to get on the tube.

In London,

No one speaks English,

No one is actually from there,

And no one gives a fuck about you, or your stupid Wessex, either.



Thomas Hardy left his heart in Stinsford, next to Emma.

He sits on the underground train,

Unable to read the map on the opposite wall, because of the pregnant woman,

The war cripple,

And the noisy group of drunken Germans,

All standing in front of where he is seated.

Must the Germans cook everything in beer, thinks Thomas Hardy Zombie,

Even their noodles?

The thought makes his stomach turn over,

And he belches loudly.

"Pardon me," mumbles Thomas Hardy Zombie, mortified.

His elegant Victorian manners remain largely intact.



Because he is a zombie, his mind is fraught with hellish nightmares:

The Welsh.

The Irish.

Worst of all, the Scots.

He moans.

To settle himself, he decides to compose a love poem.

As the train clacks and jostles, the great writer considers his task, and what sentiments,

Which natural wonders,

What unforgettable bucolic setting

Should he choose?

He begins to write:



brains
brains
brains
eat brains!



He pauses, to review.

Not exactly "A Saturday afternoon in November was approaching the time of twilight", but

It's something down on paper,

Something to tidy up and work from.



Getting off the train, Thomas Hardy Zombie forgets the recorded warning to "mind the gap",

And his leg goes straight down between the car and the platform,

Snapping off like a moldy twig.

He is stampeded over by students and smartly-dressed young businesswomen,

All of them wearing a dizzying array of greys,  blacks, and charcoal.

One of them dares to wear a red scarf,

And is thundered over without regard, as well.



Thomas Hardy Zombie hops, one-legged, to the escalator.

This presents a problem, so he stops.

A group of Japanese,

Then a small pod of Indian techno-nerds

Trample him from behind.

The fragile, long-dead (and living dead) poet is ground to dust under their heels.

With that,

The President Of The Immortals had ended his sport with Thomas Hardy Zombie,

And his final work goes unfinished.



Humbly, I complete it here:

brains
mmm, brains
brains
brains
brains


(You're welcome.)

________

Blackthorne & Celeste

I wasn't going to post this, having written it for sheer amusement. But then, wickedness whispered to me in the form of....well, I shan't name her. (oOooo, I just said "shan't". For my next trick, I'm going to sip Darjeeling with my little finger stuck out, just so. See? How cool am I? Don't answer that! We haven't got all day.) Now, as all of my regular readers know, when faced with the temptation to do evil, I generally cave immediately, thereby leaving me more time to actually perform the deed. And so, shower her with hosannas or bombard her with brickbats as you choose, but my friend prevailed, and so here is this lovely bit of doggerel, entitled...

BLACKTHORNE & CELESTE


Blackthorne crouched in his garret
Working feverishly on "Ode To A Backed-Up Drain"
Brooding in the dark--
Wracking his brain--
So very somber deep and serious was he
About finding a way
To shock the industrial bourgeoisie
That he hadn't bathed in weeks
Such that the dirt lay upon him in streaks.

His lady Celeste, light and airy
Dashes off poems
In the haiku form
About unicorns, sprites and fairies
Sort of a Sino-Celtic headache
In verse,
To make strong persons curse
Their fate
In having to read it.

They were married in the park
In June in the rain in the dark
His verse got bleaker,
Her haikus, weaker,
And now there's no telling when or if they will stop.

_______

dedicated to Charles Bukowski and Jewel, the finest poets of our time   

Zombies

Zombies overrun the nine o'clock service at the First Methodist Church in Norman.

A confused usher tries to hand them programs as they pour in from the back.

The zombies do not know the words to "How Great Thou Art."

The zombies do not have an opinion on same-sex marriage.

The zombies do not have a personal relationship with The Lord, nor do they accept anyone as their personal savior.

Mostly,

The zombies like to eat brains.

"Look how casually they're dressed," sniffs Mildred Mump. "They must be Catholics."

"Shhh!" scolds Penelope Jones, the local librarian.

"I wonder if any of them are single?" speculates Madison Monroe to her friend Kimberly.

The minister invites anyone who would like to be saved, to come up to the front of the church at this time.

The zombies all come.

They eat his brain.

"Welcome, brother!" says old Melvin Baker, not understanding, patting a zombie heartily on the shoulder.

The zombie's arm falls off.

Then the zombie eats his brain.

Grady Popper, who likes to remind his wife that it was Eve who tempted Adam and ruined everything,

And who rests secure in the knowledge that he will go to Heaven while all the Jews, lesbians, liberals, and the like, will burn eternally in an everlasting fire,

Is attacked by a zombie.

The zombie goes hungry.

To the disappointment of George Gipper, who is waiting outside to collect his wife and kids,

And who wanted more time to read the sports section,

Nine a.m. service lets out early.

The zombies pour back out,

Not bothering to stop for cookies in the social hall.

After eating a few last brains for the road, the zombies all head for Danny's Coffee Shop.

"Here comes the church crowd," says Denise, looking out the window.

Extra coffee is put on.

"Zombies!" cries Chloe, the way children say, "The ice cream truck!"

The Queen of the Vampires shape-shifts into a black panther and crouches on the back of a booth, switching her tail.

"Oh god," mutters the Succubus, rolling her eyes.

"Yes, hun?" says God, looking up from her receipts.

At that moment, the zombies come pouring in.

Chloe's eyes get big, and, biting her lip quite charmingly,

She swings a lamp at a zombie with everything she's got.

The zombie's head falls off.

The Queen of the Vampires jumps off the booth and takes out three more zombies,

Then twists and charges around,

Swiping at them with her fearsome claws until all the of the zombies are dead.

The QOTV shape-shifts back to human form, and she and Chloe grin and exchange high fives over a pile of zombies.

The Dark Haired Chick walks in the door and steps over the mess.

"Dahling!" she exclaims, seeing the QOTV.

"Rowww," purrs the QOTV, which, since she is in human form, is kind of neat, and means,

"Look what I did!"

It is not even ten thirty, yet.

_______