Shay Live!

oOo, dear readers, you would have been proud of your little Fireblossom tonight. As part of a benefit event, I read some of my poetry at Affirmations, our gorgeous lesbian and gay center.

They liked me they really liked me.

I read four poems:

Transgendered Cats

The Amazing Krezkov

Pro Forma

and Strippers.

They laughed. They listened. They clapped and yelled. I was told I am better than the ordinary brand, by an attractive woman or two. I quite liked that part.

Today Duckburg, tomorrow New York. Or not. But I sure enjoyed it, and it was for a good cause. :-)

______

Offering

She walks down the track

in a black dress

early on a Sunday afternoon,

with an ice cream bar in one hand

and her shoes in the other;

the dogs don't bark.

no dogs will bark.

they are silent.

She walks down the track

in a black dress

with her smoky hair

where the locomotives used to split the hills,

and the coal underground still burns.

it only takes a spark.

a tiny little spark

starts the smoldering.

She walks down the track

in a black dress

with a dusky dog

close and silent at her side;

there are mounds here that hold

her mother and her mother going back.

let her walk by.

just let her pass by.

to live, lay your heart

at her feet, like silver track.

_________

to get to Moundsville, just follow the old Baltimore & Ohio tracks.

Snuggle Bear

Snuggle Bear goes sour.

Belligerent and profane, he starts getting in fights outside popular clubs at two a.m.

Unflattering photographs appear;

So do lawsuits and a nasty, protracted divorce.

Snuggle Bear's mother goes on record vouching for his sweetness

And his inability to do wrong of any kind.

Ratcheting up the madness,

"Snug-dawg" joins a street gang.

Heavily tattooed and strung out,

Snuggle Bear waves a firearm around in broad daylight, cursing in Spanish.

Too bad for Tommy Tooth--

Right place, wrong time,

He dies of acute-onset lead poisoning.

At Snuggle Bear's sensational trial,

Snug's attorney complains to the court,

Revealing that the prison laundry does not use fabric softener.

"This amounts to nothing less than torture for my client!" he booms, in theatrical outrage.

Snuggle Bear titters in his ridiculous high voice, which makes his homeys sitting in the gallery squirm and look away.

Snuggle Bear is convicted and given 99 years.

In jail, he finds The Lord.

He does all that he can to bring the peace of forgiveness to his fellows,

But his violently insane cellmate is unreceptive, and knocks the stuffing out of Snuggle Bear.

After fifty years fly by,

Snuggle Bear is released for good behavior.

Old, tattered, and missing an eye,

Snuggle Bear is no longer telegenic.

He shambles into a coin laundry to get out of the snow,

And sits down in a broken molded plastic chair.

The woman who empties the lint filters and picks up the discarded detergent jugs stops and scrutinizes him.

"Hey! I know you!" she cries. "You were the Pillsbury Doughboy!"

She grins and pokes his middle.

Despite his struggle, ruin, and years of desperate searching,

The gesture touches a part of Snuggle Bear that is still as innocent and pure as Ivory Flakes.

His high-pitched laugh returns, like a wedding ring rescued from a drain,

Proving that,

Like bad poetry,

A thing can be obnoxious and kitschy all at the same time--

Leaving hearts noticeably softer

And filling the air

With the fresh, clean scent

Of redemption.

_______

Cowgirl

If you shook out my soul,

If it came unrolled, you'd get

Roses, silk, and chocolate;

An arch look and white lace

And all the girly things that grace it...

But, depending on when,

If you shook it again,

You'd get sun, dust, and leather,

Saddle wax and heather;

Something I dreamed and kept in a San Antonio summer,

With space, love, and time enough to name it.

________

Pro Forma

The best cat is a black cat. Siamese are the most vocal.

Carpet runners are a sign of impending nervous problems. Keep restraints at the ready.

Boots should be leather or suede, and should make a pleasing sound on hard surfaces--

Marble.

Cement.

Bone.

Return all library materials by the due date; other patrons may be waiting. A drop box is usually available during off hours.

Ladies never spit on the floor.

Old Italian women do, at the mention of philandering husbands or lazy sons in law.

Pay careful attention to grooming and personal hygiene--

Brush.

Bathe.

Remove blood stains before they set.

Choose flattering colors and fabrics. Florals are pretty. Classic black makes a statement.

Cursing is vulgar.

Men are large, but slow. Keep cutting edges honed, and your innermost thoughts to yourself.

Laugh often.

Show some thigh.

Rinse and repeat.

Every woman has a secret name.

So do hurricanes.

A woman's kitchen is the heart of her home; her bedroom its soul.

All women are priestesses. She may be--

Pagan.

Fundamentalist.

Spiritualist.

Wiccan.

Lie to a woman and in your next life you will eat carrion.

Beat a woman and in your next life you will be carrion.

Love a woman and in your next life you will be a lion. This life, too.

Recycle.

Dogs were created so that women could whisper their secrets to someone.

Discard anything you haven't touched in six months.

Water the flowers.

A woman who loves her hair, loves herself.

Wink at your image in the mirror, for luck. If you are not reflected in the glass, it is not you who will need the luck.

All women are nocturnal, answering to--

The moon.

The tides.

Themselves.

And lastly, if you know someone truly loves you, forgive them anything else.

If you know they don't, all their words are empty.

Kiss hard.

Fuck rules.

Protect your little ones,

And sing what you like; you are the only one who knows the tune.

_______

Surfacing

I am drawn to drownings.

Intrigued by hangings.

The oriole may land on the gallows pole,

And no one accuses her of being macabre.

The red winged Blackbird may cling to the cat tails by the misted pond in the morning,

And no one suggests

She should not have perched there, singing to the silent girl in the water.

Suicide is not the answer to every problem,

Nor is fire,

Nor is sleep.

There are even those who will tell you that if you simply remain still and wait,

That the earth and sky will move,

Beneath and above you,

Bringing change while you dream that she is there again,

Leaning to kiss you,

Consuming you like the curtains and the crossbeams

As part of you stops fighting and lets go...

It is like birds startled by a gunshot,

Isn't it,

When you wake up gasping and know that she hasn't killed you

After all.

_______

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.

_______