Dark Roses

The dark roses that crowded, tangled, 
On the latticework, spoke to me
As I knelt in the deep black dirt, adoring them.

They said, behold the spitting clouds.
You cannot stitch them, you cannot
Make a wedding dress or a shroud from them,
They are beyond that.

There are things dark roses do,
Practices they keep, that leave
A girl such as me bitter.
This is what I told them.

The dark roses that crowded, tangled,
Around my body, within my mind,
Choking off all rivals, all future,
All breath,

Laughed at me, and were still beautiful
Even down to their hateful thorns.
I offered, to the leaden sky's face,
To become a bird just to vex them,

But my dark roses only relented enough
To tell me that I am pale, paper-skinned
And bloodless, as doomed as happiness,
Not even worth tears.

Here is the truth I learnt and then poisoned myself with:
My dark roses are flawlessly formed,
Vicious and unforgettable,
As soft and compassionless as worms.

_________

Blame

You can't blame it all on me.
I broke that bottle square on your boat's fat beak,
And looked damned fine doing it, too.

Is it my fault
That a little pink ribbon dragged her down?
Was it my doing
That the captain you engaged was a freak, a fiend, a fool?

Tell those idiots to lay their tubas down.
The breeze is picking up,
Everyone is heading home,
And not another soul blames me, not one.

So hit me or kiss me,
But don't stand there stupid
Like a dressmaker's dummy.

It's easy to react after the fact,
But at least I twitched,
At least I spit in the wind and went whistling past the graveyard;
If you sink, you sink alone...
Don't try to blame that stuff on me.
_________ 

Also, find my new prose poem at Night Blooms, HERE.

For Scorpio

When love makes me desperate--
When I need you to be
As close to me
As each creature is to its heart beat,

I go down through the grasses and the trees
To a place that exists in the world
Simply because you do, my girl.

You know that I am a gypsy,
Though I stay like a book upon a shelf;
That's as may be,
But if I keep to myself it is only so that I
May write you these poems
My maddening darling, my sweet.

In this hidden place, I have but one thing to wear--
My summer robe which hangs faithfully there,
Made from strawberry silk and white;
I have a porch that I may pace
As I watch for you, your face,
And I am always constant, in the noon or in the night.

I have a silver bucket, to draw water,
And two French doors, always parted
To welcome and invite my beloved only guest;
Within is my bed, no table, no chair,
Where I wait for my favorite, the one I care
For fiercely and softly, desperately and best.
_______

Linked to Real Toads open link monday

The Jesus Look

She was the Palmer County Green Bean Queen,
Her face on every can the trucks took out
To stores in Lincoln, Springfield, and Durban.

It was 1967,
The sky was a weird yellow,
And the grass had already given up.
Even the air had a strange ozone tang.

In '66 her mama told her,
"Take care of my beefsteaks, the cherries, and even the early girls I tried this year."
She was a woman who had always lived close to the earth,
So she knew, sure enough, when it was calling her.

Her daddy had been a wing walker between the wars.
He said, "Kissin' your mama and kissin' Heaven are just about the same fine feelin' "
But she couldn't remember
Because she had been nothing but a blue-eyed baby girl.

The Palmer County Green Bean Queen wasn't afraid that day.
Even the cattle had headed for the far corner of the pasture,
But she stood in the yard near the house
So she'd not have to carry the chairs so far.
She turned to me, beautiful as she had ever been, and said,
"Ellie, he's coming."
I tried to pull her down to the cellar,
But I knew,
From the Jesus look in her eyes,
That though she stood there still, waiting in the wind,
She was really already gone.
_______

for Magpie 91

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

A Delicate Thing Considers Her Swain

I am a delicate thing in a delicate hour--
Twelve is the time
And I assure you that I'm
Mulling on your answer, Sir;
I'll meet you in the bower,
Where my crickets most delicately chirr.

Before that, I have so much to do!
Like wiping out the traces
Like the hanging shrunken faces
Of my suitors before you;
I'll be slaving like a servant
Hide the potion
Stash the serpent
And put on a bashful face, a smiling face,
A suitable face to turn so delicately toward you.

I am a delicate thing in a delicate way
And if you knew what was on the way,
I assure you, Sir,
You'd faster stir
Than any of my suitors who came before you;
They linger in the bower
Right under your feet,
With root and rot and eternity sweet
To yearn for a delicate girl,
A wonderful girl,
A girl too good to be true.
________

for Real Toads excellent fairy tale prompt!

Hard Hand

by Fireblossom and Coal Black

It was a hard hand that reached from the snow
Three fingers pale white
The others only bone.

It was a hard hand til it rotted in the spring
Crows took the flesh
Thieves took the ring.

He died in his sleep
He died without a sound
She tilted back her head and screamed
Quite surpassin' loud.
_______