The Winter One

In the heart of Winter,
No one came near;
What choice did I have, but to
Summon you, dear?

Black are the branches,
Black are the crows;
What heart could survive by
Loving those?

In the heart of Springtime,
When my Winter One slept,
I rocked by the streamside
And bitterly wept.
_____

a triptych for Kerry's challenge at Real Toads

Farewell

Farewell, joy of my heart. Yes, I have to go, even though I would rather stay here with you. You know that, don't you? Oh now hey, please don't do the sad face...you'll break my heart.

I tell you what. I promise to come back the very minute that I can, and to bring you a bag of Barkery Bones when I do. Okay? All right then. See you after work, Bosco!

Merzi

Merzi comes
in the hour of glass bones
in the time of the last snow
Merzi comes
and I am waiting.

Merzi is from
Belgrade or Kiev,
She likes her coffee and her women dark and strong--
Merzi sighs
like the cars going by
on the wet street outside in the dawn.

Merzi comes
in the hour of the watching stars
in the time of the poem unspun
Merzi comes
and I am waiting.
_____

Descanso

The road weaved off ahead like the 
messed-up
more adventurous friend
who says, come on, let's pick the lock,
snap the chain,
and goose the gods who brought the rain.

This road is the place
where the one I was
met the lead-foot driver of who I would be;
and you know what they say--
women drivers
no survivors.

Oh, little tornado-heart,
shed that leaden skin.
Let the poison out, let the Jesus in.
Honey, a red car is the only car--
no you anymore, but only us...
I'll carry the best of you fast over asphalt and tar,
and leave the husk with these crosses
in the roadside dust.

_____

for Real Toads OLM

 

Romans

All roads lead to Rome, they say--
But the legions,
In their breast plates,
With their red plumes, and brilliant strategies,

Are screwed VII ways to Sunday,
Dead beneath the gravel,
Knocked flat by fat babies
And little black crickets.

Dandelion-seed emperors,
Ladies whose looks went centuries ago,
Dust-mouthed senators;
Their domes are as empty as old flower pots.

Beyond this gate,
There is a horse in a paddock
And laundry on a line.
What fool put them so close together?
I don't know...

All I'm sure of,
Is that the grass here smells sweet,
The sunset is pretty,
And that I want more than anything

To feel my back against the post,
Your lips against mine,
And your fingertips at my cheek.

Do what the sleeping legions can't do--
Open the gate, sweet honey,
And pass through.

______

for Kenia's photo challenge at Real Toads. The bottom photo is hers.

Written while drinking Bolthouse Farms vanilla chai tea, which I am convinced helps me to be creative. It's irrelevant whether this is true. It only matters that I *believe* that it is true!

Doctors

Dr. Demerton diverges from strict protocol,
taking out his ink pen and prescribing trephining
for a patient complaining of an itchy scalp.

How many ear aches can one man stand to encounter
before his mind tears into ragged strips,
like a wet napkin?

How many common colds can he diagnose before wishing to 
press each stuffy head down into a basin full of water 
until all complaints subside?

Next door, Dr. Baynedda cures all with a toss of her hair,
or a sultry glance above her bookish eyeglasses.
White canes and old wheelchairs accumulate outside by the dumpster,
while their owners cartwheel home
or read eye charts placed in the next county.

When Dr. Baynedda walks in, she dispenses cures from the pockets of her immaculate white coat,
and nothing hurts, ever, except the sharp pangs of desire
felt by her patients,
her staff,
and even by people in far away countries at the simple mention of her name.

Dr. Demerton feels eclipsed, and a little bit depressed,
watching the misery which teems in his waiting room,
be it ever so common;
be it ever so dull.
He strays further and further from standardized practice,

incorporating voodoo, the herb smoke, and 
non HMO approved pentagrams into his treatments.
But still,

everyone prefers Dr. Baynedda.
One visit, and soft white-feathered wings emerge from their once-slumped shoulders.
One smile from her, and sluggish hearts race,
twisted, useless limbs become supple and strong,
and the dead--yes, the dead!--rise, just to fall at her feet in adoration.

Dr. Demerton gives up practice, becomes a busker in the subway,
with a little fez-wearing monkey he rescued from a lab
by holding the director and his staff at bazooka point.

And Dr. Baynedda?
She wears the uniform of mercy,
the colorful costume of genuine radiance,
and all who see her, all who seek her,
become pilgrims on a holy journey
into Yes Sugar Yes.
_______


 for my own Fireblossom Friday prompt, "I Love A Man (Or Woman!) In Uniform". I think white lab coats count.

 

Science For Girls

Water vapor in the cloud--
Same-same, baby,
You can't choose out one from within the other.

The water drop rolls and rises inside the cloud--
Sun, Moon,
Still call strong and she answers.

Water drop cloaks herself
In more and more of herself--
She rolls again and falls;
The Earth calls, so Cloud and Moon let go,

But still they cover her with themselves
Until the next roll and turn,
Feeling each other in the quick of each other
Always.
______