One Arm

(for Kerry)

One arm is all you need
to smooth a dress
raise a glass
light a fuse
hide a face
turn a page
tease a clit
hold a hand.

In the land of the lion,
this is known:

The empty side allows the dark that holds the roar from miles away.

One sun lights every head,
drives every thirst,
greens every leaf on every stalk
from east to west
down all the years.

In the land of the lion,
this is known:

One arm is all you need. 
________

for Marian's "One Love" prompt at Toads.

 

Hawk and Hollyhock

In late evening, my spirit slipped its mews
and perched watching me--my remainder self--
broad-leafed, overtall, growing from a gap in the step.

There were heels on the paving stones,
a spill of some harsh but bone-known tongue.

I woke, the tether caught--
the mews reoccupied. 
I rose, swayed; hawk & hollyhock in temporary union. 
______________

Note:  In falconry, a mews is a birdhouse designed to house one or more birds of prey. In falconry there are two types of mews: the freeloft mews and traditional mews. Traditional mews usually consist of partitioned spaces designed to keep tethered birds separated with perches for each bird in the partitioned space.

A 55 for my BFF.

Equinox

I'm as plain and brown as mud in March.
I'm a stone in a river; I don't move much. 
I'm the dull-bound book with the faded cover,
But my pages will call you to next and another.

See the yard all strewn with last year's leaves--
See the unassuming chair, the sparrow, and...me
Dreaming at mid-day-- as roots are, too,
Seeming still-- but restless and drawn to do

Our turning and rising as the season commands
with sure sense of continuance--like ampersands.
_____

For Fireblossom Friday : Poetic imagery. I'm hosting at Toads. Come by and join us!

A Mail Lady's Golden Memories (Episode 54)

Mrs. Geritolle is missing her Blizzardville Inquirer,
expected via post every week from out of town.

Mrs. G to the mail lady: "Maybe it's in your truck somewhere."

"Or sitting at the post office."

"I think you took it home to read yourself." 

Days later, a post card: "Blizzardville Inquirer has ceased publication."

~sigh~

SMH. 
__________

for those not conversant with text short-hand, SMH = "shaking my head." 

A 55 for my BFF.

Night Walkers

We're sorry to call
at such a late hour--
so we'll scoot in and snick the door

shut

so quietly.

Every Wednesday night
since Goddess knows when
we're canasta queens

but then you know we

have time to be.

We wear white dresses up to our necks
and we like the jokers left in the decks.

Shh shh, go back to sleep.
Don't come down the stairs--
or we'll disappear, tongues gone to cats,
as if we'd never even been there.

We sense you more than see you
when curiosity draws you
down the stairs--

we hold our breath

and three our pairs. 

Curse you, damn you,
disturbing our game
with lights obliging us to disperse--

impudent meat bag!

We were here first! 
________

For Marian's music prompt--Alice Cooper. Youtube doesn't want to let me include his song "Black Juju" but that's the one I wrote from. 

I once had a dream that I was one of a small group of 1900-ish ladies who gathered regularly in a house to play canasta. We'd play our cards and get talking and laughing--waking up the resident upstairs in the bedroom. I remember very clearly that the house had beveled glass in the front door, and a narrow stair case rising up from it. To one side was the parlor with a fireplace and a table and chairs. All of us wore white. Anyway, when the resident would get up and start edging down the stairs to see what the voices were, we all had to stop silent and wait to see if they would turn around or come all the way down and ruin our game. You see, although only the resident seemed shadowy to us, we knew *we* were the ghosts in *their* house. And...it wasn't the first time I had dreamed of being a ghost in someone else's reality!

Claddagh

I've got an Irish name, but I've never been there.
In fact, over there I understand it's a boy's name--
mom and dad were expecting such. Surprise, surprise!
See, I was contrary from the get-go. 

I've got Irish all up and down one side of the tree--
they'd sell ya a car with no wheels 
and you'd thank them, smile, and miss them after they were gone
with your cash in their pocket.

Don't be bitter when you read that, they're none the richer for it by now.

The other side of the tree is stodgy English.
All they'd do is frost the windows with their personalities,
take a fearless and searching moral inventory of everybody else,
and petrify from excess of reserve.

Guess which side I take after? Aw, Daddy, you're always the one.

When I was young--just a lass...joost a lasss...how's that? Oh shut up.
Anyway, there was this man, James, who could drink as much as I could,
was ten years older than me and knew the Poets. 
He'd been all around the world.

I was with him in Detroit, in Texas, in Manila and in Denver.
We wandered through St. Louis and New Orleans, drunk as ducks.
One day, he disappeared, nobody knew where, and I never heard from him again.
Thanks, James, even so. Here's a half-Irish smile for ya. I miss you.

And thanks for not going into my bag--you'd have found the pawn ticket
for my Claddagh ring because I had to feed the stray I'd fallen for.
_________

for Weekend Challenge "Blarney Me."

 
 

Emblem & Anthem

The streets are full of emblem and anthem.
The sky is gray and slack as a dead man's face.
Megaphones are a needle in the brain
delivering seizure and sanctimony.
Behold our enemies, the ghost and pipsqueak
Writ Large, melting eyes to roiling goo.
All hail our emblem and anthem,
jingoist putrefaction turned glittering bauble.
_______

A Friday 55 for our Witchy hostess.