Friday, February 23, 2018

I don't like to hibernate alone.
I feel cheated that, at least,
While I sleep,
I should have little triplet cubs
That could fit in a teacup.
They could nurse and nuzzle me,
And while they grow,
Their tiny paws could tickle me
And scratch away,
And I could dream of salmon
In the cold stream and catching them
And eating them and sharing them with my young.

But as it is, I will wake alone
My children will be grown
And I will be left to wonder where they've gone.


Why do birds sing?
Are they happy?
Or so full of sorrow
That they seep sadness out
In chirps and peeps?
What is the meaning of their various songs?

The path of the Sage is twofold, they say-
Loved and adored,
Or walking away into the woods, never to be seen again.

I have walked silently by the brook,
Listened to it's rumbling overture,
Overheard the overtones of the birds.
I've walked in time and in tune
With the melodic muse,
Mimicked the foreign opera
Until I learned it note for note.

And though I do not understand the words,
The sounds and deep vibrations that I've heard and felt
Are just as much a part of me
As the wild blackberries and honey I ate out there.

And I could tell you why the birds sing,
But you wouldn't understand me,
Because it's something that has to be felt,
And one can only experience it.
And in an unexpressable way,
Be moved to keep the deep and beautiful secret to oneself.


Thursday, February 22, 2018

The winter comes like a long lost uncle,
A steam trunk full of musty clothes
That need to be washed
And a health inspector's appetite.
Layer upon layer of deeper isolation and withdrawal,
I can barely hear him tell me
How much better Lucinda's pancakes were.
I can barely hear the tiny pellets of freezing rain
Pelting the tin roof ever so gently,
Snowed in, and snowed asunder.


Monday, February 19, 2018

Stark beauty of a dark silhouette,
Winter tree, a bare, naked lady
Against a pale, colorless, morning sky,
She sighs.
Many have tried to capture her longing in still-life,
But no medium of paint or photograph,
Watercolor, pencils, has been found
That can capture her boredom.
Tired of sleeping until spring,
She yearns with her branches out and up,
Her nipples erect and goosebumps on her bark,
And would that she could stay undressed all year long,
And yet be clothed with the sun and warmth and dignity
That is afforded to others
Who do not wish for things they cannot have.


Sunday, February 18, 2018

If you treat your lady like a queen for a day,
You will be king and have a long reign
In her heart and her mind's eye.
But if you treat her like a nag,
You will drag your way around a doghouse
All day and night,
And your tail will never wag.


When I was born,
I had spots like a fawn,
And they were perfect for me.
They hid me from the evil envy of others,
And protected me from predators of doubt.
But as I grew, I came to see,
My spots were much too big for me,
And I was not a deer,
But a cat,
And the dark rosettes that covered me
Were that of the Jaguar.

I didn't think I'd ever grow into
The spots of a leopard
And become a predator myself.
An awkward stage beginning in my teens,
And lasting four decades, when
Finally at age fifty-three,
I find that step by step
And bit by bit,
I'm equipped to hunt down my dreams
And live well in the skin that I'm in.

And so if I smile at night,
Lying in the dark,
Where no one can me but the stars,
It's only because
I'm happy.


If I die suddenly and without cause,
I want you to know it was all due to a plastic fork
I was using to stir my stew.
A tine broke off and melted in
Without my knowledge.
I stirred it thoroughly into the soup
And then I ate it.

But the true cause of death
Should go down on the certificate,
"Gluten Intolerance,"
For never would I use a plastic fork to stir my stew
If it weren't for the need I have
For an uncontaminated utensil,
And the only things I hadn't used
Were that plastic fork and a number two pencil,
And I didn't want lead poisoning.

But little do I know what effect
Ingesting plastic may have.
I'm hoping for something beneficial,
Like more elastic skin
Or stretchy bones.
Truth be told, I'm hoping to go all super heroine
And be the best Plastic Woman
You and this world have ever seen!

And I don't know---
Im gluten intolerant,
But if I can't eat my daily bread anymore
Maybe I'll discover and recommend
The daily dose of plastic,
If I live.
But if I don't,
Please, tell the coroner why.