Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

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Four Piglets and a Monkey Poem

March 14, 2011

What’s cuter than a piglet in red booties? Why, a piglet in boots — and hats! Sure, why not.

 

Arrrgh, mateys — behold ye that thar pirate pig.
Cowboy pig, at home on the range.
The standard party pig — every celebration has one.
Astro-pig — because the moon is made of bacon.

And a monkey poem:

in the office building

akin to chattering monkeys in the zoo
the clutch of women in the lobby:
outrage or glee, shrieks either way

——–

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Three-Dimensional Thriving Greenly

March 2, 2011

Because it’s a beautiful day out here, after a weekend with snow (!sign of the coming Apocalypse!). And because I’m back in touch with an old friend, things are looking up. Feeling inspired and full of Spring-fever.

The following poem was inspired by our burgeoning Springtime and the Iggy Pop song, “Pretty Flamingo,” a bonus track on his New Values CD. Take your inspiration where you can find it — and it’s often found in the most delightfully unpredictable places.

Three-Dimensional Thriving Greenly

who’s that in the yard
pretty flamingo legs
and glass-bead eyes     sparking
like lightning down a kite’s string    burning
your fingers melting
your rings

there she poses pink and plastic
against the red wine
of an evening’s aura
an awkward bird with intentions
an awkward bird with an audience

and she hums a minor key
that attaches itself to your interior
solidifying into something
three-dimensional      thriving greenly
beneath the burn of mercury-vapor lights     something
you can slip your hands into

gloves of light
tendrils of music
feathers of the flamingo
floating across your external     nocturnal expanse

(originally published in EOAGH, issue 4, 2008)

*

With no pics of flamingos on hand, here’s a hummingbird instead. As everyone knows, these wee birdies are freaky-fast. I was glad to get this shot:

And just because I can, here’s a picture of my scruffy, wonderful son helping me in the kitchen:

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Snow on the Ocotillo

February 7, 2011

We, too have been having unseasonably cold weather down here in the desert Southwest — though (I know) not nearly as bad as some parts of this country.  And for some reason only known to God and Southwest Gas, our area has been without gas (and that means heat and hot water) for several days. We didn’t get any snow this winter (so far), but here’s some snow from a couple of years ago:

White snow, blue bike.

Snow on the ocotillo and prickly pear.

And what can you say when you look at this frozen fountain we spotted in Sedona, AZ, but “Ohs noes, it’s GLOBAL WARMIN’!”:

(My stepdaughter, Anne, inspired me to post that last pic.)

And what would winter be without a chilly poem:

Wisp of a Girl

She stole men’s keys and picked the locks
of their secrets

with fingernails she had sharpened
in determination,

thereby opening the doors to rooms
upholstered in ice.

In each room, she built the same snowman,
legless and blind, inviting her

to dance, closely.  And each time,
she preferred to be held

in her own arms, like an empty jar
trapping the black smoke

rising from the immolation
of her own desires.

(from my 1986 grad school thesis)

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Sonoran Desert Sunrise, Et Cetera

January 24, 2011

I’m intentionally keeping to myself my two cents about the shooting of Congresswoman Gabriele Giffords — there’s nothing I can say that hasn’t already been said, and likely more articulately than I could say.

So, on the homefront:

Our son bought his first car (! a Toyota Celica GT) and we’ve been busy teaching him to drive stick (I say “we” actually my husband has been doing it)– I just go along for the ride. Anway, here he is with his pride and joy:

Because he’s probably feeling more grown up, he got his hair cut too:

Before:

Why so serious?

After:

Ol’ Blue Eyes

We have gorgeous, inspiring winter sunrises here in the Sonoran Desert:


your avatar brings
mine Marmalade Sky roses
without thorns

Maybe it’s because I love Tucson and my life out here so much, everything out here is pretty — even randon debris — to my eye:

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Dinosaurs on Route 66, and Godzilla’s Shadow

November 7, 2010

Once upon a roadtrip, we found the Rainbow Rock Shop in Holbrook, Arizona — guarded by ginormous cement dinosaurs. For personal use only! (as the sign on the fence says). Can’t imagine using them in any other way — except maybe in construction à la the Flintstones.


In a parking lot on that same trip, we saw this designated-smoking-area sign:

Looks like he means business. Wonder what the “no smoking” signs around there look like. Below is a poem about coming to rest, after long travels — after covering a great distance both geographically, and emotionally:

.

In Another Life

I lay in the dry bed
of a river     watch the stars
swim like little fish     in the dawn lenticular
clouds converge     align with the cryptic
coordinates of my mind’s map     here
I am     a charm on a bracelet
here     the days are silver links
closed one by one
between my teeth

.

And now, a reminder that we all dwell in the Shadow of Godzilla:

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Happy Halloween!

October 31, 2010

My absolute favorite holiday! Godzilla, on the other hand, isn’t too keen on trick-or-treaters, but he promises to work on his manners.

And here’s an old poem, which I think suits this holiday, just fine:

Listening to the Devil

Open the bottle, raise the skirt,
strike the match:
There he is, no angel come down
from sunlit whitecloud heaven,
his wings wet and his powder dry.
Know him, anywhere:  the voice that tingles
the air, sprinkles flakes of rust
into your blood so it locks the jaw,
so you have to listen.  Listen,
he rides the bus with me, sits behind the driver
in a Panama hat, white sports shirt.
Listen, even now, going on and on
about how much he loves,
he loves orange sherbet so much
he’s crazy.

(Wrote this when I used to ride the bus to work in Dallas, in another lifetime. It’s based on a conversation I overheard between a snazzily dressed eldery gent, and the bus driver. It’s always been one of my personal favorites.)

Oh, and just for shiv-v-v-v-v-ers, here’s a recent pic of a baby tarantula climbing on my husband’s hand:

Mmmmm, we sure do seem to have a lot of tarantulas around here.

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The Architechture of Abandoned Things, and an Autumnal Poem

October 20, 2010

In the Desert Southwest we don’t experience the drastic change of seasons that take place in other parts of this country — the change is subtle here: the temperatures mellow and chill, the light softens. Autumn weather makes me think of things and places forsaken — things and places abandoned fall into disrepair; eventually Nature reclaims her her place. Still, there is beauty in such disrepair.

In Fall

trees unravel like soft sweaters
jack o’ lanterns hunker on every porch
black wings of crows harvest the moon

.

But how could there be an October post without a Halloween picture?

He may be the Devil in my house, but he helps keep the real monsters away.