It's Monday once again. Here are my latest poems.
Think about submitting poetry here...I'd love to read it.
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KATIE’S BENCH
Katie’s hair is buzzed to within a breath of her skull.
Scabby sores like beauty spots run rampant on her cheeks.
Katie has been on The Hill, in the rubber room so many times
she ought to be the Michelin Man.
Don’t know how often reality calls this woman up, but she
never answers the phone.
In the pocket park across the way that leads to Safeway
lives a bench and on the bench reigns Katie, Queen of Crazy.
Katie waylays passersby and harangues them poisonously…
a hooded Cobra in a green ski jacket and no shoes on her feet.
Coming home from the store, plastic bags in both hands,
I saw her watching me, face growing clouded with foul hate.
If you are afraid of Katie and wail and beg her to go away…
she’s secure as a pit bull who has made his yard safe for himself.
But I’m not afraid of Katie. Of all the monsters in my life, she
doesn’t merit anything but my concern.
Never look in Katie’s eyes. That’s a challenge you don’t dare…
I had almost made it over the narrow safety line of her attention
when something buzzed across my legs and landed at my feet.
A small maroon wallet was just a smear away. Was it challenge
or braggadocio or just a slow day and I was the best she could do?
Those grocery bags of salad and Hershey bars saved my bacon.
With empty hands I would have surely bent and picked it up.
Katie watched me with spider eye’s, fangs eager for my blood.
Barely stopping, I said, “Ma’am you’ve dropped your wallet,”
and kept my measured pace along my path.
Katie’s breath was foul as a July landfill as it tickled my neck.
She wanted something, Katie did…my attention for her own.
She railed and cursed and spit and my door had never seemed
so far away. She was begging for my fear. Needed it, craved it.
In the many times our paths had crossed, I never Katie a blink
or a word…never scuttled away from her viperous clutch.
But I was so grateful to the god of doors when mine opened
and the security guard got up to escort me safely inside.
No, I’m not afraid of Katie. At her worst she ranks low on
the scale of demons that have plagued my life.
In my heart is a belief Katie wants a friend, but she becomes
an enemy first. Chocolate ice cream put away I look out
my window and see Katie across the street, cigarette cupped
in grimy hand, one bare foot behind her on the wall.
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ONE FINAL GASP
So richly did the green blood of promise
run like veins across the waiting land.
Verdant bands like winner’s sashes grew,
random and wild, not carefully planned.
A kiss of God, a glimpse of heaven…
that was the earth we had been given.
But like a spoiled and careless child,
came men lustful for gold…hotly driven
by determination to possess her virginity.
Within the eye-blink of eternity men had
savaged the land from sea to shining sea.
And did we learn? Did we hear the bell
toll out its drear and fervent warning?
Now has come the 11th hour, time seeps
through the weeping wounds still aborning.
There is little hope. We’ve savaged the mother
who selflessly gave us succor and sustenance…
took what we wanted, built and rent and paved,
then turned away without even a backward glance.
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WE
We are the poor and not-quite-sane, the crippled.
Throwaway humans huddled in our boxes waiting to die.
We are the unwanted. We impede the civic progress
with the litter of our non-essential, dreary lives.
They want to build a thing of civic-pride, they tell us.
We are to be sent packing, it matters not where to them.
Their model presentations show a dream upon a board, that
becomes a nightmare for we who live within its borders.
And for what? For disposable dollars spent in a frenzy by
tourists who will spit on the sidewalk, throw gum wrappers
on the ground and be gone when empty night comes along.
Where will we go? Little Pam who has lived here 16 years,
what fate will be hers to claim? She trembles with anxiety.
Rose, on six, once an army brat, now cemented into place.
Joe, who walks ruts in the cement sidewalks outside…
Me, who wanted to live in this one place for my forever.
In my heart I know that if they build this gilded Sodam
it will one day be turned to salt and ashes as its reward.
We are nothing in the careless eyes of government…
flies in their urban development ointment, that’s all.
But we are blessed for our afflictions by a power
whose holy plan dances in fire before their blueprints.
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CRACKER'S BABY
Every one calls her Cracker.
She is 14 years old ... almost.
She is the queen of the park,
goes with anyone who pays.
A baby grows within her now,
where it came from she doesn't
know or care, wishes it was gone.
Barbie dolls and virginal innocence
should fill the fabric of her days,
but Mom's new man liked little girls.
Cracker ran away when he raped her
and her mother pretended not to know.
Life taught her that her womanhood is
a commodity sold to the highest bidder.
Uptown white lady steps around
around Cracker's cortege of eager
audience, waiting for their turn.
She ignores the girl's offered palm.
I don't pay for you to play,says
this upstanding citizen with a sniff.
Inside the coffee shop, the woman
runs her hands over cappuccino
machines. Puts one on the gold card.
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NIGHT WOMAN
She was but a dusty afterimage that barely
flickered on the eyes of the city crowds.
Some grimaced at the filth ground into her skin
as she wrapped herself in plastic bag shrouds.
Old Mother no one cries for your hunger and pain.
No one cares where you will make a bed tonight.
Maybe some cop will find you dead by the freeway
when night at last yields to a wavering day of light.
You have been raped and robbed of your blankets,
leaving you to shiver as you wander desperately,
picking through the shreds of an old woman doomed
to live within herself, not bound and yet not free.
Standing by the door to the coffee shop, quivering
with anticipation, maybe someone has a coin to spare?
But people go to buy their fancy cappuccino delights,
they don't even notice an old woman standing there.
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BUTTERFLY MOON
>
How wan you are, peeking from behind
your fan of scattered autumn clouds.
Like a child twirling in her prettiest dress,
twirling until she falls in dizzy delight,
you let the striations of trees define you.
Like a butterfly flitting from flower to
flower, oh, tender moon, you kiss and tell.
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LET'S DELVE INTO OUR TREASURES
BOATMAN, COME
Begin the dying here,
in this absolute absence
of any joyous thought.
Bring to the altar
the chalice, bitter tho it be.
We will celebrate
its libations as we pray
to die cleanly and away
from this fractious earth.
We are boiled in
the cannibal's black pot.
We are fraught with dreams
that remain unborn,
with the tantalizing oudor of
wicked life.
No maidens in this valley
sing of spring.
Hope is a murdering
marauder whose name
we cannot call.
Bitter gaul shall fill
our cups and touch our lips
in a kiss that sucks the soul
dry to its arid core.
O, Charon sup at our table,
please.
Sleep on the pristine
coolness of our linen.
O, boatman, come,
for you know the way
to the sweetness of
oblivion.
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BENEVOLENT JESTER
Capering dervish spin me around,
free my feet from solid ground.
Delight entangled with despair.
Coaxing me deeper into your lair.
Hold close your mask of gaity
that no eyes your dark evil see.
Wear his face to taunt my heart,
making me regret our being apart.
Secret truths shall stay unspoken,
for was more than heart was broken.
Yet, bones will heal, tho not well,
but heart will dance forever in hell.
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CRY MERCY
Cry mercy, O, heart beating at the door,
with woeful, timorous cries of despair.
Bleed thyself to pools of drying dreams
that hold my footprints, pair by pair.
Behold the fire in the grate burning.
Its cinders are the ashes of my hopes,
that rise and curl round a cycle moon,
fog to cloak the very mountain slopes.
No lover comes ariding o'er the hill.
A dozen eyes watching will only see
there is no fair swain for my breast,
no pretty lover fair - meant just for me.
Untidy is my bosom from tear stains left
like buttons spilled on a dancing gown.
No stalwart prince slays dragons as
he rides his steed through vale and town.
No champion comes to take me to him,
in a dizzy dazzle of desperate desire.
Alas, shall I wither into a sere landscape that
is painted with one old woman by the fire.
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MY PRINCE'S SWORD
There is a satin pillow
upon which I lay my head.
There is a shining moon
pouring milk up my bed.
My prince is a shadow
astride his headstrong steed.
He is steel and I am silk.
His lips are sweet as mead.
He bears a strong sword
to cleave my lusty lady-heart.
My prince, emboldened,
lets loose his Sologen dart.
Shadows of his sword
play up and down the wall.
A sight that would, tis true,
a modest maiden quite enthrall.
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AGE
long days gather
like clouds on the horizon
empty as popped balloons
sucked dry of any
little bit of marrow
too frail to thread on
a string
brittle as a taste of
death
bleak as unread
words on
a blank page
a gift, unwanted
unwrapped to reveal
a yawning ache of
barren toiling
through one to the next.
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BEAUTIFUL MAN
for Neil Diamond
Beautiful man I hear your voice in the dark.
Caressing me into peaceful slumber and dreams.
Just as I have heard it all these countless years.
Are they as many and as dwindling as it seems?
When I had no love, no anchor to keep me here,
you sang me back to earth, gave me a ray of hope,
you sang away, beautiful man, all my raging fear.
Just the touch of your voice could set me free.
You took me beyond the desperation and pain.
When I slipped and fell and forgot you and myself,
you came, like Shiloh, and sang me well again.
Every word you wrote, every melody of your songs
is burned into my forevers, a lasting part of me.
Your music soothed my soul and gave me joy,
and sometimes, Neil, saved me from my insanity.
Out on that stage where lights glare like suns,
you are the mellow, shy, glimmer of the moon.
Do you know, beautiful man, the joy you bring me
with the passionate heat of each glorious tune?
Sing on, wear your years as a badge of honor,
we are not counting them, nor do we care.
When we desire the timeless satin of your songs
we can count on you, beautiful man, to be there.
me here,
you sang me back to earth, gave me a ray of hope,
you sang away, beautiful man, all my raging fear.
Just the touch of your voice could set me free.
You took me beyond the desperation and pain.
When I slipped and fell and forgot you and myself,
you came, like Shiloh, and sang me well again.
Every word you wrote, every melody of your songs
is burned into my forevers, a lasting part of me.
Your music soothed my soul and gave me joy,
and sometimes, Neil, saved me from my insanity.
Out on that stage where lights glare like suns,
you are the mellow, shy, glimmer of the moon.
Do you know, beautiful man, the joy you bring me
with the passionate heat of each glorious tune?
Sing on, wear your years as a badge of honor,
we are not counting them, nor do we care.
When we desire the timeless satin of your songs
we can count on you, beautiful man, to be there.
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SLadypoet@aol.com
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