Manticore

The Manticore lies at the foot of a rock
with his scorpion-tail arching above—
obsidian, with a pearly gleam of poison
at the tip. His mane is scarlet.

The sand all about is bare of tracks
for even snakes fear him.

The sky above is empty of birds
for their shadows fear him.

The Manticore wears a human face
but asks no riddles. His ribs are hollow.
He speaks the tongue of famine
to unlucky wayfarers. He drinks blood.

The desert is without roads
and the wind fears it.

The Manticore chews a camel's tibia
to splinters, then to dust. He has
no saliva. His teeth are like a man's
but bigger than a hyena's.

The world is free of monsters
but we fear our own shadow.

--for Miss Rumphius' bestiary
Collection available! Knocking from Inside

Pomegranate Raspberry Green Tea

"My naturopath recommends green tea,"
she said, "but I hate the taste."

So I gave her a box of
pomegranate raspberry green tea.

Not for the anti-oxidants
(though it's got plenty)

but for heart. The ruby glisten
of healthy tissue. Clean white bones.

The roundness of intact rind. We are
such delicate fruit. And teabags

are frail banners to raise in this storm.
Pomegranate raspberry green tea

doesn't cure cancer, but it tastes like hope.

--image by Thanasis Anastasiou courtesy of Read Write Poem

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

Reading in the Bathtub

If you are a reader you'll know what I mean
when I say that the left hand just never gets clean
from reading in the bathtub.

So what did you think about "Strange and Norrell"?
"The story is great, tendonitis is hell
from reading in the bathtub."

My books are all crinkled and spotted throughout,
the pages look wilted, like orchids in drought
from reading in the bathtub.

Some bookstores describe a used volume as "foxed"
but mine are more "ottered", or "salmoned", or "loxed"
from reading in the bathtub.

The love scenes are passionate, tender or dreamy
but when I read through them they all just turn... steamy
from reading in the bathtub.

There's splashes of bubble-bath all over "Dune"
and my mouth tastes of soap when I "Drink Down the Moon"
from reading in the bathtub.

I think that the S-bend that's under my bath
is clogged with the same Doom that came to Sarnath
from reading in the bathtub.

If greycaps appear in my house, it's a cinch
they sprang from my waterlogged copy of "Finch"
from reading in the bathtub.

And now I've destroyed my last copy of "Shane"
it fell in the tub and dissolved down the drain!
I think that it's time that I learned to refrain
from reading in the bathtub.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

Captain Obvious

Three Word Wednesday: Give. Obvious. Thanks.

GIVE WAY FOR SNOWPLOWS
DO NOT PASS ON RIGHT. Thank you,
Captain Obvious.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

Construction on Path

because each seeker constructs the path
with her feet, step by step
while the path unmakes itself behind. No turning back—
but there is returning.


and the best one is
your daily practice. But there's no free ride.
Sometimes you have to get out and push.


This is where the tunnel twists and dips
and you have to dive headfirst into the unknown.
Plenty of people have gone this way before
but I can't convince myself I won't get stuck
and suffocate.


the sound of the brazen hinges
on the gates massive as neutron stars
and hot as blue-white Sirius.
But here the remembering soul forgets itself—
forgets the doors are there
forgets the doors are.
THERE!

Note: This is a partially found poem. The text in the images is from signs currently posted on the Eastbank Esplanade.
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Pushcart nominee

Barefoot Muse nominated "Pleistocene Relic" for a Pushcart Prize.

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Mangoes by the Road

The roads into the hills are steep
and scorching powdery dust
clings to our ankles. Surrounded
by strangers and a language I don't speak
we stop to buy a mango.

The smell revives me. Food, drink,
ambrosia in a plain green skin.
Gold-rich juice cuts the road dust
from my thirsty throat. Flesh
strong as meat fills my belly. Excelsior!

--for Read Write Poem
Collection available! Knocking from Inside

A pleasant surprise

The most recent issue of Eclectic Muse includes two of my poems-- "Ingenue" and "Cicisbeo". They make a nice pair.

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Distillation

You know, my Friend, how I took on this Task
To seek the Essence in a Vintner's Cask
That holds it even as the Heart confines
The Soul like Liquor in a Chemist's Flask.

These Earthly Trials do but the Soul refine
Bring Spirit forth, as Fire that breathes on Wine
Producing thus a purer Distillate
Partaking of that Nature most Divine.

At last the Spirit sheds its Fleshly Weight
Then Fire dies down, and Pressures soft abate
While Essence captured in a coil of Glass
Must cool and gather to a Condensate.

And thus is Essence parted from the Mass
As Soul from Body in the End must pass.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

The Only Label

My body's not a billboard. I will wear
no logos, brands, or corporate IDs.
This is the only label I will bear.

I'm owned by no-one's party policies
or economic interests. I'll display
no logos, brands, or corporate IDs

upon this flesh. I was not made to say
these empty things about what you should buy
for economic interest. I'll display

this label only: Owned by the Most High,
concern myself with Love's concerns, and not
these empty things. About what you should buy,

I'm standing silent ever since I got
this badge with honor and humility,
concerned myself with Love. For I am not

an item that's for sale: I am free.
My body's not a billboard. I will wear
this badge with honor and humility.
This is the only label I will bear.

--for Inspire Me Thursday
calligraphy courtesy of Wikimedia

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

Blustery

Rain swirled under the awnings in blustery
gusts of unseasonably warm November winds

on Broadway where the wheels of the morning rush
hissed through puddles and a diesel-scented wind

announced the arrival of the number-nine bus
splashing a bow-wave over the kerb like a wind

on a pond that sends ripples among bulrushes
gushing over the banks. It hardly feels like winter,

the warmth of the storm like arms embracing us,
passion renewed in a season turning toward winter.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

Closer to True

I was restless in grieving the last of the leaves with their banners of scarlet and gold
All faded to brown in the gutters and drowning, awaiting the silence and cold.
Walked out in a dawn that was roofed with an awning of clouds that were stained by the sun
And bare branches raised up to worship the shades that recalled all the leaves that were gone.

We wrestle for clearer sight, souls to be mirror-bright, skies that are sunny and blue
But heavy clouds hover and sometimes uncover a color that's closer to true.
While leaves that are turning remember the burning of summer in autumnal hue
And limbs that stand stark against gathering darkness point always and only to You.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

I Call the Weather

but not on the phone—
I call it "pissing-down forty-mile-jetstream-gust standing-under-firehose two-trees-running-from-a-dog duck-drowning gully-washing Pineapple-Express fish-in-a-lifeboat
rain"
that's what I call it.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

The Wind Stole My Shadow

Today the wind was so strong
that it tore away my shadow. Come back, thief!
My heels are still bleeding
while she dances with the leaves
that she will follow into the dark earth.
I won't see her again until spring.

Who would have thought my shadow
would be so unfaithful? Rapacious wind,
I will hold you responsible
if my husband should fail to recognize me
if mirrors take my image and refuse to return it
if the sidewalk rejects my footprints
for want of my shadow!

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

Karmic Sunflower

Three Word Wednesday: Karma. Obey. Wither.

karmic sunflower
withers in obedience
to season's dharma



sunflower by Aleksandra P.; tie-dye pattern by Erin Calaway-Mackay

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

Crow Head

They're comin' to get you, Dale.

(bird eye provided by Sias van Schalkwyk; fractal by Apophysis)

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fall like an arrow

the sound of the beat of
the city-wide heart
the rustle and murmur
the stop and the start

they've slaughtered the horse and
they're burning the cart
they're hanging together
they're falling apart

let's beat a retreat through
the pathways of art
we'll fall like an arrow
and fly like a dart

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

Full Moon and Fog

The sun sets behind a bridge,
black railings against the scarlet sky
adorned with silhouettes of crows.
There is a sound of water.

Streetlights fade into visibility
among bare and unpruned branches
over buckling sidewalks. Grass grows
in the middle of the street.

Downtown, broken glass facades
streaked with rust and pigeon droppings
blink away the last gleams of sundown.
Full moon and fog fill the empty city.

--for Miss Rumphius' poetry stretch: what isn't there.
Collection available! Knocking from Inside

We have come a long way

A poem about the Black Power salute of the '68 Olympics just won a first place award from the Alabama Poetry Society. (#4 - Heroes)

Collection available! Knocking from Inside