June 2020 – Page 2 – Aremyfeetofftheground

Rewind

Drawn to baby anythings
she is
Seeks to protect
to nurture
But if the thing grows
and gains stubborn volition
then on she must move
to find another small one
to teach
to love
to know the duality of joy
and
take tearful vengeance
on an old giant

Melting Man

Melting Man
has the night terrors
Malignant faces
Pointing fingers
Nodding to each other
with icicle noses
long hands
and obscene gestures
~Man of the Melt~
Cover yourself!
Fold ye down into the foam
where mildewed spirits cannot roam
Call ye spiders and millipedes home!

Keep your focus, please

Detect the fault lines
in a stubborn peanut shell
Wet-nose the whiskery cat
Feel the points he makes
out of soft pads
Let the large leaf ant
explore your jungle
Unite or untie your ganglion knots
Sniff a crocus
keep your focus

Weird girl

She felt like a foot
with uniform toes.
Something to cover,
but familial
to her apartness.
In her years,
she picked up tools
both shiny and showy,
but of the wrong life.
Fools’ gold,
valued as real,
was lost on her.
Untrainable.
Mulish, they said.
Others of us knew
differently.

Temptress

A still pond
padded with lilies
dappled with netted sun
Cicada hum
My green rest
Please-
pocket the stone
and let it alone-
I’ll paint you
as someone sepia
and fleeting
by this bower’s dome

***

Image: Pixabay

Someday, your prince will come

I would make you smile
but I can’t

You want me to smile
but I can’t

Moods change in increments
One step forward
two back

There’s another can’t-

It’s the one about getting rid of crutches,
just now.

Shirt tales

Don’t comment
on my dirty shirt,
if you please.
I am not inclined
to change it,
lest I have bad luck again.
This morning, the sky
favoured me with gull droppings.
At lunch, it was blueberries
without a bib.
Then, coffee,
spilled by the infernal cat,
who likes blueberries too.

In 3 pieces

Disks of tarnished silver made their advent over the bay, trailing their tatters of cloud remnants. And I believed. Oh, I believed. What has come?

I believe that I will rise the next morning. A fifth part of me will study the textbook of motion, be credulous of the day’s tumbling numerals. The dots on the dice of chance.

No ripping fireworks spitting light.
No carnal carrion to evidence a fight.

Poets starving, children bleed.
All for what?
An assassin’s creed?

Giddy up GTO

‘69 tires on a soft top bug
A streetlight sheen on their bulging sidewalls
That dumdum donut drive
Idiots near turned it over
And their donkey ho tee laughs
GTFO with your poor man’s GTO

Unrequited

I fear I would be shy
if you were to speak to me.
I know.
It’s not a good look.
But I’m imprinted with your face.
I know.
Creepy, I imagine you think.
Each mannerism, each quirky movement,
tells a tantalizing story
that I am meant to understand.
I am sure of it.
Yes, I am.