Today I am a hound.
Rich beany bitter coffee
Ozone-burnt air computer fan
Toast.
Exhaust, burning dust, warm car
I can't drive if I hang my head out the window.
Sweater rubs strangely on my hackles as
Man in next car leers.
Growl.
Today I am a hound.
Eucalyptus hand cream stops by to sniff out
Last night's drama.
Air conditioning meeting room,
Sweaty meaty hands strikes submissive with Brylcreem.
Howl.
Leashed to my cubicle. Feign work through
Open-eyed nap. Internet. Squirrel!
Released! Car bounds happily home.
Yoga mat wriggle. Smokey incense tickles.
Today I am a hound. Fed. Petted. Rest.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
Opal Dance
It's an opal dance,
A milky flailing of limbs
A rocky place I skip across
Red leaves black the sun but
I burn and whirl.
Velvet slime caresses wrist
This moment is mine.
And you, in your hard garnet orbit,
Drift away through obsidian space
A milky flailing of limbs
A rocky place I skip across
Red leaves black the sun but
I burn and whirl.
Velvet slime caresses wrist
This moment is mine.
And you, in your hard garnet orbit,
Drift away through obsidian space
Savage, or Boredom of a Saturday Afternoon
As my teeth grind, I long to lunge
Rip the throat out of today
Feel its blood warm on my face,
Frenzy in my limbs.
I want to fly, not lazily aloft on breezes,
Beating wings into a downdraft off a
Volcanic cliff, pursuing the darting promise of prey
Diving into the hard air, feathers rippling,
Savage.
I want to man the cannon,
Plunge on smashing waves towards
The placid pleasure craft, smash it,
Splinter the hull and suck the treasure
From its marrow.
I snarl at the sun, enfeebled by lethargy that captures
Only my body.
My spirit broods, paces,
Savage.
Rip the throat out of today
Feel its blood warm on my face,
Frenzy in my limbs.
I want to fly, not lazily aloft on breezes,
Beating wings into a downdraft off a
Volcanic cliff, pursuing the darting promise of prey
Diving into the hard air, feathers rippling,
Savage.
I want to man the cannon,
Plunge on smashing waves towards
The placid pleasure craft, smash it,
Splinter the hull and suck the treasure
From its marrow.
I snarl at the sun, enfeebled by lethargy that captures
Only my body.
My spirit broods, paces,
Savage.
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
blue
all the baking and busy and shopping and fierce intense face-down
in cookbooks will not
make this 1982
will not allow me to climb that plane, live on that
wavelength where all the past and present are future are in a line and you know they
are all one, all now, all to come, all in the past.
my poor limited logical brain knows
knows too much
knows too well
knows that I am not 12, that santa is not
poised over mexico
that a magical entry to a new world is not
wrapped in tinsel under my tree
that the six faces that go with this date
this night
are not here
won't be here
today is just a day
a post-solstice step along the way, crawling back toward sunshine.
That too, shall come
This too, shall pass.
in cookbooks will not
make this 1982
will not allow me to climb that plane, live on that
wavelength where all the past and present are future are in a line and you know they
are all one, all now, all to come, all in the past.
my poor limited logical brain knows
knows too much
knows too well
knows that I am not 12, that santa is not
poised over mexico
that a magical entry to a new world is not
wrapped in tinsel under my tree
that the six faces that go with this date
this night
are not here
won't be here
today is just a day
a post-solstice step along the way, crawling back toward sunshine.
That too, shall come
This too, shall pass.
Friday, October 25, 2013
Reunited
The lies they told us
in high school
the lies that divide
That clothes matter
Interests define
That you and I
Could never see
eye to eye.
Labels strip identity,
Make you feel separate from me.
But we are music,
You and I
We fly,
Rhythm and beat,
A blended harmony
We are poetry,
You and I
We sigh,
Meter and sound and
Raw emotion.
Our colours break prismatic
from this black
and white
and grey color bar
Together, we are more than apart.
A whole, complete beating heart.
in high school
the lies that divide
That clothes matter
Interests define
That you and I
Could never see
eye to eye.
Labels strip identity,
Make you feel separate from me.
But we are music,
You and I
We fly,
Rhythm and beat,
A blended harmony
We are poetry,
You and I
We sigh,
Meter and sound and
Raw emotion.
Our colours break prismatic
from this black
and white
and grey color bar
Together, we are more than apart.
A whole, complete beating heart.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Rainy Summer
Writing happy poetry is HARD!
It seems the rain won’t stop
This summer
And I won’t see the buttercups
Reach for the sun
I won’t see
Diamonds on the harbour next to the oil rainbows
I won’t see you
Tanned
But the rain sparkles on your hair
And your eyes are all the warmth I need.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Teal Tennis Shoes for a Great Escape
Brittany wasn't sure how she'd gotten here, but she knew that SHE had not put those shoes on. She was wearing a very cute party dress--where had this come from? She'd remember this dress. Black and sequinned with splashes of colour. Very elegant! Whose dress was this?
Anyway, she would NEVER have chosen to put teal tennis shoes on to complete this outfit. So something funny was going on.
Besides that, she was in a small round room with a very high ceiling. Wait... make that no ceiling. A well? Was she in a well? Maybe something similar, but with no water.
Designer cocktail dress. Tennis shoes. Imprisoned. And... her hand suddenly went to the back of her neck... her hair had been cut.
This was starting to add up to one thing: Timothy.
"JESUS CHRIST TIMOTHY. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE NOW?"
Her voice was echoey. She felt alone, but was entirely unfazed to hear a faint "Brittany..?" coming from behind a round wall.
She gritted her teeth.
"Brittany, I think I'm hurt."
"What the hell have you done?"
"I need a glass of water. And one of my pills." So feeble.
"TIMOTHY WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE?!!"
She could feel the heat building up in her midsection. She sighed. Might as well use the rage. "TIMOTHY I HATE YOU!" She cocked her fist and smashed it into the wall... and it bounced back, snapping her shoulder uncomfortably.
Rubber stone walls. Nice touch. Fuck fuck fuck.
"Timothy, tell me what happened."
"Brittany," came the whiny reply, "are you mad?"
She felt a molar crack. Deep breath.
"A little, Timothy. I'm trying not to be. Where are we?"
"I don't know. I don't knoooooowwwww. I was just saying you should dress up more and then you blinked out and I thought I'd help by trimming your mullet..."
"I DON'T HAVE A MULLET."
"Well, not NOW you don't, you've got a very chic cut NOW. But it WAS a mull..."
"THE CHASE, TIMOTHY. CUT TO IT."
"I'm GETTING there," he was whiny again. "So I cut your hair, and you were still out. I was SO BORED."
She remembered now, getting called to the university board to defend her thesis. She'd explained to Timothy that the call could come at any time, but she'd astrally projected without actually telling him when she did. Sigh. Her brother was a mental seven year old. He needed constant supervision.
"So then I thought we should go dancing, and so I conjured you a dress--"
"--which is very nice. Lovely, Timothy."
"--but you know you'd always want to wear uncomfortable shoes and then you never DANNNCE, so I asked Bobo what shoes were comfortable and he said tennis shoes, so I got you some..."
Bobo. The house monkey. Of course.
".. and then there was a flash and then we were here and I bumped my head and I'm THIRSTY and I never got to dance at all. Why did you bring us here?"
Hm. Why did SHE bring them there? She was pretty sure she'd had nothing to do with it. However, telling Timothy that would only make him whinier or panicked, and in either case, he would be no help.
"Timothy are you in a room? A round room?"
"Parts of it are. Round the wrong way. Why didn't you take me with you into your room? I don't LIKE being alone."
"I know, bub. I know. I'm going to try to get us out. Do you want to help?"
"If I CAAANNN."
"Let me use your hand. Yes--" she cut off his interruption,"I know it will hurt, but only for a minute, I promise. Okay."
"I guess so." The answer was definitely pouty. She focussed, rubbed her bare neck again, looked at the tennis shoes and let the anger bubble. Then she closed her eyes and felt Timothy's arm. Slid it on like a glove. Pulled back, and... POP. His hand popped through the wall. Single-sided rubber, as she'd suspected.
Anyway, she would NEVER have chosen to put teal tennis shoes on to complete this outfit. So something funny was going on.
Besides that, she was in a small round room with a very high ceiling. Wait... make that no ceiling. A well? Was she in a well? Maybe something similar, but with no water.
Designer cocktail dress. Tennis shoes. Imprisoned. And... her hand suddenly went to the back of her neck... her hair had been cut.
This was starting to add up to one thing: Timothy.
"JESUS CHRIST TIMOTHY. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE NOW?"
Her voice was echoey. She felt alone, but was entirely unfazed to hear a faint "Brittany..?" coming from behind a round wall.
She gritted her teeth.
"Brittany, I think I'm hurt."
"What the hell have you done?"
"I need a glass of water. And one of my pills." So feeble.
"TIMOTHY WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE?!!"
She could feel the heat building up in her midsection. She sighed. Might as well use the rage. "TIMOTHY I HATE YOU!" She cocked her fist and smashed it into the wall... and it bounced back, snapping her shoulder uncomfortably.
Rubber stone walls. Nice touch. Fuck fuck fuck.
"Timothy, tell me what happened."
"Brittany," came the whiny reply, "are you mad?"
She felt a molar crack. Deep breath.
"A little, Timothy. I'm trying not to be. Where are we?"
"I don't know. I don't knoooooowwwww. I was just saying you should dress up more and then you blinked out and I thought I'd help by trimming your mullet..."
"I DON'T HAVE A MULLET."
"Well, not NOW you don't, you've got a very chic cut NOW. But it WAS a mull..."
"THE CHASE, TIMOTHY. CUT TO IT."
"I'm GETTING there," he was whiny again. "So I cut your hair, and you were still out. I was SO BORED."
She remembered now, getting called to the university board to defend her thesis. She'd explained to Timothy that the call could come at any time, but she'd astrally projected without actually telling him when she did. Sigh. Her brother was a mental seven year old. He needed constant supervision.
"So then I thought we should go dancing, and so I conjured you a dress--"
"--which is very nice. Lovely, Timothy."
"--but you know you'd always want to wear uncomfortable shoes and then you never DANNNCE, so I asked Bobo what shoes were comfortable and he said tennis shoes, so I got you some..."
Bobo. The house monkey. Of course.
".. and then there was a flash and then we were here and I bumped my head and I'm THIRSTY and I never got to dance at all. Why did you bring us here?"
Hm. Why did SHE bring them there? She was pretty sure she'd had nothing to do with it. However, telling Timothy that would only make him whinier or panicked, and in either case, he would be no help.
"Timothy are you in a room? A round room?"
"Parts of it are. Round the wrong way. Why didn't you take me with you into your room? I don't LIKE being alone."
"I know, bub. I know. I'm going to try to get us out. Do you want to help?"
"If I CAAANNN."
"Let me use your hand. Yes--" she cut off his interruption,"I know it will hurt, but only for a minute, I promise. Okay."
"I guess so." The answer was definitely pouty. She focussed, rubbed her bare neck again, looked at the tennis shoes and let the anger bubble. Then she closed her eyes and felt Timothy's arm. Slid it on like a glove. Pulled back, and... POP. His hand popped through the wall. Single-sided rubber, as she'd suspected.
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