I’ve been a rake
Forcing fallen leaves into crisp piles
Mounds of gold and rust
Scooped into brown bags and left beside autumn’s curbs.
No amount of diligence
Insures the capitulation of every frond
Some will take flight
In frantic whorls, escaping thus from gravity’s laws.
As an implement of control
My sense of failure knows no limits
In my future guise
I will cling to the oak tree immune to
season’s demands.
hanging in there,
or hanging up
twisting strands
in idle thought
hemp or nylon
hangman’s choice
to succor those
without a voice
decisive action
in tying knots
warm salt tears
obscure the plot
neither painless
nor a graceful act
release the hatch
reduce the slack
Your fight is over, someone typed, how’s it feel to be a loser?
The fight, I say, was never about me,
My whiteness
My straightness
My middle class existence
My religion
The fight was about the others who are also us.
For their rights
For their justice
For their well being
For their freedom to worship. Or not.
And OUR fight isn’t over.
Saturn scheduled a shindig, inviting eight of her closest friends. Even Pluto
Who technically wasn’t in the same social circle received an embossed envelope
Worthy of a royal wedding reception and signed in gold script with a grand flourish.
Mercury responded in a flash, while Neptune tried to come up with a worthy excuse.
Earth and Mars forgot to r.s.v.p., while Jupiter sent a hand-written affirmation.
Venus began planning her outfit while Uranus graciously declined, having already
Made plans to visit the arboretum on the same day. The event was a huge success
Stars waited outside the venue, waiting to catch a glimpse of their favorite celebrities
All dressed up in velvet and ice, flashing their concentric rings to the universe.
Every time he sighed
She heard, I’m through loving you
He meant, I’m so lost
Ennui so intense
That his desire to do naught
overtook boredom
He lives in grey tones
Avoiding the bright facades
Embracing nothing
Ennui is one of those words that I chronically mispronounced for much of my life. Most avid readers will understand this. We come across a word with which we’re unfamiliar and discern its meaning from context without ever bothering to stop and look up the correct pronunciation. For many years I mentally said, “in you ee,” rather than “än wē.” Sometime soon I’ll address “facade” and “docile,” both of which I mentally mispronounced.
Call it escapism
Or call it empowerment
Whatever works best
After the third glass
My political leanings
Became slightly vague
Give me liberty
Or pour me a deep merlot
Full bodied freedom
He told her to smile
“You look so much prettier”
She stuck out her tongue.
Don’t cut your hair, girl
You don’t want to look too butch
She shaved it all off.
Just a little kiss…
He touched her against her will
She rescued herself.
Do I feel pity for them, the ones who languish down below? While I sail the updrafts,
Wings buffeted by opposing winds, they scurry about, these creatures tied by gravity and
Need to Earth’s secure illusion. Would I trade places with them for the prospect of
Lifelong love, slow sex on a rainy day, a five course meal with créme brulee as dessert?
Give up flight and walk on two spindly limbs for the whisper of a lover? I’d miss my wings.
Here’s another take on this by The Bard of Liminga:
Catching my own breath
Chasing it down winding halls
An elusive sprite
Sinking to new lows
Blocks tied to tender ankles
Chafed from submission
Climbing to grand heights
Achieving an inner peace
In rarified air
Three hags around a cauldron hot,
Two tall, one short, all steeped in rot
“Sisters, dear,” the short witch rasped,
“Please join me in my evil chant.”
And so the wicked three clasped hands
Enpowered by their fevered rant:
Warted toads and skinny skinks,
Strangled pigs and hair of lynx,
Essence of offal, rattlesnake’s tongue,
Sweat of warthog, elephant’s dung.
Lizard’s lips, slime of slug,
C’mon girls let’s chug a lug.
Feverishly they consumed the potion
A night of devilment set in motion
Quickly worked the magic brew
Hags became beauties right on cue
Summoned they a carriage grand
And ventured out upon the land
In search of men unvirtuous,
The shallow and oblivious
Easy prey for witches three
On Halloween, the hags were free
Tortured men with promised kisses
Allowed them to fulfill their wishes
But every man seduced in turn
Soon felt his skin begin to burn
Venomous kisses raised seeping blisters
The mark of conquest from evil sisters
And when All Hallows Eve was o’er
Three witches laughed at settled scores
Praying for Eyebrowz 