All Right, Already!

Nature, poetry does not provide
only the excuses for poets to subsist.

We ponder stanzas, we expand a one time verse forever.
To altars soiled of everything that was and is, we gift.

Here, reciprocity is consummated,
Nature is not obliged to return us anything.

It recycles everything,
eventually, even plastic.

Nature bestows,
we did not know we needed.

Three Months and Ticking

The recently born citizen has a sense of humor
which is the beginning of genius. She is all eye and ears
which is science, which is observation.

The e month old baby thinks her mother is God and that the guy
with the hairy arms might be a God branch office. She has a lot to learn.
The acquisition of knowledge translates into Paradise Lost.

Chain and Mail

On the southern corner of the lawn,
where the sundial action of the mountain initiates,
sits a bush squat and proud, a bush of barb
which stabs front and back if imprudently approached.

The bush is pissed. Who knows who or what
may have slighted him. Color iron his leaf
who wears a coat of chain and mail,
and decorates the season berry.

His head is tipped with bayonets,
and faithful every morning a bird perches on the helmet's crest,
and feasts on the half lid sun of mid December.
Think birds fragile?

Fragile like them we should be,
who keep their summer coats through wind freeze.
Now as to this narrator in your read, liken me not to the bird,
but rather to the bush on my front lawn.

In 1664, I migrated to Roanoke, Virginia from England.
Centuries earlier, in coat of chain and mail, I laid down my life
for God, Normandy and William The Conqueror.
Since then, regrets I've had more than a dozen.

On the subject of Roanoke's Lost Colony,
I'll recount you things no living soul has heard to date.
However, in countless migrations,
facts do get muddled.

Details blur,
details erase and sink.
So many nebulae to trip,
even we ghosts get fuzzy.

Purple

A purple monkey is in this room,
armed with ax and toy balloon.
A purple monkey is in my space,
wants to discuss not his but my mistakes.

A purple moon hangs above us all,
the habitat of snow white apes,
the most intolerant of all earth's creatures.
They carry tomes under their arms

of wrongs to right, of rights to massacre.
Identify the snow white apes, right now.
The aliens we married, sisters,
might be them in disguise.

Poetess in Autumn

Listen to the rustle and tumble of falling leaves.
This music, this is death and transfiguration.
This is God and rejuvenation. This is me,
a poetess in autumn.

I am a lady of night and white.
I am a girl of cool green.
I am of the Taiga.
Oceans of sand have I crossed.

The Sahara on camel.
On tramp steamer, Havana.
I saw Fulgencio Batista's last days.
My ears turn seashells to the horns of Harlem.

Tonight, I stand on the Manhattan side of the Brooklyn Bridge,
awaiting a Gypsy troubadour to pen me a poem.
I am the fading light on the Palisades.
I am the sound of tires on rain-slick Central Park East.

Very Close and Finished

Neutrino is a tortoise particle that races Light around Albert Einstein's clock.
Light being a hare, he's faster than fast, but yawns when doing curvatures.
The rest is Aesop's' history.

The speed of atomic particles is plainly fixed. However, in astrophysics
(as in human sexology) the staying power of given subjects is less a matter
of how fast they go than how apt they are to hold fast to the groove in slow.

What's in A Label

Fat free label to me
is like a threat to subtract my uterus.

Were it not for our glorious fat,
we stout girls would be no better than skinny fags.

Tit for That

Whisper to screech,
Tit was barely revving,
0 to 90 in microseconds.

Tat for Tit responded a decibel higher.
He shouldn't have done that. No, he shouldn't have!
Tit's counter attack shook hours and days for years.

Male that he was, Tat sheepishly sat it out.
Eventually, Tit quieted, a little old lady fragile and gray.
Even Big Bang one black day in Cosmos shall dim.

The English Channel in Each of Us

To non swimmers it might appear that the flotation
and locomotion which swimmers accomplish
results from their lashing at the water.
This is true in part.

There's more to it than that.
To swim with ease and elongation
requires we be one with the media,
for the body is basically a water bottle.

A swimmer ought to envision herself in the water
as a hurled spear singing through the air it slices,
or as the wings of gulls in the wild blows across the Channel,
or as a carrot formulated into granny's stew.

It's not like we're talking Jesus walking upon the waves, here.
The trick far more simple: Agitate the media in such a manner
as to cause it to glide softly in and around the "bottle."
And with that proposition advanced,

Weather Cummings dipped her feet in her third attempt
to swim the English Channel. For all we know, I can not say,
if Laura ever reached the other side. If she didn't, it wasn't
for want of trying.

Inner Painting

What confronts the woman is uncertainty,
uncertainty about herself and the task ahead.
What confronts this girl are choices.

Where there are choices, there are risks.
Where few choices exist, rebellion may erupt.

There's nothing on an empty canvas
to hint of revolution.
The lady takes talons and wings.

Chaos faces Cosmos

I and Eye, and Aye, were helplessly confounded. Ouch!
Chaos mumble jumble underscored their endless bitching.
You see, whereas cosmos is law and order and precision,
chaos is the violent cousin of the imprisoned.

I and Eye and Aye were like pent up tubes of pigment,
that womb squeezed firm, and there oozed out
a desire like no other, to paint something super special
like, let's say, a Great Wall of China Mural?

I was game.
Eye dove in.
Aye yelled "yes" in escalation.
And by Jove, they done did it!

I and Eye and Aye felt really comfy.
Like three pigs in a blanket, they saute delicious.
Though falling short of The Great Wall of China Mural,
they had successfully defiled a hitherto empty canvas.

Olive Wreath

I come to you with the open hand of friendship,
with the warm embrace of padding down,
a switchblade in my purse in the unlikely event
we need to split differences.

Pearl's The Sky

Anything about me worth recording
has already been spoken by the geese where I live
in their waggle marches up from the marshes
to my back porch where they forage like herbivore dinosaurs.

Anything about me worth squawking about me, I have heard already,
in v-formation flights, where they call out to those of their ranks,
I, too, like them would shout; To poetry forever, fellows.
Onward to pearlie skies, behold our grace in aerial.

Goose God Almighty has seen it fit
to fashion us feathered and egg-like
in His perfect, avian image.
To pearlie skies forever!

King Smiley

Life in the ballet, not violent like the real thing.
Life on the stage where guns fire blanks,
and ketchup substitutes for gore.

Oh for kills that are clean,
that provokes only audiences to scream.
while the victims applaud like mad.

Immortality in curtain calls, night after night.
Nothing to worry nor fret about.
Just keep those ballet slippers white and pretty,

Performance Today

Tranquility was a day in November
when we decided to drink the morning brew
while we strolled on the beach.

We walked into the ocean,
and didn't look back.