Butterfly
A gray, decaying cocoon
lies snug up against
a Sunday plate-glass window.
All that can be seen
is the jeans-covered ****
of some homeless person.
Charity blankets never
cover everything at once.
At the edges
of the chrysalis is
a banner from some parade,
wrapped like a royal-blue
winding cloth.
What emerges as
the sun floats high, could
hardly be called a butterfly.
It is the old man who
sits, nodding, by a square
of cardboard, hand out for change.
His unfurled banner lies, catching
breezes nearby.
His old gray blanket bleeds
his stink into the street.
He waits for the hour
when he can bind himself
to his bottle, squirming back
into his corner.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 11:01 AM UTC
I was just five years old,
and Montana springs can be very cold.
It was time to go hunting for some
poor creature, men with rifles bold.
Off we trekked to the Bitterroot Valley.
A line of cars and pickups a mile long.
Hunting camp set up by the men first.
Then the women with bustle strong.
Daddy led me by the hand to a place
where the water was knee deep
to a giraffe...but I had rubber boots with
a yellow ducky, that never made a peep.
Suddenly adults were flying and crying,
running here and there in fearsome flight.
I did not understand what gave these folks
such a sudden and terribly awful fright.
Seems I stepped in a rattlesnake nest,
I thought they were cute little worms.
I wanted to get one for daddy’s fishing,
so I started to reach toward the squirms.
Now, baby rattlers can bite seriously,
but I had red boots with a yellow ducky,
and their furious little bites were not
able to bite, through boots...Lucky.
But those fingers reached out - well,
they were snatched by an aunt who wailed,
and no one told me why they were so tense,
to each other the story was detailed.
Innocent as lamb was I about those
reptiles that looked so cute and harmless.
I never knew my auntie had saved me
from being bitten and being armless.
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Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 10:58 AM UTC
Crabbed old feet,
imprisoned
in shoes too small,
too ***** and too red.
A bit of music escapes
from some trendy cafe
and she dances
in the wailing cold.
She remembers
when she was pretty.
She remembers
being young.
Now a ***** veil
of fears drifts
as she finds her
old age has begun.
She is worn down,
worn out, ****** dry
by the pain every
woman knows.
The laughing mouth
of the grave waits
to welcome her home
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
Born of cosmic particles of light
she is beauty beyond imagining.
When she clasps her hands
in contemplation, suns are born,
the moon rides high on her shoulders.
Diviner of the universe, boundless
power born of the goodness
that encompasses all and endless.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 10:47 AM UTC
Melvin’s Hat
Melvin’s hat was blue,
it smelled of tobacco
and rode close to his ears.
Kept the evil thoughts out.
Kept the evil thoughts in...
even pon a hell-hot July day,
on a Tri-Met bus going uptown,
Melvin wore his hat.
He rolled his own cigarettes,
leaky confections that
shed onto his black skin
like dandruff.
He struck his matches
on the **** of his jeans.
Melvin had two teeth;
yellow commas
on each side of a leathery smile.
Two boys got on the bus.
They snatched Melvin’s hat
right off his head...got off
and set it on fire.
Two boys as black as him!
They ran, those bad boys.
One ran under the wheels
of a 1989 Pontiac, green.
Sirens screamed.
Horns honked.
People panicked.
Melvin’s feet burned
like holy fire.
He had to hurry.
He had to be quick.
He had to find another hat
before any more evil thoughts
leaked out and killed more boys.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
The fox of terror
flicks its tail, smells the wind,
and slinks toward its prey.
She is a woman
with years strung on
her neck instead of pearls.
She knows the hunt and chase
they will do.
Pricking its ears
the fox slinks closer,
breath stinking with rage;
blood lust pumps in its veins.
She feels its eyes upon her,
hears the vague exhalations
of its panting.
Ever closer, the fox toys with her.
Its ruff engorged, its jaws open,
ready...
She shivers as she
silently waits to see
its feral eyes reflected
in her own.
When it pounces
the world explodes in fists,
knuckles and the teeth of terror
that tear here flesh until...
she is no more.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 11:18 AM UTC
Oh, to be in my little room
where I can dream and sleep,
as up the pallet of my walls
shadow-brushes creep.
Lands and lives and lifetimes
appear and dance above my head.
Al the angels of heaven sing
and carry me to my bed.
With sleepy eye, the dreamer
watches as night becomes day...
a fiery hand throws the sun around
to chase the darkness away.
Shaking out the last bits of night
light wields its broom with glee,
sweeping every little place
where the night could play for me.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 11:09 AM UTC
There is no mercy at
the well of imagining.
I am aroused from sleep,
the bucket clanking
against the walls
of my mind...
a bottomless vortex
where spinning memories
grab at me like
children on a merry-go-round.
Daylight defiance
is a soothing draught
best sipped quickly
so the icy rime
can coat the window of truth.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
I wrote poetry tonight of sunsets and ponds,
worthless topics in light of the state of the world.
Just ended a hospital stay...needed to be mellow.
But this godawful earth gives me the heebie jeebies.
Forced confinement that came with cable t.v.
I wallowed in insanity and stupidity that seemed
to have no freakin end
We are teetering on so many brinks, but what was on?
A series about a guy makes a chain of hamburgers
on the family name...
Watched them play on a lawn big enough to choke a goat,
swim in their waterfall pool and frolic in designer clothes.
A series about mansions that cost millions of dollars
and could each house the homeless population of this town.
Freaking carbon combat boot prints.
Worked all my life.
Me and my three cats struggle - disability does not
buy mansions!
The world in on a precipice so **** scary
God himself can’t tip it back.
Korea, Iran and all those Isis ******** that put
bullets in the heads of six year-old boys.
And they show wanton consumption - reckless regard
for the land - don’t tell me they earned their money
and deserve to have obscene disregard for others.
When the rich have to pay their fair share...
when life is equitable and no one goes hungry
or sick
or without education...
Then maybe it won’t be so sickening.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
Scent of pine lingers
over the deep labyrinths
beneath the trees.
Black beetles bump chests
like Sumo wrestlers
as they try to avoid each other
in the warm scratch
of detritus dark with shade.
Baby snakes lace the meadow grass
where deep sunshine heats their cold bones.
A deep hush is suspended
by the erratic leaps of pond frogs.
One sails on a limb through
water yellow and noxious as nicotine.
The day carries its own rhythms
and paints them on a peaceful canvas.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 8:38 PM UTC