It was an arbitrary day
at the arboretum
the ferns were all wondering why
a rash of rogue rhododendrons
were roughing up the azaleas
while mighty magnolias stood meekly by

A patch of tiny cyclamen giggled girlishly
while witch hazels waved green wands
and the willows wrung their hands
and wept and wept
'cause they knew what was really going on

Quick! Call the poetic constabulary
I'm mincing words about my vocabulary
Help! I'm drowning in my thesaurus
evidence that i'm merely a brontosaurus

Listen up to my Greek chorus:
"Such silly word play should place her in poem prison
a ponderous place from which few have risen
Locked in the cell, losing her sense
consequence of writing with no poetic license"

Writing on with no reason or rhyme
just doing my poetic time
iambic meters bite me in the ****
trying to force me out of my sonnetic rut

stumbling on ideas most trite
all the pitfalls of making the choice to write

Give up your muse
of mediocrity
Throw him to the wolves

Let him roast on the spit
of your whirring pen
laugh without mercy:

"You guided me to this place,
Miscreant
Now I'll show you where to go."

The ink stains your hands
You, Lady Macbeth,
but instead of washing

use it to tattoo
the truth
all over your face

Death, my friend, is in everything
we touch
the small porcelain cup
which holds my coffee
the tiny silver spoon that
stirs my mind

our breaths are numbered
assigned at birth
watching your chest rise and fall
as you sleep
I count
trying to formulate between us
the perfect equation

my deep and dire dreams
redeem me
no lunar memory remains
I'm transformed with no recollection
precious state
dissolving ribbon
a fresh organism
cells renewed
a sloughing off of the night
a hatching
perhaps, after all, there is a soul

These words don't belong to you
or me

They come from down deep
From the low guttural rumblings
Of our sleeping planet

They come on the wind
as it flies into your ears and eyes
forcing you to take that deep breath: inspire

They come, gently, from the trees
whispering the song of the season
as you stroll beneath their branches

They come from the heart
as it pumps blood through us tenuously, with a rhythmic beat

They come from the stardust
of a thousand dreamy worlds
drifting slowly through the universe
and out the tips of our pens

This is a test
this is only a test

you may opt to do the right thing
you may opt to think of all humanity and not just the people you know

in the event of an actual emergency
what will you do?
if all the weapons are in the hands of fools?

what will you do?
if the votes of many aren't counted?

this piercing tone serves as a reminder
you may be called upon
to do heroic deeds

You with your post-primitive hair
and your eyelids
stop teasing
we're all in on the secret
though mum

ten times i've told you
in operatic tones
ten times i've curtseyed
before you a rose in my teeth

my heart is all stomach ache
with regret
opportunities for truth squandered
polite smiles and pleasantries

today let's speak free

Listen! let's all hold our tongues
for a moment
the clock will stop if we do
our pens motionless above the page
qwertyuiop keybords rest untouched

still also our minds
no judgement on what's left to hear
voice of the universe OM
vibrating from toes to crown
weaving 'round and through us

connecting all living things
with earth's foundations
oceans and rocks
Listen! can you hear it?
it's a song like the introduction
from original Star Trek
taking us where we've never been before

You used to lose me in the rose garden
in the misty maze of paths we knew by heart
I'd look for you down by the waterfall
on the bench by the oaken arbor

I hope you'll find me there again one day
peeking out from behind the tangled thorns
intoxicated by aroma's perfect rosary
dance a ring-a-rosy with you once more

Shhhh, there's no hurry,
nowhere we have to be
there'll be time,
later,
to be stuck in traffic,
dishes piled in the sink
will be done

all the shoulds that shake us down
shush them
rock them in your arms
it'll be okay, it'll be okay
even when it isn't

put on your internet mittens
'cause, Baby, it's cold out there
in spite of the millions of kittens
there's a definite chill in the air

i may never read what you've written
it's not that i don't love your wares,
i'm only eternally smitten
by outdoors, green trees, and fresh air

so keep writing, Baby, go faster
it's writing that makes writing great
if you stop it would be a disaster
so stick it, you know, it's your fate

I'm trapped in the rhythm of the sonnet
a partnership I chose all by myself
I found the bard's hat and chose to don it
but did not see his shackles on the shelf

of all the paths I've chosen and regretted
I feel this should be easiest to fix
by me this road is only lightly treaded
old mangy dog learning still older tricks

I care no more for forms which close my heart
I'd rather open up and set it free
this stricture doesn't merely stifle art
it's suffocating what's inside of me

even this couplet seems to have a cost
the corset is pulled tight and I am lost

Unsatisfied?
Discontented?
Not so pleased
with the space you've rented?

Feeling anxious?
Unrequited?
All your negatives
united?

Getting angry?
Turning violent?
No longer willing
to stay silent?

Write a flower.
Plant a poem.
Find peace inside
your own true home.

Awake! this is life
Be not ungrateful for its toll
Cultivate an aura of contentment
Delve deeply for that thing they call a soul

Examine all your motives and intentions
Fling aside delusion in your path
Glimpse through tiny keyhole possibility
Harness all resistance with your wrath

Imitate great ones who came before you
Jeopard not the love within your heart
Karma cannot limit your ability to
Lacerate each falsehood all apart

Mingle with the angels out among us
Never rest until you need the sleep
Obviate the demons which cling to us
Perforate what makes you feel cheap

Querulous we walk the road to happy
Rutted as it is with mire and muck
Spare your energies and sweet entreaties
To walking ghosts who just don't give a ****

Upend all ideas that forestall you
Vindicate what you know to be true
Windmills of illusion won't enthrall you
Xcept when you opt to allow them to

Yesterday may blind us with her memory
Zelos might appreciate our idolatry

Words fly in fly out
was there ever any doubt?
words fly out fly in
fall down wasted in the bin

When you make yourself
Peaceful
you've done all you can
for peace on the planet

Not Much

still, your light,
a tiny spark in the
Darkness
can be seen for a million miles

The poet sits
on her posterior
penning poesies for the people

Put down your pencil
the test is over

You won't be graded for
right answers

You won't be judged on appearance
nor by fame, nor might

the clock, not your enemy
no one has conspired against you

Now nothing's left
cool water on your face

absence of mirror
lets you see you clearly

being of light

You don't begin with Guernica
if that's somewhere you're ever
meant to go

chubby baby hands grip the crayon
someday if you're lucky (or not)
they'll draw a thin straight line
in charcoal
just the least perceptible curve
enough to delight the eye
imperfection thrills the masses

then you paint and paint and paint
time and patience
some money
luck again, always luck

you're a master

maybe someone will recognize in your lifetime
most likely no
unless you're a tireless self-promoter

but your work
your work is sublime

I spent years in a cave writing nothing but sonnets
I chanted my mantra in iambic beat
ate my meals from quatrain plates
drank my wine from gold couplets

used a quill to pick rhymes
from my chattering teeth
my hair grew wild and free as verse
my heart exploded with love that was fierce

and yet here I am, here I still am
coping with nothing but paper and pen

Blinking eyes distraction mind
never settling her arrow to target

check email fifty times a day
nothing new alerts from advertisers

slobber over social media
lost between tragedy and humor

bees crash into window pane
again and again and again and again

hungry hungry for connection
I kiss your warm palm smelling of ivory soap

Robo Poet always wins the contest
tickling your fancy with that perfect rhyme scheme
scanning your psyche for metaphor
writing three poems at once

Robo Poet knows what you want
posts at the perfect time
writes while you're sleeping
sleeps only in your dream

Robo Poet doesn't care
Love poem? if that's what you want baby
****** in every stanza
sapphire eyes shining brighter

You can always depend on Robo Poet
he's inside you feels your pain
he's got the rhythm he's got the beat of your heart
drop your pen, let him write

Middle age fills out your baggy jeans
overflowing with wisdom
even the planet earth seems rounder
as it rolls another year around the sun

Dozens of days
still can't remember
my name

but you know it don't you?

gender is such a distraction
I can see the temptation
the relative ease
not having one

but I'm a woman
what a woman

disgraced and redeemed
over and over

desire and dismissal
obsession and obstetrics

cowered before villains
an army of millions marching behind me

told the plain truth
lying with only my smile

tripping over my words
in a stream of pure eloquence
there's  nothing left for me
but to be burned as a witch

cackling as the flames
flicker against my feet
a phoenix

In me there are volumes
upon infinite volumes of poetry
written in calligraphy on
handmade linen parchment in
a dark corner of my brain

crumpled ***** of paper
clog my arteries
words and symbols
seeping out my pores

a deluge of rhyme
a ***** of verse
a million billion zillion
ridiculous lines of litany

my time belongs not to me
but to a strange epiphany
not good, not bad, it is what is
each poem is my purpose

I age my poems
in dark musty cellar
'till they mellow and moan
begging to be brought to light

I bury them there
in oaken casks, stained purple
flavoring them full of
funky terroir

Abandoned on a shelf in
old green glass
imprisoned by cork
unlabeled

I age my poems
banished 'till rhyme ripens
in dim hopes one day
they'll tickle someone's tongue

He was right about April
callous brutality
washing our sorrows in joy
each sweet breath effortful
eyes reborn to the brightness
unaccustomed to all this blossoming
an embarrassment of beauty

but we go on
year after blistering year
infusing our days with purpose
we'll never come to understand
your lips against mine in
mysterious bliss

I curse the midnight muse
her full bladder urgency

calling from the darkest darkness
quilling me willing me to write

Snowing cherry blossoms again
such is May

obvious bees buzzing with newness

birds in full fledge
shrieking delight and outrage

poignant breeze stops
Sun from her slow burn

we brim with hope
our glasses filled of flowers

Made from ground up leaf of
sassafras

taste like the bottom of the bayou
shrimp boil
smoke and gators

sprinkle it on stir it in
don't cook it or your gumbo
gets stringy-ew
Choctaws knew

FDA will tell you it's poison
like strong words
bad haircuts
keep sipping your KoolAid please

nothing but magic in filé
flavor of down-home voodoo
zydeco iron skillet cornbread
Mama knows what's good for you

and who am i to argue
are we not fools every one?
there's never truth in every word
only thin glimmers show us light
a poem holds up the mirror
to reflect the dawn a little clearer

It's hard to write
when cat sits on the page
and herds of wild elephants
stomp over in a rage

The magic carpet beckons
let's step on for a ride
fly across the wide blue sky
like kestrels we will glide

I didn't plan to write this
I just let it write me
When words won't flow may
as well go on a rash exotic spree

I season my lies with grains of truth
which make the average story worth its salt
it touches me between the tongue and tooth
so every falsehood shines without a fault

what's true is slippery banana peel
your story flips the coin of one I tell
believing only one side shows what's real
buys you a ticket to a special layer of hell

so hold your facts lightly let them fly
watch their feathers turn from royal blue to gray
know you know nothing 'til the day you die
for truth is shaped from brittlest of clay

Truth is lighter than the tiniest of flea
its bitter bite jars us into harsh reality

Some days no words worthwhile wasteland
of a page before me barely
will to carry on weather
report mental fog emotions
on the ebb the moving
finger writes not so much
wit unawake more
pathos less
piety bereft
of self empty
vessel

Start with forgiveness
because it's the hard one
not picking at your scabs
let them itch

Tenderly treat yourself
like your dearest love
pull aside the velvet curtains
brush the hair from your careful eyes

All your furious passions, pet them,
soothe your tearful brow
allow yourself to be all you are
genius-fool, lover-hater, beauty-hag
wanter, wanted, wanting

Take baby-steps
toward the arms of peace

Here, drink this,
Share my half-full cup
don't worry if you take it all
You're thirsty, drink it up

walk with me aways
i'll let you wear my shoes,
the soles are worn, the laces frayed
but they are tried and true

Sleep now, you're so tired
close your magic eyes
tomorrow is tomorrow
so say the lullabies

The best words stretch the mind like taffy
pulled and twisted to sweet perfection
opening doors to heart ,windows to soul
Inviting sunlight and salad days back to the roost

The idea first arose
when he was a mere child
watching the birds lift off
as he ran at them

Supreme deficit
to be un-winged
Oh cruel evolution!
to be banished to the earth

I sprung out of this polka-dotted haze
rose up into a new exotic phase

a spring of fleurs erupted from my fount
forced
bulb March of mother May I's
forget-me-knotted hair
sashaying Miss American me
Ms. Primrose Promise
sprouting a court of daffodilian dandies
defrosting smiles of delight

tip-toe-Tiny-Tim Tambourine man
faerie of frivolity
waves his wand over
my zone 8

I bloom anew

No narrative captures the truth whole
so I choose the mist of poetry
as close as we come to understanding

the muse came late
her face in battered bandage
her angry beautiful
her homemade crutches
works of art in cherry wood

her face in battered bandages
the muse came late
she gave her blood
in vials of splintered glass
her angry beautiful

the muse came late
her angry beautiful
a satchel filled with herbs
to cure and ****
she gave her blood

her angry beautiful
she gave her battered blood
as thick as cherry ink
her whispered manifesto
a satchel filled with herbs

she gave her blood
a satchel filled with herbs
of rosemary forget-me-nots and rue
her homemade crutches
works  of art in cherry wood

My mind is quiet today
not too much to say
even the rhymes are overly simple
corners of my mouth turning up
just slightly in mild amusement

The day is still as well
fog sits patiently in the dell
and the rhymes stay simple
like my life, not overly exciting
a study in mundanity but balanced
in flavors sweet, bitter, sour, spicy,
pungent, never once worried about
the source of my next meal
Never once.

And poetry of dubious quality
pours and pours from my pen
pours and pours from my pen
filling me with purpose and wonder

This poem is water soluble
please try to keep it out of the rain
Best not read it in the bathroom
or while washing dishes

Be cautious with nearby beverages
and prudent with the garden hose
Surely you won't be reading poolside
or by a sweetly babbling brook

Don't even consider reading
at the beach
where dark waves menace my very existence
This poet is water soluble

More important to be honest
than original

If hackneyed lines race from your pen
let them run let them run

at the end you'll find
there was no race at all

no trophy awaits you

break free of the track
ride your truth all the way into the sunset