Within his paw
smeared bloodied red
by a deliberately mocking thorn
sat a
blanched ripple-y
guarachera strip of cloth
confined narrowly
between the love and the life lines.

TWO ROADS!

what remained of her
remained of the underthings
beneath

fluffing rows of silk
the heavy skirt had been raised
above the ankles
the creases no longer hidden in shadow,
one leg hoisted over the back,
the reigns held expertly.

Hey Beauty!
As it happens, the card numbered Eight is
Strength (also Lust)

She had surely fled
She has surely flown
through the trees and away
Not on foot at-all
while the three saw her pass.
great speed.
The two sisters
with that prince vulgaris looking on
curiously
Three daemon goblins watching from a distance
a disturbance
a smallish crashing
and afterwards
a scrap, sleepy and unfurled, relaxed
within the leaves that shudder
and give up the delicacy, slyly
into stubby fingers

Lovely
Dark
Deep
The Woods are Laughing!
Did you notice any scent?
Did it linger between
the thumb and the ring?
the remnant of her flowers,
Petals flouncing, swirling
in odorous potentiality.
a scrap, yes
a deep seated souvenir
Can we re-fabricate the whole from this little thing, you think?

we want her.
there are things that we want to do with her.

dangerous, they lean in close, nostrils flaring slightly
searching for the ambergris or the sticky  jasmine
sweet,
settling instead to gaze upon
the still clutched
still a little springy
sprightly, o! the remnants of her liveliness
and ***** and yet
No memories

3: at least let us show you the stage that we’ve built
with a clean sheet for the curtain,
paper cut-outs
and some sticks.
it’s called acting.
the wine and the wafer.
hidden in the trees’ darkening
‘the mattress’ lays where
the leaves will crumple

meanwhile, he’s petulant:
- why, if you’d just get off of that high horse!
- how long are you going to resist?
- are you STILL angry?
- why won’t you just let me stick it in you?

she telegraphs her response, cough:
‘you do know that in this
particular scenario
(fingers pointing downward and across
as if to suggest
that the scenario
had a specific location)
You are the wolf, right?
The wolf...

I, the girl,
am in the forest with my basket and
I have got a
cute little
blood red
crushed velvet
swing coat
With matching hood and a single task
And YOU
(with those other two *******) have decided
to bore ME with this ****?
Daresay slow ME down?
Of course I will get rid of YOU.
Wait, who am I talking to?

Let me also add that
there never has been any
high-stepping on my part,
nor ankle twirling,
no mandate to impress a stale balcony,
no sign of gaslit
illuminated
pink bows
that lay down flat
perfectly upon the straps
that snap
perfectly at the thigh,
NOT to be slid off a buttock (mine)
NOR crumpled into a dubious ball, ripped and torn
and yet I know that
that determined creature,
a hairy monster
more faithful than Argos,
is prepared
to wait a lazy eight
at grannie’s cozy house
in a sickly corner
over-eager and overwrought with
pandered fantasies
and explosions of once sort or another, irrelevant to me.

What I WILL admit to is
that the touch of those grubby fingers
transubstantiated at my waist
invisible
approach
as usual from behind
impatient and
impractical,
always too quick to make himself a beast
to rid himself of being a man

knowing how way
leads onto way
but I doubt if I should ever come back’

Little hands
Soft and velveteen
Shiny eyelids
Tired and drooping
Long lashes
Looking down at the ground
A small mask
To fit his round face
With a childish print
Of his favorite hero
Shy and quiet
With delicate limbs
Putting on his large backpack
Almost home
Invulnerable
To the screams of the others
As lightning strikes
Beyond the fields of corn
Body jostled
As the bus bumps along
Dull jade eyes
Peering through the window
Staring at the rain
Behind the glass

I tell her:
My little girl,
These days are intense
And alone.
And I know when you
Open that gate,
You do not recognise your home.

My little girl,
I know your mind is dark,
I know there are traces of a plague
Infecting your heart,
I know you want a fresh new start-
But put down the knife
And let wounds mend
And pains blend,
And see this life
To its natural end.

Oceans and rivers of tears I have cried
I am the siren of my sorrow
Swimming deftly through my pride
No smiles to own or borrow

Where salt and sin settle deeply in
Old wounds reopened sting
Sharp reminders on my skin
Of what hurricanes will bring

Hollow bones
No feet to stand
Yet lacking feathers to fly
Not searching for shore or sand
Instead I seek the distant sky

The air above seldom touches my face
Except for in my sleepy head
And in my dreams I see no trace
Of monsters inhabiting my bed

You would do anything if I were your good little boy. You would
spend any amount of money if I were your good little boy. Nothing  
spared to make me your good little boy. A toy, a treat, whatever I
wanted if I were your good little boy. When I was 4 1/2, Mom had
her affair and you opened the door of the bedroom and saw your wife
naked in the arms of another man and it blew you away off the earth,
out of the solar system, out of the galaxy, and you never came back.
That's when I became your good little boy. You got your separate
bedroom, read books about famous men and'how to become rich.
Nothing from your wife, not a huge, not a kiss. Nothing but silence
in the night. That's when I became your good little boy. That's when
I learned to march to the beat of your drum. Even then, I knew uncon-
sciously my life depended on it. I did not get any unconditional love
from you, Dad, only a few crumbs of conditional approval, and only if
i were your good little boy. You used me vicariously for the only gratifi-
cation you could get. I was your only son, and Mom remained so depres-
sed all she could do was watch TV alone in the living room til 1 at night,
then go to her separate bedroom and read paperback detective stories til
3 a.m. As i grew up, the happiness I experienced was at school where I
had friends, many friends, not at home. I loved the house I lived in, but
felt sorry for it;  I was projecting my own deep sadness on to it. I made
straight A's through school, but that just came naturally. One time--I
mean ONE time--Dad played catch with me in the front yard. The
apex of his wishes for me was to attend Andover. When I did, Dad,
of course, went with me. He met the Headmaster and saw what kind
of shoes he was wearing, shoes that you would never see in Topeka,
Kansas, so Dad went out and bought for me the same kind of shoes
the Headmaster had been wearing. How sick was that, I thought!
It wasn't until I dropped out of law school that I first defied my father.
That was when I stopped being his good little boy and began living
my own life. It was also when Dad disowned me emotionally for the
rest of his life.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

shoes the Headmaster

I decided to walk out one fine day,
To search for the 'happiness' of which people say,
I searched on the roads, I searched in the sky,
When I couldn't find any, I asked each passer-by.

Nobody had an answer that could feed my mind,
But then, I heard someone say what I'd endeavored to find,
He asked me, "Can you see those kites, flying free,
And that happy cuckoo bird, singing joyfully?"

"Have you heard the laughter of a child,
Or spent a noon chasing butterflies in the wild;
Sat with a cup of coffee on a rainy day,
Or enjoyed an ice stick one fine May?"

"It's hidden in the extra roti that your mother makes for you,
Or the smiles that you leave through the good you do,
Happiness is when you get to read a book after long,
And when you get to hear your beloved's song."

I listened and listened, and returned a smile,
How beautifully it's scattered, I wondered for a while.
In the unseen pockets of life, joy clings,
And happiness - it lies in the littlest things :)