"manticore" poems
Peevishness is an indigo plant
How could it not be peevish?
It's supposed to be green
How is it absorbing sunlight?
Where is the chlorophyll?
How is this happening?
This isn't what is supposed to happen
What the heck will its flowers look like?
Will THEY be green?
What creature would eat or pollinate
An INDIGO PLANT?
A manticore? A kelpie?
...
Calm down, indigo plant
You have a purpose for being this way
Let it be
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC
in the mink pith of our dismal mints and our Charlatan hearse fights
in the twice dark vice of our daffodils
you linger effervescent in the marmalade plans
of mice and gin.
you march men into your womb like pixie dust and Ebola.
there, in the devious whiskers of your manticore
i have found you naked and bereft of kin.
an oodle of gimp where the soul
had been, and the gas lights off the marsh
unclean.
the vivid hork of your dead albatross, pondering the hink of your discontinued love.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
"God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve."
But what if God did? What if I showed you
the lost book in that cramped hand some call Moses',
right to left (you read Hebrew, right?), the Book of Steve?
Stefan, if you're Orthodox. Esteban
if you also worship the ****** of Guadalupe,
but never mind those dark madonnas. The Book of Steve:
it's much like the rest of the Pentateuch, you'll recognize
the style, except that it was before Genesis 1
when Steve became a living soul. A lively, friendly soul:
when those animals came questing, Steve was thrilled.
He scratched their ears as he named them, puled
their ticks, asked them what they thought they should be called.
So he was scratching and chatting, naming away,
when up came Adam (Yahweh had been practicing men).
*"Hey, dude." "Hey, Adam. You think this looks
like a crocodile?" "I dunno. More like a fox?"*
They had a few beers (Yahweh's work of the day),
named five kinds of ants: Steve got carpenter,
leaf-cutter, sugar; Adam took fire and soldier.
Probably they made love, probably a lot (the world
Was young then), but the Book of Steve is demure;
Moses, or someone, drew the curtain of discretion.
When the curtain comes up, the snake
Still has brief feet, but Adam is changing the names
To better ones, and Steve’s not there. It seems
There were complaints. Stave talked to much, always on
About feelings, food, the slant of the light; sometimes
he wanted to be on top; he took the remkote, and didn’t
give it back when Adam glare. And his chest wasn’t nearly
enough like a pillow. It ws all too much.
The end of the book is torn out; there are marks of fire.
No one knows who defiled the Book of Ssteve,
But in some stories it is said that Eden has other quadrants
And that Steve is in one of them.
Stevek and the snakes with feet, and other people
Who missed the next book: the roc preening its iridescent plumes,
The unicorn lipping apples, the manticore haveint a dustabth.
They say that somewhere among the leaves of western Eden
was found a helpmeet for Steve, who was not fruitful,
who did not multiply, who had no dominion over the earth.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 4:08 PM UTC
Look through the fence, you see that beast there?
That tense lump of muscle and mange-ridden hair?
That's old Scrapyard Spike, and this is his lair;
Don't tread in his yard on adventure nor dare.
Old Scrapyard Spike, he's been a-weathered for years;
In his chain-link domain, rain-soaked despair.
Unfed in the morning, watered only with tears;
Unsheltered from squalls, corroded by glare.
Now poor Scrapyard Spike wasn't always so old,
When he was a puppy, they told him they loved him;
But when he grew up, he had to make friends with the cold,
For with the clink of a fence, he was thrown out on a whim
So Spike spent his days alone with his chain;
He sweltered at noon and slept wet with the rain;
And all those who passed him discounted his pain:
"He's just an old cur" was the daily refrain
And then one cold day, a girl found her way in;
Her flesh on her bones, blood coursing unspilled.
Old Spike smelled her first, his chain went a-slitherin'
And the lost child stood rooted, her every nerve chilled.
The silence of metal, broken plastic and glass,
The beast came a-running, his chain length a ploy;
And jaws opened wide as he lunged for the lass;
But when his head pressed her thigh, he whimpered with joy.
Old Spike raised the call with a manticore's thunder;
A summoning cast with his lungs' every strain.
She petted him gently, whose care she was under,
Though his poor heart convulsed as he looked back at his chain.
The clangor succeeded, a blue-clad protector
Saw the beast at her heel, and he drew as he lept;
An ounce of hot metal found Scrapyard Spike's skull,
And the last thing he heard was his friend as she wept.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
When it rains, it pours;
A downpour less frequently wet, sure
Dancing a shambling, ill-dressed manticore
Who has barely the strength to shake anymore
Find the only chagrin of the forecast is yours
But you bring some fine wine, a handle of Dewar’s
Your mind ascending from improbable sewers
Searing tomatoes, aged beef on skewers
Burned-off or absorbed during barhopping tours
With whom you lounged on Mediterranean shores
In your history head: Mongols, Turkmen, and Moors
It hits you again ‘til another drink floors you
Sleep on a sofa where bad weather ignores you
And somewhere inside a girl asks, “From who
Comes a voice (yours) at night ambling the halls?”
The friendliest ghost, not haunting at all
Who’ll likely come by if you give him the call
But leave in the morning before sunlight is tall
Out of fear of breaking some protocol
Despite this, you’ve certainly seen so
They keep you around as part of this scene, so
This is your life, just how it should be, so
Thank you my dears, my beloved Piso
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 4:33 PM UTC
Roy Horn always favored big cats.
He put them in all of his acts.
But then Manticore,
who thought Roy was a bore,
said “Enough” and then Roy was just snacks.
May 10, 2020
May 10, 2020 at 12:03 AM UTC
I spent a lot of time on you, and that’s my fault.
Should’ve been more pragmatic with my temporal currency
I’m not a millionaire in that category, not yet
In any category, for that matter
I guess I never thought it’d be an issue.
Here’s the thing: I thought I thought I thought
I loved you.
Jeez. That’s a thing you should know, you know?
Something I thought I knew
But I was wrong.
It’s been a while, but memories come up
This time of year; this month
A lot of things happened this month, a lifetime ago
And you were in some of them
On the fringes, casting glances askance
Hoping I wasn’t watching
Knowing I was.
Like, I had a title— you gave me a title
“Give an inch” you know?
But I held my end until I couldn’t
And you never did.
I thought I loved you
I was wrong.
I know I love her
Because it feels nothing like before.
I wonder if you know what love is
Or if you only know wanting
The emptiness that comes from
Needing a foundation
Needing a stable parentage
Needing. . . someone to take up your burdens
Telling you it’ll be alright
Telling you you’re fine.
Needing someone to take up my position
I was a mechanic:
You’d take your problems in to me
I’d fix them up
And I wouldn’t charge you because
You were my favourite customer
I was never more than a stop on your errand run
If you could fit me in.
It’s upsetting, because so much of my temporal capital
Went to someone who didn’t appreciate it
Someone who could replace me
Someone who did replace me.
I don’t know why I thought I loved you
Maybe proximity gets you confused
Maybe familiarity gets you confused
Maybe maturity pulls back the curtain, throws light on our idols
Shows them for the half-starved lions they are
The manticore illusion dies.
I’ve been spending my time better now
With better people
With people I love and who love me.
She loves me; you didn’t.
I win; you lose.
I don’t think about you all that often
But when I do
I don’t get angry
I don’t think about you all that often
But when I do
I hope I don’t ever have
to make small talk with you
I don’t think about you.
But when I do
I hope reality shows you a mirror
And you peer into your actions
Remembering the people you chased away
The people who left you for greener pastures
And as you carve the tallies into the mirror
Marks of the ones who’ve gone
I hope you see that they are going toward happiness
And that you are living in unhappiness
Spinning webs of negativity as you
Verbally abuse the ones you “love.”
I hope life bites. And I hope you know
That you gave it the teeth to do it.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 4:03 PM UTC