Thursday, February 17, 2011

POEM: Kind of Love

No one ever told me that there were so many kinds of love:

There is the kind that catches the light
And decorates whatever it surrounds.

There is the kind that is silent, small and unobtrusive.

There is the desperate kind,
Struggling like the last orange autumn leaf

There is even messy love that has lost its way, forgetting what it is.

Then there is the block-of-clay-immutable-and-square
-the-gray-that-anchors-the-promise-of-morning-when-I-wake
-kind-of-love.

It never gives in but just wears on –
It is as aromatic as a sky-flower, as fecund as warm
Cakey soil below.

POEM: Hopeless Liar

I will grant the force of gravity, the power of raging wild fires
The tsunami of your binding care.
But alone is the wardrobe that I choose to wear
It stands up as true, and me, the hopeless liar.

POEM: Michelle Obama’s Red Fashion

michelle obama is wearing her communist red gown again
which is different than sarah palin’s red suits she always wears.
Which red is which? And how do you decide?
Santa must be a socialist, a vermillion give-away of all those gifts.
And what about the bloody Pope?

“Everyone has to get dressed in the morning,” michelle says
Preaching fashion beatitudes.

Style is an enzyme that creates a mental shift
In red or not
Buffed arms or hot
– the hint of a threat of lust
In Manolo shoes or out
With or without the graces of Versace.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

POEM: Moorings

During long days,
The shawl of needless worry
Wraps its legs around your fleshy heart
eclipsing the birth and death of solar systems,
the breathless horizon, and
Even the felt of stormclouds.

At my best, i possess tunnel vision
That bores directly into that beating ghost
That cups you like a ladle in its thirsty hands.

Have you dreamed of how proud I am of you?
How glad that we hitchhike that same glory road?

Our hearts are common moorings
Of thick wood buried feet deep in swift river
Currents that carry away what is impossible to hold
On to anyway - ineffable
as the song of migrating geese -
inexorable as melting snow and ice.
The target light is where I lie in wait for you.