Chimera
I’ve enjoyed Things For what they weren’t, Pretending They were else, Or other — Employed The flings Of chimeric Wings — Blending Scale And feather. Passion Contents
Read MoreIt’s Hell in Here
I climb to the top of the high tower, peer down at the bucket of water below. Yes, I could dive, down, down, down, into those few inches of liquid and survive. But the daredevil adventure doesn’t say enough about me, so I descend the ladder to the disappointed sneer of crowds. Same with the thin wire stretched between skyscrapers. Oh I could walk across it all right, on one leg if I had to. And riding a barrel over the falls… as easy as driving to the corner shop for bread. Jump canyons on my motor-cycle… not a problem. Dive through fiery hoops… with my eyes...
Read MoreShadowless Seas
Nora, there is no artifice here, no court-martial, no foot soldier, no sailor’s boot to smite my lady’s womb. O rose, O love of my life, do not undo me with your chagrin, your concepts of nothingness. For no other reason than you, for no other cause than I love you, shall I sail the hopeless and indivisible oceans. O punish me, love, take my lowly heart and submerge it in salt water. In the midst of all the enemies of loving, in this crisis of storms, where fiend is friend, and friend is woe, I will worship you as though it were my last day. Take what is rightly yours,...
Read MoreSpeak
(Everyone needs a dog to adore him, and a cat to bring him back to reality – Anonymous) My sister, looking at the poster, Reine de Joie, exclaimed, Wow, this guy looks like my poodle looks, when I kiss him. Of course, Toulouse-Lautrec’s woman is a prostitute — note the sinuous scarlet dress, the cherry-red lipstick — and the person being kissed on the nose is a rich, fat banker, while my sister is straight as they come. But her dog adores her. When he hears the can opener operating, he practically drools. Then my sister shovels the food...
Read MoreSlowness Still
Here’s the question I have to ask myself — Why is it I go on baking the words When clearly all that might go on a shelf? Isn’t “scratch” when instant is there absurd? Why go to the trouble of scattered flour When a plastic wrap at the store will do? No need for dirty dishes and midnight oil When it’s all already baked for you. Yet the attraction of what’s difficult Isn’t only in the tiny finesse. There’s a larger duty that’s grandly built, Which may be recipe to the soul’s largesse. Say what we will for what the easy brings, Slowness is beauty, despite...
Read MoreSeeing Orange
Orange yells out at me. Orange became. Was it scarlet or the boldness of chili pepper fusing madly with soft cornsilk? Or did they take turns With her silky strands? Orange is at times almost asleep, a syrupy copper tainted with cinnamon. Orange can wake and scream. Deep down orange is dangerous, its harsh edges sharp; its motion chaotic as it reaches out to me and screams a cruel twisted bloodthirsty howl. Orange. A Judas to my retina; a Hitler to my mind. Passion...
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