American Sentence for the Day

I chunked responsibility out of the sunroof several times today.

Rumors

do a body
no good. We can

live inside the may be,
the cold windshield
fogged with half

truths. Lines
of mouths whisper
half words in quarter
ears.

The pink of what should be
red. The gray of what
should be white.

We find ourselves alone
in a tiny box
at the end of the
story.

(for an Easystreet prompt)

I Hear America Spinning

This is a poem I wrote years ago that went into my manuscript for my Master's Thesis. It was the last poem in the thesis. It sort of sums up how I feel about where we were, and where I hope we are going.

I Hear America Spinning

the lush land is divided
by the line of the body
in the loneliness of tall grasses

Barn with ten yellow birds
Perched on the peak of its roof

Grotesque cadaver behind the anthill,
melting into the earth
redness, brown and yellow
death juices seeping into black dirt

Worms and eaters like buzzards
take long thin pieces of meat
sail slowly with them
hanging

Hair growing
Nails growing
The land listening to the body,
body never hearing land
Soak up rain, rigor-
mortis sets in

Mother, Mother, Mother
Courage to take her Beloved
by her own hand in lieu
of rotten black slavery

Strange cutting machines under
purple-lipped observers
hands ready for bouncing and circling
on stage in the moonlight

White America running from
the Brahmas in a field of low grain,
green still, not yellow or brown
sky dark christened with
hundred-thousand pound clouds

Whirling dervish, spinning
mystic in the morning to
try to make the world right

I am thankful

for this amazing day. Lovely speech, prayers, and poem. WOW.

don't make me do it (or, Ode to Someone)

I want to take your face
and smoosh it up
like putty, soft clay

watch your features change
listen to the splotch of
gums against teeth

lips touching nose
breath becomes a whistle.

I want to twist your earlobes
pinch your cheeks till they're
purple.

Bite your lips till they
bleed.

If you have any sense at all
you'll know you need to listen
and not say a word.

brother

Your broken bones
are not the problem.
All the mushy parts are
rotting, angry, neglected

in your young flesh. Your
vigorous outside doesn't match
the sludge produced

from spinning tires
melting into the gray air
circulating inside you.

Angry headlights
a sleek body with a
sad engine drowning.

We can see what's under
your hood, the soot
and oil of years.

You are your fiercest foe.
You have a night stick
inside you, a gun in
the glove compartment.

Black battering your heart,
your brain leaving you
restless, broken.

When you were born,
in jealousy I said,
"I'm gonna hit him"
But I never needed to.

wedding poem for some friends

I am going through poems to put together a manuscript. I did this a couple of years ago, but was not satisfied with the poems. Since then, actually this past year, I have written a LOT. Thank you to my supporters (fellow bloggers) during this prolific writing year! Because of this, I am more satisfied with the group of poems I have together. Hopefully I will successfully get a cohesive manuscript together in the next few months!

This is something I wrote for my friends' wedding a few years ago. It's one I might use in my manuscript.

Sacred Mary
has you in her wings.

and when I see you both,
I see the color of watermelon
chili and petal.

You steep your roots for tea.

Candles are lit along the edges
of your streets,
celebration
for the mother you know.

She follows you into the corners
of the sky, and yellow fields
are lit with her soul.

Seeds form your pictures,
make your words; teachers
you open your hands to
language, learning.

There is grace in your love.

Paper skeletons surround
your heads in a dance,
ready to be blown into the wind,
like bubbles.

There is an elegant fruit that
weeps from our mouths for you.
It is admiration,
the water of protection
that drops from Mary’s eyes.

I pray for you in this place
of laughter, the ground of our sky.

Flags wave during life and death.

There is a fragrant vision of a
young woman and man,
balanced like rocks
with sacred persistence.

As your loved ones,
we give you beans to arrange
or mix or cook, or build.

You are rising like bread.

cartwheels

barefoot in the grass
I tumble light
heavy temper

left hand right humor
three-tiered trick-kite
between my ears

I am upside down
flipping painful
spirit right side up again

wander from the floating
herd
clothed in light
slip back in

quick humor
a heavy cloud
low and dark

a graceless goddess
tone turning topsy turvy
helium light

my voice changes key
and I'm only as good
as my last mood

publication

My New Year's Poem is now up over at Breathing Poetry. Check out the site!
breathing poetry

come inside

because today is a place
not a time, and

laughing is how we live

there are coils of arms
waiting for us to climb
inside

but too often we
live in skin, muscle, fat
a place of pulling

pain and pushing
we're not landing
on our feet

because we rely only on them