Poetry Page, Part TwoSelected Poems

Anything with quotations around the title, means that the title is tentative and is subject to change. (These are all relatively new, so most of them are works in progress.)

God of the Garage Band
Black coffee in a
beer mug
and ganja out of
a bowl
does not a healthy
breakfast make
The dim yellow
lighting
pales your complexion and
the winter cold
ashes your skin
You're five-foot-four
in a ratty pair of
hand-me-down Sketchers
but when you
Scream
into that microphone
and when you
Thrash
that guitar
with your stubby fingers
I have to
put down my pen
and listen

Invisibility

(This poem looks a lot better when it's normally typed out with all the appropriate indentations. Unfortunately, my html isn't that good.)

sometimes
i am utterly
convinced
that if i sprinted
across that class room
and took a flying leap
out the window
and somersaulted
down the hill
and just started running
towards the East
and swam the backstroke
across the Bay
and tumble-ran
over the beach
and
just
sat
in front of the ocean
and watched the sun rise
that somewhere
in that city
on that hill
in that school
in that classroom
Honours World Literature
would proceed
without me

Penelope's Antonym

(This poem is going to be published in Mercy's literary magazine The Lance. It is based on the character of Penelope, from Homer's The Odyssey.)

Monogamy is a kill-joy.
It is the steel-bar cage
That keeps the Tigress of Lust
From escaping into the jungle
And enjoying her hunt.

I am no Penelope.

If I was surrounded on all sides
By young, bronze, muscular,
Demi-god suitors
Who were willing to kill
For a place next to me in my bed...

If my husband had been gone
For twenty tedious years,
Far from his green island home
Or the battlegrounds he loved so much...

If I was left all alone in a
Colassal marble palace,
With only melancholy servants,
Longing for their male master,
To converse with...

If I was the mother of a miserable,
Skinny little son
Who hid his fear and weakness
Behind a concrete facade of tough-guy talk...

I'd throw my weaving out the window,
Give the attendants a day off,
Tell my kid to go out and play,
Hide the pictures of my husband's
Smiling, loving face
In the dresser drawers,
Line up the suitors outside
My bedroom door,
And let the Tigress run free.

The following poems were written by my friends and me during a semi-uneventful Writers' Workshop.

"8 PM at the Laundromat"
(written by Jessica Myers, Nikkie Cimino, Amy Bolcer, and Jessica Zachmeier)

liquid notes slide
across the chords of
"Strawberry Fields"
that conceal the screeching jumble
of the washing machine
and the bleach-washed pennies
that swim within
the gutted pockets of blue jeans
adding another gram
of indigo dust
to the lint trap

"First Day of Retirement"
(written by Jessica Myers and Nikkie Cimino)

Poison cello lyrics
age in tonic silence
hushed tones--
Garden Talk--and old woman
wishes for a rake

(Back to my solo work)

Backseat Misery
The cigarette smoke curled
languidly upward
towards an ever-blackening
circle of tar and nicotine
on the ceiling
while he mercilessly flicked
more ash out the window
I squirmed
on the tattered backseat,
trying to avoid
second-hand asphyxiation,
thinking only of how sweet
my hair had smelled that morning

"Catharis"
fist pounding the electric, ringing air
fingers melting into bass line
body jumping to be seen
voice screaming to be heard
insane and rising
over fifty front-row fans
joinging eyes
joining voices
sweating in unison
blood snowballing...
lungs crying...
brain bursting...
freedom from life
through music

BWI Airport
pigtailed pixie
singing Hari Krishna
in the rain
ripping the manes from
unsuspecting marigolds
scattering Fall-coloured petals
into the wind

"Misfortune Cookie"
A dish crashed
onto the tiled floor of
Café Zen,
spilling bright orange
sweet-and-sour chicken
onto brand-new sneakers
Funny how life
imitates food--
a sweet-but-often-sour
relationship
had just come crashing down,
scattering
five months of
lies, kisses, caresses,
and adultery
into the open
Unfortunately,
when accidents happen
in love,
there is no
appologetic waiter
offering freebies and discounts
for a chance
at redemption

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