I was surprised at first,
and frustrated, at how narrow
you are. Long and narrow. Stark white,
and so narrow. I felt cheated at the rent
I would pay to sleep in you, and what else?
Hang out? Read? Not likely…
Except that one adapts, and I brought
in to you a vintage brass bed,
turned it this way and that,
settled it under the window where the moon
can wink at me. And then a solid wood
dresser made in Tennessee, found on craiglist
in the Bronx, with a vanity mirror to match.
My bed seems far away when I’m at your door.
I hoped the white walls and mirror would throw
around the illusion of space. I hammered nails
and drilled screws to make you mine.
I’ve filled you to the brim with clothes,
jewelry and bins to nonchalantly store
my stuff. I get mad at you for not being
bigger, and then I humbly bail you out
like a boat set to capsize. Sorry.
You are my space, all mine. You are where the rain
sings me to sleep. You house my art. You carry
my tears, my songs, my stacks of journals,
my longings and night time scribblings, and of course,
my dreams, you are where I dream. I promise to
spend more time with you. Love you, E
Medieval marginalia is tender proof of the urge to doodle,
of the early cartoonists and comic book artists dreaming
and imagining sci-fi-fantasy creatures and such:
A golden-legged beast of three heads perched upon
three long necks, scales and bumps down its octopus
tentacle tail, blue as the deep. A unicorn horn of green
points at the throats as their dog faces grimace, whine
or laugh. The green horn of the unfortunate offspring of
a wormish thing and a hooved monkey? As it stands aloft
its mountain peaks it salutes or threatens its foe-friend.
Which kingdom will preside, how will they amend?
basking in sunlight
needs love between naps
glaring or soft,
look up to ask
Oh Gods of Earth and Sky, hear our prayer,
grant us wisdom to tend to that which has been
bestowed upon us, let us be wise stewards,
give us strength and courage to be so.
As the sun looms ever hotter
and the weathers are raging or dull;
now that the water in the land is
poisoned and we drink it so;
And the land is barren of nutrients,
because, and despite, of its multitudinous crops,
and we must give it and ourselves vitamins,
it is mete to take care and caution,
to not use our water flows as garbage drains,
to stop the cycling and circulation of plastics-
of bags, packages, containers and such.
Let wrappers not fall discarded from our hands
to the Earth, even paved Earth. Leave not our cars
to idle while waiting in them. Such is foul to the air.
Let us compost our soil rich again.
Likewise, demand that solar and wind powers
be harnessed post haste, and that these many cars
and machines of dirty, greedy oil
be converted to their truth.
It is best to buy wisely those fibers and materials
that are natural to the Earth. Our very clothing
both comes from Earth and poisons Earth. As does our food.
Thus it is, that we need Earth, and she needs us, too.
Let us grow shade and plush fields,
let us cherish our soil more than gold.
May our water sparkle brighter than rubies,
emeralds, even diamonds, and not be bought or sold,
but treasured and purified, revered.
May our Earth be restored to balance
through our blessed efforts.
May our efforts live in harmony with our Earth.
I search your face for a smile,
you search mine
we each deliver
the gleam, the bridge
across space and
I see mothers
cherishing their babies
babies cherishing their
new world, eyes wide
sweet as a plum.
I cherish the leaves
that cherish the sun
priming to fall
and melt my heart again.
The white fire lightning
flashes and burns to charcoal
The grandmother tree
The grandmother tree
writes with her charred branches on
sheets of fallen leaves
The drawings on leaves
are found and ideas abound
for a hairless beast.
Once ago, the townswomen of Essux
enterdined a herd of blesbucks.
But the souwers turned red
and so they all fled.
And the townswomen threw their kaneffs up.