Sunday, December 4, 2016

Kitty Cat PJs

It's cute
that you think
my kitty cat pjs are sexy

and that my messy hair and unbrushed teeth
hide a seductress
just dying to leap

your bones.

But, no.
Just no.

For Poetry Pantry at Poets United

Friday, December 2, 2016

Rapunzel, Rapunzel

Exactly WHY
can't I lock her
in her room until

she's 35
or I DIE,
whichever comes first?

Why CAN'T I tower
her away until
her hair is grey

and, like Rapunzel's,
tumbles
to the GROUND?

Let whichever prince
or princess
she's found (SOMEHOW!)

try to make that climb
 - that careful hand over hand -
while I stand under her window,

wizened and weary,
but with my SCISSORS and tongue
still sharp.

For Izy's prompt at Real Toads

Anybody else having formatting problems.  I cannot get this to format like I want it to.

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Hasn't Hurt Me

Bryson has two mommies.
It hasn't hurt me a bit.
I once pissed in a stall
with a girl born Paul
on the other side -
and I lived.
I've kissed a girl and liked it.
I've kissed boys and liked that, too.
And I'll be damned if I deny myself either
just to pacify a bigot like you.

For Midweek Motif~ Social Stigma at Poets United
Also submitted to The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Tuesday, November 22, 2016

My Shadow

Stretched tight -
the umbilical
between my shadow and me.

I fetch light
for the coming night.
My shadow, I feed

bits of sun
till morning comes
to keep her here with me.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Sunday, November 20, 2016

I'm Like That

Put a cricket
in a skillet,
and he'll sing hot and fast.
I'm like that.

Lord, I'm like that.

I like my bridges burning
off the straight and narrow path
and my cats

bony black.

Don't try to be the bushel
where you think I hide my light.
Don't come dragging in the day
or dragging me from night.
You'll end a hollow haunting at the feast
while I swing from lean to fat.

Yes,

Lord,

I'm like that.

For Poetry Pantry at Poets United

If you have a minute, I have a poem in issue 8 of Firefly Magazine.  Check it out!

Saturday, November 19, 2016

The Last Tarot

dirtworshipingypsy:

fortune teller. early 1870s

Crown of thorns.
Celtic cross.
Empty pocket eyes.
You can fill them with your future
for a shiny, silver dime.

She lays the circle, lays the staff
with quick and calloused hands
and whispers, "Would you be a god tonight,
or leave this place, a man?"

For The Sunday Mini-Challenge at Real Toads

Tuesday, November 15, 2016

Blue Door

Behind
the blue door -
the blue-lipped crone
I'll be
I am becoming.

Behind
the black door
the black-eyed girl
I'm bound
to leave behind.

Behind
the red door
the angry voice
of truth
a dream / a drumming.

Behind
the green door
rest, a self
caress -
want sanctified.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads