Friday, November 30, 2012

Weekly Worded

  Unethical Trade

If only the African moon
was made of ivory,

and as it weighed
so heavily on the horizon

poachers could cut it
into pieces and get away

by daybreak with a truckload
of the polished night. 

I would give up the moon --
all of it -- let the earth

invent its own luminosity
if only to keep the elephants.

Friday, November 23, 2012

Weekly Worded

 Before You Go
    (opening with a line by Rosemerry)

I will write you a poem made of doors
that leak, all air, all light rushing through
with nothing to keep the world out,
no threshold to cross, no brass knocker
or bell, no slot where just bills tumble in.

Then I’ll write you a poem made of keys
that all fit, one ring full of chimes, each lock
with a scene inside it -- a waterfall
cascading over stones, a garden with
brass flowers tilting toward the sun.

Friday, November 16, 2012

Weekly Worded

   Post-Secondary Trauma

“Professor, I have a question about what you said ten minutes ago.”
“Why didn’t you raise your hand then?”
“To be polite.”
“So why interrupt now?”
“It still bugs me.  You said Milton was blind.”
“Certifiably, yes”
“Maybe that’s explains what happened to his dice.”
“What does this have to do with his epic poem, Paradise Lost?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he just misplaced them.”
“Did I say something ten minutes ago to get you thinking about craps?”
“You said Milton was blind.”
“Go on.”
“I got to thinking how the dimples on dice would be like braille for a blind person.”
“I don’t see where this is going, but go ahead, complete your line of reasoning.”
“So Milton gambled, lost, and realized he was better off without his dice.”
“Fascinating.  Are you a literature major?”
“Naw, I’m undeclared, but I like a good story.”
“And where did Milton start to confuse you?”
“When I tried to read him.”

Friday, November 9, 2012

Weekly Worded

 Elegy For the Unpicked Apples

Once round and sweet as memory, gone all
mushy, pocked with wrinkled skin, the fruit still
clings to the limbs like holiday lights left
burning long after the autumn blows out.

Soon enough they’ll be picked by the wind, by
frost, by a night of freezing rain leaning
its ladder against the bark, a fresh coat
of winter’s paint till they shine in the dark.

Friday, November 2, 2012

Weekly Worded


Image Source: Freeology

 In the beginning some man said
“Let there be rape”
and he saw that if it wasn’t divinely intended
it might not be legitimate,
so he made certain enough men
held positions of power
to keep an eye on the women
who claimed it had happened to them.
And there was whimpering
on the 1st day in November.

Then another man said,
“Let there be pregnancy”
and the men charged with
upholding God’s mind
knew it wouldn’t happen to them,
so there was much relief
on the 2nd of November.

And the Constitution said,
“Let there be elections”
so the men who had wives
pushed them in front of the cameras
to claim no matter what their husbands said
they were good men.
Infants were cuddled and kissed
all during the 3rd and 4th days.

Then the doctors said,
“Let there be amniocentesis”
and a window into life opened,
(though many pulled their shades)
which accounts on the 5th of November
for the heat in Roe v. Wade.

By November’s election day a woman said,
“Let me make up my own mind”
but so many things had been said
the chance to lay the issue to rest
on the 7th day was pretty much dead.

       *thanks to