headline poetry

There must have been a house
before the dishes were lost to the green.
My plates and my cups, a fork and a spoon,
these simple dishes I gather to clean.
I wonder why I chose to bring them ‘round
for the childish to scatter and stain.

There must have been a house
that held my all things, that held my own place,
for some long ages or during some race,
on some good firm land, at least an address,
a real part of my world, my time, my space.

There must have been dressers, closets and clocks,
night-stands and boxes of warm coats and socks,
tv’s and screen doors and shelves with fine dust,
stuff under the bed, a drain with some rust.

There must have been dinners, coffee and cake,
a kitchen table, squabbles, love and hate,
adoration, betrayals, promises made.
But a thing long past, I can't recover,
it must have been so unmentionable,
unbeautiful, unrememberable.

There really had to have been such a house,
a refuge where all these dishes were housed:
all these glasses and forks, scattered about
once treasured and handled only with care,
now scattered, forgotten (love is so rare),
dirty with crusted food and dried up drinks.

The dishes became unprecious,
meant nothing
to the hoard of prancing revelers,
finding sorry form only when left as refuse;
the forlorn remnants of shrill speech
giddy glances, boorish guests,
ignorant to the hostess,
that self-sanctified workwhor(s)e of
grace and plenty ...

There must have been a dining room table
where I honed my skills
of hospitality and longing,
that I exercise so well today,
chasing ceramic cups on cafe counters.

I certainly come from such a house;
though I remember nothing,
I carry it with me.

The shores are lined with hardened sons
with crystal clear eyes and stony smiles.
Behold a war to rage with muscle and bone
upon taught skin stretched over miles.

And in the wood we girls are weeping
tears birthing a mist that shrouds the land.
Our wailing stirs the beasts that were sleeping
and they join in the miserable song at hand.

And then, there she is,
still in the terrain
she tells me,
with her silky dress,
the good feeling stuff.

Said to me, a sweet moment's release,
lucky to feel so deep and so strong.
The anguish of ages, of love and of loss,
hold fast while it’s here, let go when it’s gone.

Ever more shall I weep the tears
of simple pains and joys that arise.
During the plodding of days and years
the bitter sweetness is the bind that ties.

Let me in to have you here.
I need you to need me,
even though I don't care.

I wander your airy halls,
alabaster floors
echoing the din of
those a-heroic youths who strain.
My false disdain drives me
to cling to these things I do not want.

This heap of beating hearts;
I will stand atop it even alone,
to say I was there
where
the winners go
on top
despite
all of
you.

To say yes every time
is to hear the pretty past the rank,
is to say it with the heart when its glow catches
the stream of wanting to be
someone, somehwere,

where someone cares.
Would you dare?

Proud to say,
“Here I am.”
Move quietly the day;
I say, “Yes, I do care for it.”
Though here is not
where I will stay
to echo more.

Pardon my exertion
that lumps and spills from the core of me,
casting odd protrusions
over the landscape of my skin,
each erupting with precious
little nuggets of currency

Earnestly I decide
where to spend these sacred coins
generally finding the beautiful,
the quiet,
the sweet
worth my weight in gold

And when the choices fail me
now I will to say
“not here,
nor this,
tomorrow's another day”

push it out
pull it in
lift it up
do it again

between the folds
are simple creases
nothing there
not even air

strutting down the aisle in 5 year old shoes
swinging like a model who’s hot in the cruise
dancing in little snips of sequins and top hat
nubile recitals for adults who are sad and or fat

what were you thinking
what could you have known
to think that kids drinking
was ok in your home

the tractor sits idle with dreams of zoom zoom
little girl with a demonic grin dreams of sparkling soon
a little round belly is a soft spot to prick
like a balloon, it collapses in the hands of some dick

what were you doing
what could you have thought
to think that simply cooing
would put food in the pot

climbing under the candy colored rack
the ground gives way and the belly cracks
falling into goo and rocks and slime
struggling in vain, frozen in a silent scream

riding the heat of the lights and the praise
this dog and pony show hit the road
only to find the deck was stacked
the earnest always end up seeming rather cracked

what were you hiding
what could you have shown
instead of simply sliding
always into the unknown

the pandemonium of objects
is getting the better of me

I was once successful at drowning the chatter
but the clatter really does matter
and if I tatter one more dress I
will really get as mad as a hatter

fruitful is the multiplication, barren is the ground
sucked dry with not even a parade
to celebrate its passing
no balloons or candy or big men in little cars
and little hats

the days to come will be bountiful
for some
one
or many
I don’t know

what once was doctrine,
now is lore
it lays on the floor
next to the whore
who was such a bore
how can I know

my unfailing acumen and acuity that grew in a jar
on the night stand of my bed when I was four
have left me now for another head
it’s not pretty, I know
I know how