poetry I have written
When all the guns are buried
my face will swell like
bubble gum
ready to pop
on a surface
of lips yielding
to love – dance motions.
When all the uniforms are unstitched
my hands will rub like
wishes come true
my genie smiling
from that magic pot.
When all the people gather
to bid the plague adieu
I will rise like a statue crowned
my hand clasped in a rosary prayer
leaning towards a vision –
I’ll see it –
a serenity never moved.
4/19/1980
The first time I planted sage
chicken was cooking on the grill-
waiting.
I add herbs to this garden of mine,
a naturalist,
I know I can make anything grow.
A little water, a little mulch,
a little background music.
The soil is damp to my touch.
I work it like clay.
The background music is soft-
then loud- a cacophony of sound
harmonized to the earth.
They are beautiful – these birds.
I modify nature, fingers work an etude
which the birds hear.
I finish a gorgeous piece of work
and close my eyes.
When I waken, they are there –
pulling up the sage in single strokes.
There is netting on the sage now,
attached over the earth
by my bleeding hands.
The chicken is on the grill –
cooking –
waiting…
In this age of dissonance
Billy’s life lies undefined-
the body obscured by fear
with greed that sucks the edges
into an obscurity of lines
that move from side to side.
To remove the milk which makes him live
Seems to be the intent.
Greed deems he is unworthy of it.
Slash the protein which makes him strong-
dying robin lays upon the ground.
Billy is expendable- perhaps he isn’t us
and anyone who isn’t us is expendable.
So the safety net will die
if the hungry billionaire continues
to lie and lie and lie.
We all know Billy – he is our neighbor next door.
He is our grandfather who is no more.
He is the shadow from which we hide.
He is the mirror exploring us inside.
January 5, 2017
Any lie
will do.
Manifest claims
the land from east to west –
it is destined to be owned,
shore begets shore
buffalo roam no more-
any lie
will do.
Black man was born in Kenya,
brown man is a rapist,
rebel flag means southern culture,
white man’s syndrome
says this –
the topic of slavery is
taboo
since any lie
will do.
Belted kingfisher rattles,
I want a maraca too.
Geckos repeat their clicking,
I want a clicker too.
Howler monkeys are howling.
I’ll howl like a banshee too.
Since nothing is so true
as that any lie
will do.
When Oklahoma’s weather
comes to Michigan’s Sault,
when the polar bears are found
only in manmade zoos,
when the oceans rise
and the shores recede
have I got a lie for you.
The witch of Salem has returned,
her magic did it –
it’s true!
For I’ve said it before,
and I’ll say it again,
that any lie
will do.
December 2016
Anne's mediocre poetry