Poetry

Dogs and Gods

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RDP Thursday: PLUM

 

I want to be sweet

supple

I want to shine and I want people to paint pictures of me

to create recipes that feature me

to sit under my tree and dream and freak out when the yellow jackets

start to buzz around their faces

 

I want artists to draw me

and I want to have my likeness stitched on fancy underwear

I want to be prized by Vegans and Wiccans

and celebrated at their altars and their restaurants named

after their Dogs and Gods.

 

I want to be a plum

I wanted to be devoured

and swallowed,baked and stewed and candied

and in the end I hope you devour so much of me

you spend hours upon hours in the littlest room in the house.

Loretta Blackwill

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RDP Tuesday: Cleanser

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Loretta Blackwill

had a very busy and complicated life.

She had wine to drink, poems to write, shoes to buy

and air to breathe.

 

Loretta Blackwill wasn’t sure about the science of her situation

but she was sure that there was not enough air to breathe

or Sunlight to soak

into her greedy and hungry ancient skin.

 

So she stole it from her lovers

from their wives, from their children

and pets and houseplants and anything else

that needed  just a little air to breathe. Just a bit was all they needed.

 

But she needed so much more

then me or your or every single dog and cat and lawn or tree

that clung like crazy to the Earth when she breezed by and took it all in.

I don’t think she heard anyone  beg for mercy,  leave us a sip of air they said.

 

So one day we went out

and sailed across an ocean or maybe it was a lake. It could have been a river

I don’t know.

But halfway out, I had an idea and I pushed her in.

 

I don’t know if she took the air from the lungs of the fish

and the whales and the dolphins to breathe and I’m not sure I care

because there’s so much more air for us now

and an ocean of starving animals for her to feed.

 

Anne Packard

Same Planet Different Worlds

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Putting My Feet In The Dirt Prompt  #1Moon scraped knuckles and knocking knees

Pablo Picasso – Girl with a Mandolin

Parts of me that still work

my legs, my arms, my fingers

I have to bribe them on some mornings with drugs

to do their jobs

 

My face, my eyes, my crooked jaw

not good for much

except for maybe nobody spends much time

looking at me to closely

 

My voice, my brain, my heart

sit in their cages of bone

and ride around without a care in the world

for me or anybody else.

 

Memory Mash

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Linda Hill’s prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “Mash.”

Chaïm Soutine – The Village, c. 1923

 

The house that I lived in when I was six

had a cherry tree in the back yard and

rose bushes in the front yard

where my sister used to collect bees that she put into a paper bag

and she never got stung.

 

The house that I lived in when I was three

I don’t remember the backyard

but the front yard was big and bare

one winter, late at night  I saw wolves in the front yard

we watched each other through the picture window for a very long time.

 

The park that I played in when I was 11

I was looking over a railing to the beach far below

and a boy shoved me from behind and I flipped over the top

and I nearly fell down the face of the cliff but my foot got caught in the railing

and everyone including me pretended nothing happened- because nothing did, right?

 

The cliff I stood on  I was at when I was 46

I was watching the Super Moon rise up from the Ocean

me and the stars and Owls  had no idea my world was about to end

all of these places  live side by side

bemused neighbors mashed together on an unplanned  and  well traveled  street

 

Chaim Soutine