Archive for the ‘house of blues’ Category

you said that dragonflies only live a day.

that’s bullshit.

they just can’t remember

who they were yesterday

or what they had for breakfast.

when you’ve got legs that long

life is an hour by hour thing–

when you’ve got wings that wide

here comes everybody, with nets and pins.

you said that dragonflies only live a day.

that’s bullshit.

it’s just

they can’t for the life of them remember how they got here,

how to act,

who they can trust,

or what the fuck to do now.

mama say, god’s gon gitcha,

gitcha for that–

little smart-mouth big-britches

alley cat.

yeah god’s gon get me

a fine girlfriend–

tongue gotcher cat

til the damn world end.

mama slap me hard

then she get real still–

say if god don’t gitcha

i sure as hell will.

_______

waving my rainbow flag for Quickly “do you believe?”

ampersands

Posted: 05/13/2016 in house of blues, house of crazy

a cardinal and a rat at my feeder

dead porcelain doll in my hands.

people no one can see on the wraparound porch

like a row of ampersands.

the dark bird is back

bigger than before, not as big as when she’s done

what made you think, little chick,

that you were anyone?

the dark bird is back

meaner than before, and hungrier by half

what made you think, little one,

you were getting out of that?

the dark bird

the dark bird

she’s back.

i got two dogs.

one’s nice, one ain’t.

them two’s my babies–

called skillet and shotgun.

come springtime,

if the road weren’t muddy, sometimes i wouldn’t know where i’d been.

there’s my tracks, and theirs, one to either side.

skillet got burrs,

shotgun caught a pellet,

and my dress was torn, but i can’t recall how.

best as i can guess,

it was the same old song–

should’ve left the mean one home,

but one gets lonesome without the other,

so i turn ’em both loose

when the moon is full,

and the usual cautions don’t catch hold.

1-14 Bree and the Dreamweaver Coat 8 x 10 mixed media on canvas panel..jpg photowe were fucking around, that’s all,

and the tip of john’s jack-knife ended up in my thigh.

it wouldn’t stop bleeding, but i’d rather eat nails than call

mama for a ride, cos she’d bitch and know we’d been high.

 

i said i had to go, and hoofed it home, cos i didn’t want john to see me cry,

but i had to hide those jeans and i’ve still got the scar

to remind me of the night, and the blood, and the stars.

_____

a rhyme royal, more or less, for Grace’s mini challenge at Real Toads.

art at top “Bree and Dreamweaver Coat” by the very groovy Lisa Graham.

saw a friend

and chattered a bit, in front of skip’s bakery

in our serious fash boots,

in the crappy snow.

i never saw it coming:

the flu she gave me,

but it found me like trouble follows a fool.

 

saw a magazine

on a table at the chopping block salon,

and asked judy to pass it my way.

i never saw it coming, but it found me:

the perfume ad stuffed between pages like a toad in a stone,

that set me sneezing

like a snot devil on a hot tin roof.

 

now here you are,

leaning on my kitchen table with your elbows,

talking same as always, but something feels wrong:

i get that leaving feeling,

like I’m gonna lose something fast.

it ain’t allergy,

and it ain’t flu.

it might be me,

but i’m thinking more likely, honey, it’s you.

nice

Posted: 01/17/2014 in house of blues

it probably wouldn’t kill you

to say something nice to me, now and again.

it probably wouldn’t end

civilization as we know it.

 

it probably wouldn’t kill me

to stop wanting those words

so much, from you.

it probably wouldn’t kill me to try to find them

from someplace and somebody new.

 

so why does it feel like it would?

see me sitting in the japanese bamboo out

way beyond the pool, the patio, the weirdly green grass outside the french doors.

i got one of your man’s little whiffle golf balls and i made a doll of it–

ain’t she pretty?

see me.

 

got your gardener trying to kill the knotweed, but hey,

when the tennis court cracks and heaves up from the bamboo roots beneath,

he’ll take to drink and stop showing up for work.

see me sitting here, waiting in the stalks.

see my wild red hair and the way i smile.

see me.

 

a night will come when the gin won’t work.

then you’ll leave the security system off and i’ll be there

with a kamikaze white bandana around my head

and i’ll stay until the rising sun.

then i’ll disappear; you’ll never see me again,

and the tiger stick will be all you’ll have to cure the ache that i’ll leave behind.

 

this is my revenge,

my red-haired air raid, my way of getting you back

for all the times you thought you were too good,

too straight,

too rich,

too sophisticated

to blink your designer edition eyes and

see me.

______

for Hannah’s Transforming Fridays challenge at Real Toads. I have written about Japanese bamboo (fallopia japanica), which is not true bamboo but bears the name, as well as others like sally rhubarb, tiger stick and knotweed. It is considered an invasive species and is extremely hard to eradicate, as my old neighbor discovered when he tried to kill the grove that stood behind both our houses. Me, I watered mine and loved on it like it was my baby. My small dog Alex used to go back in there and hang out, like he was king of the bamboo forest. He was!

i like

coffee from a certain mug.

i like

a certain brand,

and i make it while night still fills the windows.

 

i like

the warm familiar way it feels on my lips.

i like

that i have had it before, and before, and before,

as the seasons and the light and the weather change.

 

today you walked out

and i don’t know if we are all right.

i don’t know if you will come back, or

if i will still be here if you do.

 

i don’t know when or how things changed,

but my coffee is gone

though i know there is more in the cupboard

and its aroma still lingers in the air.