Goddess Song

My body isn’t quiet,

nor still,

It moves,

elegantly sleek

or unladylike undulations

duality in design.

my voice, rumbles

like thunder

my intellect strikes

like lightening

Quick and hot

I make fire

and fan flames

it is mine

It is home

a shape

punctuated with

slight flare

that swells out

my breast

and the bones

of my hips

Upturned nipples

smile rosily at me

from below

Long legs open

and part

Like the lips of a young girl

With the smile

of a knowing woman

and the cleverness of the crone

 

Through the arch of my foot

I move mountains

 

In every woman

the soul of a predator

in the body of prey

making men humble

since before the trick of time

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Father

Father,

I’ve always had this sense of self

That’s set your teeth on edge

perhaps, part is pride

But mostly, I think

it’s definite disdain

at my defiance

To be nothing, but who I am

unapologetically aware and uncaring

You used to try to dote on me

a dainty doll, you thought

but I was never docile on your lap

squirmed away, no rhyme or reason

childish willfullness

turned to adult aloofness

You care less and less for me

your wild daughter

Mouthy and mysterious

Maybe I remind you

of another rebellious rogue

you tossed like trash?

 

 

 

 

Fleeting things like friendship

I can’t get it out of my head today

you

and you keep talking

you

and you keep spilling

poison so easily pulled

from plump, pink lips

Like a snake

it slithers

dry scales

sliding in and out

of my mind

as memories flood back

of kindness I once knew

corrupted by cobras

venomous and vile

they poison

and consume

fragile, fleeting things

like friendship

broken by

bitter bile

Home

Ohio is a home

I belong to

but no more

from the shores of Erie

to the edge of Appalachia

To the woods of the west

I belong there

no more

The bright lights

of Columbus and Cleveland

can’t hide

hate

an empty aching bitterness

of every forgotten rural town

Crumbling Industry entombs all

the dead

left to rot

like a child’s toy

rust coated

from ample rains

hidden in a forest

of overgrown ferns

scents of sweet corn

and honeysuckle

can’t hide or blur

that bitterness

rusting and rotting

forgotten hearts

harboring fear

a home

no more

 

Cold Room

It’s cold in this room

The warm LA sunshine

can’t penetrate these cheap walls

wall to icy white wall

poorly painted

chip by chip it flakes down

to layer cold floors

covered only by

intricately average rugs

Taken from a palace in Iraq

A long ago spoil of war

providing a sad beauty

an old story

in an old building

untouched by the sun

yet fading fast to nothing

A tomb of memories

better left forgotten