to my mother’s mother,
can’t say i hated ya
didn’t know ya well enough for that
can’t say i loved ya neither
knew ya was a Brown rat
can say i resented ya
‘cause
ya
wedged
ya
bourgeois
self
‘tween
me
and
my May Queen.
original poetry
Category: original poetry
original poetry
Emerald Ring
She must have been a flapper,
the woman who first owned
my emerald ring.
Swing, sing, sling.
I’ll bet she did all these kinds
of things.
The roaring 20’s, the age of jazz.
For the first time in history, women were what they wore
rather than the children they bore.
I wish I’d known her, my parallel friend.
Sipping champagne cocktails, together
we’d have spread our wings.
original poetry
Wallpapering with my Father
Wallpapering with my Father
Coming through Ellis Island with all the rest
you made good across the sea, to the New
World of promise; you, the lanky, blue-eyed
immigrant from Nord Holland with the shock
of Viking hair – my father’s father, like him
a man of few words, there to become part
of the American Dream that was within reach
because of your saleable skills.
That Sunday was quiet with the
heavy, high-pitched whir of locusts
heralding summer in upstate New York – long,
languorous days wasting teenager time
under the apple trees. At first I was sulky
when I showed up for the job. My father
had dressed for the occasion in spotless white
as if he were about to go sailing on his yacht.
Separating us, seven roles of silkscreened ladies
waving Oriental fans. Our tools, your tools, carefully assembled;
a greying stepladder, the razor-sharp knife, a boar-bristled brush.
Solid like the homeland, built to last like your impossible dream.
Unusually impatient, my father barked orders that I
couldn’t fulfil: run, fetch, hold the paper straight.
Could your secrets not be passed on?
My tears spattered in the chlorinated pool.
Years later, when you’d already passed on,
I put myself to the test; a tiny kitchen wall
and a complicated, half-drop vertical match.
I preened long-distance. Dad, dreams come true.
original poetry
Red Dress
RED DRESS
The color of the dress was Fire Engine Red,
the color associated with Valentine’s Day cards,
lacy white hearts pierced by Cupid’s arrows.
Giraffes pranced round the hem;
with nothing better to do
than my grandmother’s bidding: dancing in circles
like painted horses on a merry-go-round, the sort
you can just get on and ride forever – over the river
and through the woods to grandmother’s house
through the autumn leaves
piled high into racetracks in the backyard.
Who can run fastest, jump highest, come first?
The color of the dress was Devil’s Red,
the color associated with Satan,
fallen angel with a pitchfork for a tail.
Neither Satan nor Cupid practiced their piano,
but I did. Each morning mechanical fingers
gave voice to another prideful, grand-matriarchal gift.
The dress and the piano, how did I miss the clues?
Even Red Riding Hood knew wolves
wore her grandmother’s shoes.
What child is this, who fails to adore
the gold, frankincense, and myrrh laid at her feet?
Come on, kid, we all know this ain’t no one way street.
The giraffes had two rivals: prettier,
more lively, less sweet. But at Sibley’s Department store
on that sweaty summer’s day, granny would have her way.
The color of the dress was Blood Red
the color associated with needles, transfusions,
debilitating intestinal bleeds.
Dancing in circles, those giraffes could never win
and neither could I, from that first day at school, a giraffe
appliquéd where my heart should have been.
original poetry
The Star Spangled Spanner
The Star Spangled Spanner
O! say can you see, by the dawn’s early light… Bored, the crowd roared for they’d been taught to believe that songs never die. But they were wrong, at least about that, for halfway through the refrain the fat lady choked and after the pause that became a national cause, their song started to go all wrong. Surely my retch would fetch common sense in the hearts of my fellow men. But that was naive and it didn’t take long before that Star-Spangled Banner no longer waived o’er the Land of the free, and home of the brave. The other day, I called my mother and asked her if she wanted to go shopping at the mall. “No thanks,” she said. “I’ve had enough.”
original poetry
Succeed
Succeed
They gush and drool
like perfect fools
picking the bones of my poetry dry.
Inciteful precision gets
their goat. Instead, they want to
emote over bronzed crocodile tears.
Think out-of-the-box?
What a wicked little fox to
commit such a heinous crime.
Stick to the form and shovel
that norm. We should all
know by now, that
to suck is to succeed.
original poetry
Agree
I do not see
why I should agree
with anyone else
but me.
It’s a chance that I take
to break out of this crate
in which, I’ve hidden
for too many years.
Jump you declare?
How do you dare?
This time,
I flat out,
refuse.
original poetry
what’s wrong with my poetry
What’s wrong with my poetry?
I ask, again, after class.
While others conjure theatrical images,
All I do is to sound crass.
I realise I avoid emotions,
View life through squeaky clean glass.
But they wallow in manufactured melancholy
and blow it out their ass.
So, what does it take to get the gold star?
The coveted pat on the head?
I suppose I ought not to give a shit.
But, still, I wonder a bit.
original poetry
Cats of Many Colours
CATS OF MANY COLOURS
Marmalade kitten
pie in my sky,
you’re the apple of this little girl’s eye.
Marmalade kitten
I’ll hold you tight. Come on
let’s go home, right?
Tommy Oyster
my middle man
I couldn’t be a bigger fan.
Tommy Oyster
softest grey and white
Formal dress? Let’s make it a night.
Dead cat
the colour of ebony
Why won’t my feelings flow?
Dead cat
Is it a felony?
At my age, I can’t let you go
Astrology
Wicked Witch of A’dam – Astro Poetry
7 May 1944
Persevering, dependable, relaxed, and calm;
Patient and steady,
Stuck in a rut.
___
Prizes wit and cunning and trickery;
Clever with finances.
Adores reading.
___
Silver-tongued scattered thoughts
The mind of a thief.
Knows everyone, gets around.
___
There’s no place like home.
Nostalgic and sentimental,
Overly protective parent.
___
Flirtatious; hopeless romantic.
A true performer,
Drama for drama’s sake.
___
Warm and generous with employees,
Shines through daily work.
Adores rich food, has back problems.
___
Equal relationships,
Requires tactful, diplomatic partner.
Avoids divorce at all costs.
___
Tempts fate; deep interactions.
Sex is transformational,
Intense passion, transgender.
___
Known as frank, outspoken, as well as blunt.
Adventurous; ambitious.
Vocal on career issues.
___
Projects authority, grooms professional image.
Craves achievement,
Reputation is paramount.
___
Ambitious networking,
Weird, intellectual friends.
Supports causes and ideas, won’t follow through.
___
Dreams of being a poet or musician,
Imaginative inner life.
Dwells on past sorrows.
___