Irritable Vowels

Blame the lack of a consonant
for the vowel’s incontinence,
her violent and windy fury
panicking in a hurry
to escape the gate of teeth,
speak louder than a squeak,
prove she is more than an airy twit,
that words mean more than shit.

Foggypathouthouse3

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Ahab’s Mate

A cup, a sleeve, a siren song scent, I
pick her up, outbound, spend too much – a tall
extra-hot, double-shot made sufferable
“because we care about our planet”. We
sail on, addicted, believe in her tale,
and culpable, gulp her mythology.
With paper-thin desire, I stare into
green-haloed, star-crowned, green eyes, lips, hair. She
surfs lazy brown, bony, corrugated waves
environmentally aware. We skim
the sky, a flat white winter foams below,
a strawberry frappuccino dawn blooms.
Maybe “Time and tide flow wide” but I fear
this convenient relationship is doomed.

(Posted for Bjorn’s dVerse invitation for Handbook of Forms.  We were invited to write a sonnet.  Here is the link. Poetry Forms – The sonnet )

starbucks sleeve

A Pagan’s Creed

I believe in big trees
Douglas firs, maples, white pine
rooted in damp earth, fertile,
abundant deep breathers,
sweepers and cleaners
of air.

I believe in one swaddling sky
the only sky above me,
universal, maternal, fragile
revealing light,
blue infinity,
eternity.

Misbegotten, I became a lover of you
and your children, rain and sun.
Through sky and earth I know
my body, spirit, mind live
here and only
here.

You whittled me, made me fit,
gave me space to be,
to crucify and bury worry,
grow hope repeatedly,
a seedling, sapling, fledgling
being.

I look forward to my resurrection
born anew as a tree,
where I exhale for you
and pray this earthly heaven continues
despite our sins and trespasses
against you.

I believe in big trees,
earth, sky – and her children
sun and
rain.

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Words Never Fail Me

BotanicalGardenBench

Montreal Botanical Gardens – August 2018

Silky morning breeze
sidles
around my neck
murmurs through
sun-scrubbed leaves.

Startled by tranquility
I lift my coffee cup,
taste bitter
wrapped in bliss,
and discover
syzygy.*

___

*What the heck, Susanne, you say, is syzygy? Sub i for y and the word is pronounced siz-i-jee. In the context of this poem it means “any two related things, either alike or opposite”.

It also means inspiration because as I sat pondering a piece of personal non-fiction I’m struggling to get just right (and write) and nothing worked, I found this word accidentally on Dictionary.com. The other implacable draft dropped away and off I went on this poem. One word changed the morning from self-flagellating defeat to a small victory.

Words never fail to inspire me.