Sending poetry to the world
panicked i
feel the sand up over my chin filling
my mouth gritty sand pressing my cheeks
and tears
spring instinctively with the sand’s
creeping
closing
distance
body cold while the crown singes and the end of the world bird circles
take a knife
sharpened good
slice my head
and pull back
like an old tin can
of Campbells
creamy mushroom
that made the casseroles
of tuna and cheese
remember eating it
in straightback
wooden chairs
in a kitchen of panels
and country style.
i wear a sign
free to a good home
out for the rag n bone man
Mr. Barney
modern in a rolling van
[author’s note: friend has told me the rag n bone man Mr. Barney still rides in her town, except now he walks beside a rolling van….]
a selection to fit my mood…..
To Alexi Murdoch
http://presssend.blogspot.com/2010/04/to-alexi-murdoch-breathe.html
A Small Girl in the Rain
http://presssend.blogspot.com/2010/03/in-honor-of-post-101-small-girl-in-rain.html
the re-reading of the Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock
http://presssend.blogspot.com/2010/05/re-reading-of-love-song-of-j-alfred.html
Portrait of Baltimore on Rainy Day Rush Hour
http://presssend.blogspot.com/2010/04/portrait-of-baltimore-on-rainy-day-rush.html
Confessions
http://presssend.blogspot.com/2010/03/confessions-on-rainy-day.html
a lost young man
http://presssend.blogspot.com/2010/06/lost-young-man.html
the blue
is painted over bricks and over
a diagonal set of indoor stairs that
may have had windows one time but
now are bricks covered blue as well
and the blue
extends over in a shadow on the sidewalk
and picks up the little knobs and knots
on every building, ducts or meters — allblue
in the sun the whole building takes a disco
stance and proclaims
slate powder sky ocean traces of your eyes
BLUE.
red gerber blossom
looks forlorn with face
pressed against a half-open blind
petals bend resigned
to a window blurry with rain
watching puddles
twitching with annoyance.
Check out my new piece on EveryDayPoets.com — it’s something a lil different.
http://www.everydaypoets.com/the-biggest-secret-of-my-life-by-jody-costa/
he baits
a vulpine’s trap
with flexed bronzed
arms in clothing torn
his romantic
poverty in thick rough hands
liberal on my thighs
his predilection a
whispered ancient cry–
make love to me
if i say no,
he thunders
with a searing pernicious
desire —
he is not my handsome farmer
but instead immortal
desperate for one small glimpse
of my delicious joy —
sweat sweet color till
dirt grit between my teeth.
crazy people
rock on white wicker chairs
and sit on green paisley cushions
and chain smoke
because it’s a crutch or
a good way to pass time
or to remember to breathe
and they write in little black notebooks
and they scribble and scratch
nonsense
like its god damn poetry.
the simple flick of the light switch
is nice to come home to. it
lights the kitchen walls so you can
water the Gerbers, give them a pat,
take the leftover spaghetti from the fridge —
the sauce you made for family
when the apartment filled with noise
so much bigger than the TV —
watch the bowl spin round, round
the heat picks every particle and bursts
tomato in a fine spray you’ll clean
later in the night, when you can’t sleep.
Press Send Poetry 