Brethren of the Whispering Woods

Brethren of the Whispering Woods

 

Whispering woods on the mountainside
Sing when the wind blows
Some say this wood is haunted
But I know better
The dead do not dwell here
Here live the Brethren. 

Caretakers of the whispering wood
They are the spirits of the trees
Faery dryad eleven people
That look down from the branches above
Watching we lumbering clay folk
Make their way fearfully
Through their sacred domain

Be respectful and the Brethren
They will leave you be
Heed not my warning and
All that Will be left of you
Will be mouldering bones
In the shadow of the offended tree

5/27/11

Money Orgy

Money Orgy

Stroke your money

Perhaps, if you do it often enough

With just the right meditations

It will multiply

Or, better still, the stroking

Will encourage it to mate

And hundreds will birth twenties

Twenties will birth tens and fives

Ones would spit out quarters and dimes

                …Fifties would just be an unnatural aberration; a freak of unnature...

So, yes, please! Stroke that money

Maybe, if you do it long enough and hard enough...

It will begin to multiply and breed...

                …Or you will just look like a moron

4/27/11

Form: free

Young Girls

Young Girls

Young girls want

Things that are

Too old for them

… to wear

…to do

…to say

Young girls want

To grow up so fast

“I can’t wait…

…for breasts!”

…for bras!”

…for periods!”

…for sex!”

Young girls want

To grow up too fast

Childhood games

Become real life

Young girls want

To feel the weight

Of adult responsibility

Without the price

Young girls want

To be themselves

…have room to grow

…have room to bloom

Young girls want

To grow up so fast

The bud of childhood

Left behind

They bloom into women

Too fast

2/23/2007 with edit in 2011

Oubliette of the Broken King

Oubliette of the Broken King

Once upon a time, I ruled above this iron grate

Until I woke up at sword point and was thrown in this pit.

Bent and broken, now, that reality is far away.

Lifetimes ago, it seems a dream,

Inside this small, dark, hole is all the world I need

Eating what scraps they throw me

Thanking them for the offal they offer;

Thinking how lucky for me that I am alive,

Even as I wish they had just slit my throat while I slept.

form: acrostic

The Winners Prayer

The Winner’s Prayer

Blessed are the cashiers

Who take chips and give forth cash

For they are the ones who give us our money.

Blessed are the cocktail waitresses

Who art scantily clad

And serve us so well

For they are the ones

Who bring us our liquor

Blessed are the dealers

Of blackjack, poker, and baccarat

For they are the ones who

Give us our winning hand

And Blessed is the eye in the sky

Who watches over us all

For is it is they who saw that we were not cheating

In the name of Benjamin, Hamilton, Lincoln, and Washington

Amen

3/1/2007

In Memoriam (not what you expect)

In Memoriam

Where loved ones go when they die

Time has no meaning

All times are one in the same

Their memorials can be 

Held now or later

They no longer care anyway

For what happens to their clay

Funerals, memorials, pyres, and wakes

Those are held for the ones left behind

A place for tears to be shed

Memories shared

So that we can all promise each other

That we will never forget X

When really it is a promise to ourselves

That when we go

We will not be forgotten

And people will attend our 

Funeral, memorial, pyre, wake, or

In the case of one of my husband's requests: pie fight.

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