24 June 2011

The Game

Hailey pounces!
I see her coming.
I try to evade,
Sidestep my attacker,
To no avail.

The jagged and prickly
Grass blades rise up
Like bars to trap me.

Her teeth sink,
Piercing my soft, woven skin.
My white, cottony entrails
Poke, painfully through
The fresh, bloodless wounds.
Her jaws grip decisively.
And, oh, if only
That wrenching grasp
Would finally be fatal
And end my torrid misery
In scraps and saliva-damp shreds
Of my tattered body.

But it is not.

Again, I am returned
And pried violently from her
Unagreeing incisors,
Only to be lobbed once more
Into that perilously high arc,
Letting even Gravity play his part
In my gruesome torture ritual.
With a thud,
I hit the ground
And a puff of white fluffiness
Pops out from my torn skin,

Floating feathery above me
For only moments
Before it is devoured.

Then, quickly, a brief respite of quiet,
Then the panting,
And the cycle renews
As I hear that
Evil word:


I feel like a bit of a cheat. This poem is not new. When i first started this blog, I intended it for only new ideas. I've actually posted a few poems from my past, such as this one with only minor revisions. I won't try to think of how long ago I wrote it. Anyway, I noticed that it fits perfectly with this week's Thursday Think Tank at Poets United. So here.

09 June 2011

Crossing the Law

The lines are slanted and white
Or sometimes even yellow.
Their smooth enamel skin
Laid out like silk,
Out of place on the
Black, corse, and pockmarked face
Of the raw street.
This is far from indistinguishable,
There is no confusion.
That yellow line with its
Forty-five degree slant
And its parallel partner,
That line is the Law.
Do you cross that line,
Obstructing its slick and shiny body
With your smog-tasting vehicular beast?
Do you cross the Law?

No need to answer. Because
I’ve seen that glass-eyed monster
Straddled sideways across my Law,
Crushing its sleek beauty,
And I’ve held my anger in check.

But next I see
That smoky, hot-bodied thing crossing
Atop my precious painted line,
I will set forth my vengeance
With crumpled metal and jagged keys,
With sharp, puncturing wounds
And shards of tempered glass.
I will reach barehanded into
The beast’s toothy mouth
And tear out its six insulated jugulars
With my sharp, greasy fingers,
Smudging the stain
On its clear-coat scales
And walk away grinning.

Here's something I wrote years ago. It's pretty fun. I'm posting it to let my few followers know I'm still alive. But I was out of town and then it became the end of the school year, report cards, blah-blah-blah. Anyway,  I'll pretty much get back into things in about a week. Tootles for now. Oh, this will go in The Poetry Pantry.