Blue blanket on red blanket on me
In the summer sweating blue
Under the blue and red
Blankets face red from the the blue
And red blanket heat eyes
Red from the blues
That drove me under the blankets
-M.
Category: Misc Poetry
There Is Something Just So Good About Wet Hair
After the shower fruity
Shampoo smell released
Ascending from a turban unfurled
The Holy Spirit you kept
Under your hat.
-M.
We Knew This All Along
Exotic medicine sells
Books better than juiced
Our mythology and
We knew this all along.
-M.
Is a Lie
If you tell the truth
Knowing
No one will believe you
Thereby
Intentionally obscuring
The truth
Did you lie?
Is a lie a lie or
Does a lie have lie-ness?
Is truth on the lips
But a lie in your heart
Merely
A lie that can’t commit?
If the root is a lie
But the tree is true
Where do the limbs lie?
Is it the letter of the lie
Or the spirit?
Lie with me, Spirit–letter
Lips and limbs.
-M.
I’m Kind of Having a Poetry Crisis You Guys
It’s like noticing your boobs
Are shaped differently than all
The other girls’ boobs. Or their
Boobs are shaped differently
Than yours.
Is that good?
You shouldn’t need a boy to
Tell you, but you really kind of
Want a boy to tell you, and
You really kind of only want
Him to be honest if the news
Is good.
-M.
Tick Tick Tick
Father Time is the G-rated
Version of the voracious
God who ate his children.
Father Time taps his
Tick-tock at me gently
Sighs, smiles, shrugs and
Smooths his lustrous beard.
The voracious god, belly
Full of children
Looks me up and down and
Makes rude comments about
How my tits used to be higher.
I trust this god more.
Our relationship is complicated.
When he leans in for a kiss
His breath stinks like children
And it gets my childless womb
All in an uproar.
I kiss him back anyway. I kiss
Him passionately until his
Breath stinks like safe sex,
Guiltless liquor on weeknights, and
A liberation I’m not even sure
I believe in. It makes him gag
And vomit up his precious children.
-M.
Poetic Fatigue Syndrome
The line tires me
but the great, gray
scratchy pens perk
like scalding coffee.
-M.
(Day 22 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit. Tired today, hence the doldrums poem. Not bad, just yawn and zzz. I’d rather a nap, but I promised myself, at the very least, an American Sentence to keep the streak alive. Here she is. Today’s American Sentence keeping the streak alive. Now… yawn and zzz.)
Second Best Hair
Second Best Hair
Still keeps your head warm
And your lover’s fingers busy.
-M.
(Day 18 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit. This one is an “American sentence,” 17 syllables. Definitely not a home run, but enough to keep my streak alive and that’s what I’m all about on through the 67th day! Onward and forward.)
Beside Me at the Loom
Novice at the stand
Goddess of War guides me
Her peaceful estate
Keeping still the woof
Warp to warp
Hand to hook
Hook to thread to hand
Pull to click
Through to click
Bend
Hand to hook to hand.
-M
(Day 16 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit)
Extra Sexy Points For Brains
I’m going to marry him—
All the men my
Mind has a crush on.
No one finds Aldous
Huxley as hot as I do
Nor wants to share the
Bed as much with that
Angle-faced man.
-M.
(Day 15 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit)
M. N. Ashley 