Wearing a torn bloodstained turtleneck tuxedo, a silent piano player drunk from heartaches mouthed his song in broken tongues while a pencil thin prima-donna danced, frozen in time. As dawn sliced through the cover of night, his mind drifted on a warm summer breeze and as a young girl laughed hanging upside down scantily clad in recycled afterthoughts, his body was laid to rest beneath a bed of his own lies.
Category: Penman Lounge
Rites of the Holy Non-Sequitur
I
She sees a road & the dog death comes;
Love at school and some have tried.
A rare breed and the atom bomb.
A blue tree and the night is long.
Or not, the divided ice-cream bed –
Summers un-forgotten; a rocket to the stars.
Plebes in the grid. Before the empires bled.
Us, and the walls, and where we go.
She sees herself in the Great Divide.
Atom bomb and a sense of pride.
Rush, summer streams, cars that smile;
Stuffed closets full; history, hate.
World’s forests and highways of death.
Sounds numbing the purple towns’ regrets.
Zephyrs of wasted time. A crumpled vow.
Perpetuity’s vibration becoming Now.
Insanity. Mortal looks, breathtaking tapestry.
Unfettered commerce, animal wails.
Love “back there”, “in here”, future swarms.
He’d die for anyone, but would not say:
“A sickle for your wrinkled eyes.”
II
Blood of the holy virgin; nape of her untouched neck;
Slaves, holidays, revolts, marketplaces.
The gentle stream of her stare; meaning bleeding out, too.
“That empire never ended”; those days I walked with you.
A golden irony orbiting my heart as the talking screen
Walks me through history; As a tapestry of passions squawks
through my radar in the hideous night; and again, on these
Spectral trails, where a jackrabbit’s heart has more true
Industry than this entire nation – I speak to the departed
and perfect my soliloquy. A ranger of deathless flights
of seeming, and this nation which I’ve too long romanced,
I fix my soul’s eyes now upon a future spent abroad,
recalling warily a time when I, under a heavy spell,
Loved her beating heart.
America
It was written in the past,
All men are Created Equal,
Yes, This means women too.
Given the Rights of
Life, Liberty and The Pursuit Of Happiness.
Life? Home safe in a Mother’s Womb,
Not at the bottom of a cold glass vacuum.
Liberty? Walk safely down any street,
No worries of bombs beneath Our feet,
Or being beat by a cop on the street.
Pursuit of Happiness? Marry who You desire,
Even during a Political fire,
Watch the storms rising tides
Wash Our worlds and pride aside,
Up in Smoke.
Now, DO you Think life a joke?
It’s Not God doing Evil to man.
It’s actually man’s Greed destroying
Our Creators Plan.
Peter John Frady
Trouble
Trouble…
Trouble I am
his kind of trouble…
Tempting?
Oh yeah…
With a tilt of my head
and slow
sultry smile
He was definitely gone
and
totally mine
But
the minute he touched
me
the tables were
turned
He became MY kind of
trouble
What I secretly
yearned…
With
slow, sultry kisses
and
mesmerizing motions
He made sweet love
to me
and
I felt
all
his strong
but
tender emotions.
So
I very elated
and
full of wonder too
gave all
that I am
AND
all
I have
to him too.
Now
in the dark of night
blissfully
reflecting content
on our
luscious
heavenly
time together
very well spent
To me
the word “trouble”
will not
be
the same
When I think of us
it will
always
be
our
very own name.
2 June 2011 copyright catherine anne hayes
What Belongs
1.
Lists help us break up time.
Before the list is disorder, chaos.
After the prioritizing is done
comes purpose, a sense of fulfillment
at least if life is a set of things
to do. I have walked a long way to get
to here pausing for libation
in all its variety.
2.
The farmers’ market was full of abundance.
We meandered through sights & aromas,
past the guitar & harmonica man
contented with his place
in this parking lot under a calm, blue sky.
We are receiving all that is given.
Without a list we purchase the randomness
of whatever, discover anew what sustains.
4 Haikus
(remember a haiku consists of three lines with five syllables, seven, then five)
Earth Haiku
Husbandry is due
to bring our sacred earth through,
fix mistakes renew
Mothers haiku
Mothers nurture us
with a purpose plus they re-
furbish forever
Hermit haiku
Oh, look at this world
I’d rather knot my brow in
sage rage far away
Fresh nature haiku
The whispering pines
say have nice day, butter cup
to the blonde bombshell
And when…
We are rogues in the gallery
of ever more darkening whys.
All humdrum & piddle-paddle
we rattle, prattle on ’til dusk.
The orchard of time’s diminishing venue
has dropped its fruit at our feet.
We plaster the pictures on the wall.
Judge not until you heed the call.
Line up. You have a number.
When asked say, “present.”
In your wonder you have wandered
to a clearing of the mind,
outlasted your resistance,
to find that each and every path leads here.
I Am Not….I AM!!!
You who look at me
with
such contempt
You who does
not know
my soul
How
my heart beats!
I am more
than
my size
my weight
my sex
my orientation
my colour
my race
my creed
my religion…
I am
the force that creates life
I am
the wind that pushes the clouds and moves the oceans
I am
the milk of the earth that feeds millions
I am
the comforter who heals ills
I am
the worrier that conquers tyrants and protects the weak
I am
the fire that burns away the cold and warms the soul
I am
love…pure…indestructible…infinite…love
I AM YOU…YOU ARE ME…ONE…THE SAME TOGETHER!!!
5/27/2011 copyright catherine anne hayes
I Didn’t Know
I didn’t know I was different
till I was thirty three
when I was hired to work
in a well known store
back in the early 90’s
because
my skin was lighter than everyones…
I was the token
Token…
What is that word…
A thing of affection?
or
a word of shame?
well
I felt shame
and hurt
and
disappointment…
Disappointment that I was so
naive
Disappointment that
in this day and age
tokens
still exist
and
most importantly
I wondered…
How LONG will they?
It doesn’t matter
what colour
the token is
or shape
it takes
what matters is
we should have
NO NEED
of tokens
except
ones of love…
or
to get on the bus or subway…
copyright 5/28/2011 catherine anne hayes
In The Nick Of Time
In the nick of time
the key
to me was found
and
I found joy again
I thought
it was lost forever
covered by
sadness
illness and pain
covering me
with
premature endings
but
I guess
I was wrong
blissfully…
blatantly……
blessedly…
wrong…
In the nick of time
I found the key
In the nick of time
I took the key
and
bravely let it
insert itself
open me
again
and God
IT FELT GOOD!!
I am not in hibernation anymore!!