The Warrior’s Mother

featured in the poetry forum April 6, 2013  :: 0 comments

The warrior’s mother, all peacock attitude, prayers, plus Galil submachine gun,
Settles, frustrated, at an ersatz table built of wood and bone; she loathes the enemy.
Euphony, as Mama knows, means cries, screams, railing in the night, sounding off,
Those others intend, insidiously, to kill her boys. Mama deploys, accordingly, subversions.

She dreams, as well, of questionable warfare, of not limiting herself,
Of employing mobile extermination squads, poison gases, infectious diseases,
Random acts of pillaging, and unpredictable executions of POWs,
But bad characters, those who harbor lice, plague, attitude, wash up the media.

So, when tired from envisaging the offing of bandits,
from imagining the flaying of malevolents,
Mama dabs her forehead with cloth, adjusts her kerchief,
rubs on lipstick, smiles pretty;
News bureaus obfuscate in line with evil’s agenda.
Witnesses hide black, disproportionate force,
Indiscriminate rocket attacks, the use of white phosphorous,
most iniquities wrought by “them.”

That side’s creation of orphans, disregard of appendages,
illicit building, gall, sells popcorn.
As such, foreign lies, depravation,
tank shells full of depleted uranium, knife attacks,
Exaggerated accounts, retouched pictures, castrations of truth,
yet severe maternal conveyances.
Those nefarious actions bring Mama to knees of weariness,
until they awaken her martial heart.

editors note:

Don’t want to be this mother’s little helper, but orphans and lost appendages are not a fair trade. The game is rigged!! – mh

Falling Cradleless through Spring’s Evening Boughs

featured in the poetry forum January 26, 2013  :: 0 comments

She could abide by the spring’s evening boughs,
Be wowed when zephyrs sided softly with hummingbirds.

Such heard tones, audible gossamers, were as dandelion parachutes,
Suitably montaged, drifting clear of mortgages, old laundry, coupon clippings.

Chippering bands, though, wondered places his head next graced,
Facing sunset-hued beauties, jetting off, skittering beyond her reach.

Teaching nothing of acceptance’s better pathos. Why try
Flying from cradles; enough crashing resounds infidelity’s squeak.

Peaks of “drug-resistance” choices spun harder, faster. After a measure,
His pleasure transformed as not trophies or quests, but just thin ego trickles.

Tickling all manners of verities. Moonlight’s sleepless howls,
Bower-ridden, anyway, might have suddenly sired rapid penalties.

Wee breezes, nocturnal gusts, called forth alternate forms,
Wore down moments where lust melted hallow. Dreams denied, fascinations settled.

Mettle, mores, plain city ethics, political correctness, make no difference to some bums,
Like him, a husband/father intent on leaving panty trails across urban hillsides.

editors note:

After Daddy’s indiscretions, who wouldn’t prefer the cradle o’er the creep? – mh

The Empyrean, Principality of Young Ages

featured in the poetry forum November 20, 2012  :: 0 comments

Her hands are too small for
Reaching the typewriter return.
The toilet lever’s as impossible as
Those poker playing housewives

Winning twice; child of abuse, and
Alcohol’s strange moons,
She’s pure fire, that empyrean,
Principality of young ages.

editors note:

Inhabitants of the nose-bleed section, incapable of line feeds or flushes, expect we’ll use our imaginations; if we really want to know. – mh

A June Full of Cherries

featured in the poetry forum September 22, 2012  :: 0 comments

Piquant, yet tender, portrayals of festivities’ “field kitchens”
Forgive lapses such as young beasties, insufficiently protected points of view,
Great accidents of interest, the merged foci of welcoming, disbanding, hugging,
Also dressing in gold spandex, belly dancing, weaving baskets, noting
What’s working for whom, and why, tasting, maybe teasing,
Playing with prefixes, acting wonky, listening to exclamations,
Plus skipping along peripheral places makes for forgetting staid rubrics.

When sloughing worldly woes, celebrating significant events,
Consuming even minute amounts of funky antimeria, during alternate decades,
It’s possible to categorize material goods, let alone affective states, tayras,
Human relationships (patterned both tacit and affective), trilobites, glabrous birds,
As belonging to solid-hoofed herbivorous quadruped or other vehicles’ barns
Meant to entertain visa via ornaments, food, drink, actualized space, vessels,
Likewise the compelled restoration of pumpkin crowns or thornbushes, works.

Other times, those of mind-muddle mode, find it difficult to regard
Disruptions amicably, to smile, to say nothing, or, perhaps, to interact quietly,
Guest in pediatric wards, receive mistaken attributions causality,
Get elected because of money or connections, override baser inclinations,
Ignore global societies, local neighborhoods, and familial conundrums,
Combine behavioral modifications for purposes of suck, grandeur, climate,
Additionally, post publishers’ letters on refrigerators, all while spinning in circles.

Most often, though, cats lull innocently, whereas hounds snore, worms whistle,
Chickadee ringleaders and Komodo dragon catalysts glibly forecast entire
Epics for good findings, comradely inspiration, and conceptualized work.
Burnt toast, bitter coffee, broken eggs, too, make for playful family times,
Distinct units of innocent, mentalists’ gymnastics, deadly mustelids, plus pungent
Cycles of socks, big skirts, small spices, deflected ants, termites, and do-gooders.
Alternatively, in June, bowls full of cherries get agitated. A mom can dream.

editors note:

Yes, eaten all at once, a bowl full of these may cause tummy (&head)ache. So, eat these one verse at a time; enjoy their sweet sensation of words upon words, let them roll on your tongue, bounce around in your mind. Be thankful for this dreaming mom. – mh


featured in the poetry forum July 15, 2012  :: 0 comments

The indistinct sound of people whispering, kneading
“Proper” roles for government, media, public,
Without benefit of actual cartography, even
Eye black, bees wax, paraffin, or carbon.

Once and again words fuel inflammatory powers,
Assuage social prescriptions, descriptions, theories of “the obligatory.”
Rather than allow bourgeois meanings to trickle down,
To assign or select, maybe censor, mental sheaves.

Slaves to gist, we shovel our population’s fancies,
Cultural traducements, malicious stratifications,
Savoring such chalaques as negates, malevolently,
Any inducements to better wisdoms.

Thereafter, we balk at limits never approached, accepted, acknowledged,
Right ourselves for imaginary moral battles, trump pretend foes,
Cease to be human, desiring, instead, that imperfection directs
Votes, bequeaths leadership, broadcasts saccharine dispersions.

editors note:

Our magic media wind machine blows hard and loud. Therefore what’s said must be true, right? Louder is better!? – mh

Frozen Green Beans on Your Face

featured in the poetry forum May 4, 2012  :: 0 comments

Frozen green beans on your face
Days after eyebrow plucking,
When ice, like other common proofs of civility,
Remain missing from our freezer.

Instead of camouflage gear, or a fine shako,
I gift your brother with a plastic bowl of fufu.
After all, the nutritional value of malanga
Leaps off of the chart.

Trade winds, as measured by social media,
Make most packs of wolves follow nicely.
Many hours of homework later,
All that wafts is eu de frangipani.

At day’s end, Dear One, good girls,
Like yesterday’s locomotives, stall abruptly.
Even when following procedural strictures,
Such as their mothers’ cues for smiling and nodding.

editors note:

The Schools of Finishing or Following render dubious results; education guarantees no understanding. Best to listen to your Mum. – mh

If Birds were to be Believed

featured in the poetry forum February 27, 2012  :: 0 comments

If birds were to be believed,
Home birthing would make more sense than
Most modern measures of cutting or drugging.

If we listened to cattle’s low,
Funding would spill easier than
Pay per SEO words or term papers.

If grasshoppers were heeded,
Planted truths would multiply faster than
Convergent media cottoning, including their picking among principles.

If we dared to reinforce personal event verities,
Taking responsibility would become simpler than
Combing hair with fingers or brushing teeth without paste.

Hitherto, birdsong, reliable agronomics, media ethics, interpersonal niceties
Remain rarer than instances of assorted rhetorical styles of dead, Greek orators.
After all, commerce’s kudzu reaches no friendly tentacles or praise toward common folk.

editors note:

No kudzu would sate the common appetite, nor graecus oratorius speak an apology. Foreign is foreign and such a shame when all are common after all. – mh

Articulations Calling Peace

featured in the poetry forum December 26, 2011  :: 0 comments

Our articulations can call peace,
As long as we fail to compare my bête noirs to yours.

Likewise, our children can overcome blind spots,
If only we strive not to treat the next generation like remoras; they’re complete, as is.

Equally, despite resultant feelings of prohibition,
It’s possible for us leftover souls to lead among the media’s darlings.

All frazonism in our thoughts needs be clipped, trimmed, measured,
While we willing halt adhering to stupid realities involving exclusive social rubrics.

editors note:

It’s hard enough to have high expectations mostly mildly met, but to turn them into mental strip-search thought crime crenelations meant to crimp others’ comport? No wonder we can’t keep the peace. – mh

Moving a Divorcee and Her Kids across State Lines

featured in the poetry forum November 10, 2011  :: 0 comments

The time was five-thirty,
I woke with a start;
Something was following
My mama’s sure cart.
Shifting from “park” to “drive,”
She toggled to speed,
Pumped hard on the gas,
Mom gave little heed.

Behind us a mammoth,
A terror in measure,
With hinged, metal wings,
Which held fast to our treasure
The bulk of that weirdness,
Its preponderance,
Approached our back bumper,
Threatened to compress.

Mom dove and she darted,
She jumped lanes at great pace,
Yet that overgrown beasty
Well matched our pure haste.
With lights like grand eyeballs,
A windshield as mouth,
It adamantly tailgated
Three states to the south.

Then, deep into the night
In a neighborhood new
With that monster behind us,
We kids did construe
A federal license
A driver or more,
Our cash, our possessions,
The complete “country store.”

They’d been able to link
Our past life to the present,
Had managed to help
Make our changeover pleasant.
With wide eyes we watched
The wine being poured
As cartons and boxes
Transversed our front porch.

editors note:

It’s a crime show, an action movie, a soap opera, a documentary – better’n TV or a Gothic novel. I was worried, too, up ’til the wine flowed. All is well when the wine flows. – mh

Permutations which Transform

featured in the poetry forum September 27, 2011  :: 0 comments

Permutations which transform have long included earrings.
Sampled metal, glass, shells, beads, those gimlets of light and sound,
Bring about adverse, even objectionable fervor.

Off road bikes, too, are known for the advent of physical altercations.
Large trinkets, they conjure the sorts of courage indigenous to rabbits,
Hedgehogs, all road kill, as they truncate otherwise grandiose vacations.

Graduate school, also professional opportunities, likewise promise upward lift.
Until the turning of hotel keys into broad doors buckles, makes applicants queasy,
Forces them to redirect enthusiasm for social climbing toward custodial opportunities.

While it’s beneficial to dust off keyboards, to churn out improper amounts of texts,
Honor guard-like jumping at all sighted ogives raises questions;
Even miraculous environments position generations away from basic wisdom.

editors note:

Questions, indeed! If that iceberg had eyes, would it have moved out of the Titanic’s way? Transformed into water, instead of a gash in metal. – mh