30 Edits in 30 Days

1-17

After
I tried to write something from the heart
But mine is so heavy
that all I have is inky tears
that seem to tear black holes
in all my pages leaving spaced
where the words used to be,
it started with the Ls,
Life
Laughter
Love
One by one
They all got sucked in and disappeared
and I wonder if maybe the holes are
Not black, but wormy and
if there's a chance that all my words
are coming out on the other side
where they're needed

More! She cried. I need more!
And suddenly, there they were
The life and laughter and love
Laid out at her feet to be picked up,
Cherished in a way that I could not,
Weighed down as I am
with my heavy heart and someday
when I am ready for them again,
maybe she will cry the inky tears
That send them back to me



Before
I tried to write something from the heart
But mine is so heavy that all I have is
Inky tears that seem to tear black
Holes in all my pages leaving
Spaces where the words
Used to be, it started
With the Ls, life
Laughter
Love
One by one
They all got sucked
In and disappeared and
I wonder if maybe the holes are
Not black, but wormy and if there's
A chance that all my words are coming
Out on the other side where they're needed

More! She cried. I need more!
And suddenly, there they were
The life and laughter and love
Laid out at her feet to be picked
Up and cherished in a way that
I could not, weighed down as I
Am with my heavy heart and
Someday when I am ready
For them again, maybe she
Will cry the inky tears that
Send them back to me
 
4-15

What the Dervish Saw

Jerusalem
18 May 1948


I see a child whose yellow star
of David comes from Abraham,
escaping stones thrown from afar
upon that child and yellow star
by cousins' errant hurls that scar
the dome, the rock, and paschal lamb.
I see a child whose yellow star
of David comes from Abraham.


BEFORE.


What the Dervish Saw

Galaxies spin beyond our sun,
Planet, moon or wisdom.
There I saw the children of Abraham,
Yellow stars in Europe’s ghettos,
And boys throwing stones in Palestine,
Those who died in war before,
And those who someday will.

And those who may, Insha’ Allah,
Be born west of the Jordan,
This I said to those who may:
May minarets, domes, and temples
Crumble in Jerusalem
When men who pray salāt or Shabbat
Make war on Abraham's children.
 
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4-16

The Cabbie Poet's Villanelle Breaks Down.

Boss said I don't have to know any Spanish,
just had to drive them to Allentown.
María finished her tunafish sandwich.

José who never spoke any language
cried for his mother, head facing down.
No, I don't have to know any Spanish.

White coat assistants brought an outlandish
gurney that turned him into a pronoun
assisted with living, Chrissakes, to languish

here like the slag heaps from iron that span this
section of Pennsy scat dirty brown.
Shit! He's gonna be bedsores in diapers.

The tears of María I don't think will vanish
back home in Philly, nor will they until
a year from now when her welfare will manage

a full day's taxi and tunafish sandwich
picnic with José in Allentown.

Vomit explodes in a backseat ravage,
Goddamit! the same in English or Spanish.


BEFORE


Allentown Residential Care Inc.

No, I didn't have to speak any Spanish
when picnic time ended at Allentown.
María nibbled her tunafish sandwich.

Miguel who never would speak any language
drank from his sippy cup, sucking facedown.
No, I didn't have to speak any Spanish

when strapping assistants brought an outlandish
gurney that turns him into a pronoun
assisted with living. There he will languish

as much as slag heaps from iron ore span this
town like his bedsores a scat dirty brown
he'd ask them to scratch if Miguel spoke language.

The black teardrop driveway soon will have vanished
on the road to Philly until around
a year from now when our budget will manage

María's next visit, another sandwich,
and more indigestion in Allentown.
No, I didn't have to speak any Spanish
to understand vomit's visceral language.
 
1-18

After
I paid too much for this hunk of junk
Just laughed when he called it a classic
So what does that make me
But the A/C works and the tires are good
I don't care what's under the hood
So long as it takes me away from here
Sold everything except my bug out bag
to a flea market man with a gleam in his eye
Filled her up at a tourist trap
where I bought a big sack of citrus
Now I'm in bumper to bumper on I75
trying to peel this place off of me
like the rind off of this oversized orange
Fresh Florida fruit my ass
the trees are just blossoming now
It's the only thing I'll miss about this dried out swamp land
that honeysuckle orange smell
wafting in as you drive past the groves
windows open, air conditioner going full blast
and louder than the radio
This place has sucked the life outta me
like I'm sucking the juice from these oranges
As the road finally opens up
I toss the last dregs of orange out the window
grip the steering wheel tight as the ever present heat
rises from the blacktop to wave one last goodbye


Before
I paid too much
for this hunk of junk
Just laughed
when he called it a classic
So what does that make me
But the A/C works and
the tires are good
I don't care what's under the hood
So long as it takes me
away from here
Sold everything except
my bug out bag
to a flea market man
with a gleam in his eye
Filled her up at a tourist trap
where I bought a big
sack of citrus
Now I'm in bumper to bumper
on I75 trying to peel
this place off of me
like the rind off of
this oversized orange
Fresh Florida fruit my ass
the trees are just blossoming now
It's the only thing I'll miss
about this dried out swamp land
that honeysuckle orange smell
wafting in as you drive past the groves
windows open, air conditioner going
full blast and louder than the radio
This place has sucked the life
outta me like I'm sucking
the juice from these oranges.
As the road finally opens up
I toss the last dregs of orange
out the window and grip the steering wheel
tight as the ever present heat
rises from the blacktop
to wave one last goodbye
 
4-17

Theater of the Absurd

Toe Jam's Last Soliloquy

Jesus! Do you hear me, Jesus?
There is nothing to be frightened about,
and I am frightened of nothing.

But lately, Jesus, a theater mask
smiles at me inside my flask
and upside down with lips that frown

it looks like Aristophanes
who always helped me when I had to go
to his theater in the round

or spit on the crack, spit on the crack
that broke Mother's wings in her holy back,
holy back on the way back home!

Do you remember how we loved all the ladies?
suckled asleep by their pale blossoms?
and Susan, chaste, who had tea with us

before she became a novitiate?
and then there was Mary Magdelene,
you know her, of course, you do,

and Mother Theresa whose demoiselles
Picasso painted ink upon.
Oh, but didn't we love all the ladies?

Jesus! Do you hear me, Jesus?
There is Nothing to be frightened about,
and I am frightened of Nothing.


BEFORE


Toe Joe Delivers A Eulogy.

Went crazy ya know back in the sixties when Jammin’ Joe was jammin’ the ladies lately though a theater mask smiles at him inside his flask but upside down it hounds the Jam like a dog on the run with rabies who’s gonna help him when he has to go to the A&P Tea Company Tea Company Tea Company or spit on the crack that broke Mother’s back when she left him alone oh but couldn’t he love the ladies though it’s nigh the time for Jammin’ Joe flyin’ home to see Father Joseph and Mary with wings in her holy back! holy back! holy back!

Δ disheveled
Rapid eye/speech
Vita-B complex stat
Re-sched 2 wks

HST, M.D., People’s Free Clinic, 12/23/03
 
1-19

After
Poetry in Puke

She tells me she feels
A current in her throat
Going the wrong way
Such natural poets children
Language is so fluid and mailable
To them it's natural to play with it
It constantly reminds me
That they have as much to teach
As they do to learn
If we can only see past the vomit
And glean the beauty
Of what they spew
In their involuntary and unconscious
Revolt of all that we try
To cram down their throats

Before
Poetry in Puke


She tells me she feels
A current in her throat
Going the wrong way
Such natural poets
Children; language is
So fluid and mailable
To them, that I believe
They have as much to teach
As they do to learn
If we can only see past
The vomit and glean
The beauty of what
They spew in their
Involuntary and unconscious
Revolt of all that we try
To cram down their throats
 
4-18

Frank's Doohickey Store

"I imagine that yes is the only living thing."
e.e. cummings


Frank said to Joe "I don't see why"
when Joe asked Frank to sell his wares
since, being frank, he knew no guy
would buy Joe's gizmo have-been-theres

nor would, Frank knew, he'd ever woo
Tom, Dick, or Harry to be frank,
to buy a gizmo, much less Joe's,

but being Frank, he doesn't know
why Joe Joe's Gizmos sell so well
and Frank's Doohickeys never do.

BEFORE

Being Frank

"I imagine that yes is the only living thing."
e.e. cummings


Frank said to Joe "I don't see why"
when Joe said "Frank, please sell my wares"
since Frank, shit, knew ain't no guy
who'd buy Joe's has-been have-been-theres

nor would, Frank knew, he'd ever woo
Tom, Dick, or Harry to be frank
to buy a gizmo, much less Joe's,

but being Frank, he doesn't know
the reasons why Joe's gizmos sell
and his doohickeys never do.
 
1-20

After

Coming to the end
Sucking in glass sharded air
Swallowing blood and pain
Fighting for that next foot fall
With splinted shins on
Broken pavement
Final hurdle looms just ahead
One step up the landing

The trip from the car to the door
Grows further every day
As I sit, shaking legs finally still
I think this was the last time,
My final sprint
And with this thought
I expel the first easy breath I've taken
Since I started working the clean up crews

Lead paint, asbestos
Any and every thing
That once was touted
As the next best thing
But my breath catches painfully, once again
As I wonder
Who'll be cleaning up the mess I leave


Before
Coming to the end
Sucking in glass sharded air
Swallowing blood and pain
Fighting for that next foot fall
With splinted shins on
Broken pavement
Final hurdle looms just ahead
One step up the landing
The trip from the car
To the door grows further
Every day but as I sit
My shaking legs finally still
I think this was the last time,
My final sprint and with this thought
I expel the first easy breath I've taken
Since I started working the clean up crews
Lead paint, asbestos, any and every
Thing that once was touted as
The next best thing but my breath
Catches, once again painful as I wonder
Who'll be cleaning up the mess I leave
 
1-21

After
I tie you to the bed posts
Muffle all your stops
Some say that I've hit bottom
But tonight I'm gonna top
I'm feeling like a slave driver
So you'd best hold on tight
Cause I've got my whip in hand
And you'll be worked all night

Before
I tie you to the bed posts
Muffle all your stops
Some say that I've hit bottom
But tonight I'm gonna top
I've got my whip in hand
So you'd best hold on tight
Cause I'm feeling like a slave driver
And you'll be worked all night
 
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4-19

Jilted

"Don't take my money, Jesus Christ,
don't take my money!" comes muffled
through the door of the men's room
2:00 am in Fort Lauderdale,

not ready to put the night to bed
at Diane’s Donuts where neon bleeds
24/7 on barflies and stools
just like it was at the Stumble In.

Laura likes the custard ones too
to stick her rummaging tongue in,
leaving her lip-stained butt behind
just like she did at the Stumble In.

Yeah, she knows what she likes and doesn't
in the neon blonde store reflection
leaving her lip-stained butt behind
with a guy who now has some money.


BEFORE


Jilted

Here they are with their stomach acids
At Diane’s Donuts 24/7.

Before the sunrise boulevard crowd,
Barflies and stools are touching each other,
Just like it was at the Stumble Here.

Laura likes the custard ones too
To stick the rummaging tongue in.

Yeah, she knows what she likes and doesn’t
In the neon blond storefront reflection,
Leaving a lip-stained butt behind.
 
1-22

After
Safe Word

The real world has no safe word
No limits or stops
It keeps bringing the hurt
Prolonging the payoff
Laughing at our boundaries
Pushing, pushing, ever pushing
And we scream out our pain
In smoke, amber and foam
In interest-free credit for
The rest of our lives
Trying to buy now and pay later
For a place and things
We can command
But only manage
To build our own tombs

Before
The real world has no safe word
No limits or stops
It keeps coming for us
Laughing at our boundaries
Pushing, pushing, always pushing
And we scream out our pain
In smoke, amber and foam
In interest-free credit for
The rest of our lives
Trying to buy now and pay later
For a space and things we can command
And only ever managing
To build our own tombs
 
4-20

Mt. Katahdin

Wearing a black brown Smokey the Bear,
the ranger said, "Hypothermia,
no further than the Chimney Pond Trail."

The last time the mountain was hot
our honeymoon was the same to the touch
two years ago on the Fourth

when we were two tramps with Robert Frost
at dinner where wine and campfire shined
through a night of slow motion love,

but too soon like snow in October
up on Katahdin between its ribs,
close to the heart, spleen, and stomach,

there were stone cold furrowed brows at home,
and "no" more than "yes" on Saturday nights
with nothing much else to say,

and then there came the soliloquies
over tray table frozen dinners
in a one room efficiency apartment

whose old-fashioned fireplace mantel
sported a snow globe of Katahdin
unshaken like a cremation urn.

So here we are "on a date," you say,
our wedding day, the Fourth of July.
The mountain is two more years old.

It's got a mud-time backbone today,
but we have an extra layer of fat
to keep the cold away

and needn't go to the top, you know,
but neither should we have to stop
at the Chimney Pond Trail.


BEFORE


Mt. Katahdin


"Hypothermia," the ranger said
In that State of Maine drawl,
preferring wisdom in fewer syllables.
He looked like a mole salamander,
wearing a black brown Smokey the Bear hat
in his tollbooth mound in the ground.
"But it's the Fourth of July," I said. Christ!
I would have suffered a hot summer's
generosity of horseflies
swarming to have hiked Katahdin.

“Chimney Pond trail half a mile up,”
was all I got before my decoy “that’ll work” was accepted,
and he waved us through his trollhouse gate
until a meager mourning sun
would surely burst the clouds
that hid it while we parked by two outhouses.

"Either bench would chill two tramps in mudtime,"
I said as you inspected both two holers, boys and girls,
“as if one smelled much better,” I added.
It was my birthday after all,
I could be a wiseguy if I wanted
on this trip in my gifted boots.

"I might have known you'd pick a poem by Frost,"
you replied with what seemed solemnity
until I realized you were holding your breath,
"but decadent man that you are,
you can now add plagiarist."

God, how we loved our newlywed banter.
After each ate a nearly frozen carrot,
we clasped our not much warmer thermos,
looking up at snow top covered Katahdin
whose peak was a frozen grotesque fishbone
God dangled in the sky,
the skeleton of which was a remnant of a snow cold forest fire.

For some strange reason I thought of Moses
and told you I’d hasten up the mountain
to hasten back within the hour.
Two and one half hours later.
 
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1-23

After
We are the most advance species
We've proven this by eliminating
All outside threats
Making us the only species
Who's young are prey
Only to our own kind

To whom kindness is seen as
Weakness and though
We can conquer or destroy
All the wilds of the world
We cannot conquer our own
Animal instincts


Before
We have advanced to the point
That we're able to eradicate
All threats from outside
Making us the only species
Who's young are prey
Only to our own kind
Where kindness is seen
As a weakness and though
We can conquer all the wilds
Of the world
We cannot conquer our own
Animal instincts
 
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4-21

Old Soldiers' Home

It is time for toast and tea, old chap.
Princess does her wash on Monday
before she visits at one o'clock
and counts an hour in the parlor.

The shows on the tele come and go
as well as afternoon naps at three
when I dream of Siegfried staring at me
from no man's land, brushing my teeth
for the barefoot whore, Genevieve,
Genevieve of the mud-stained knees,
as Benny is blown to kingdom come.

"Condolences to the mother, Son.
Write something nice, the usual tripe,
God save the King in my trench by three.
Carry on. Carry on."

Caught in the act, we were all so lewd
learning our "Isms" and all of their schisms
and lest we forget the crazy and crass
God save the aristocracy
and all the demokrockacies

who fought the war for Model T's
sterling silver, better cars
acquired in so many better wars,
and real cream in our cabbage soup,
which rolls off the tongue quite easily
better in the Queen's English.

I shall recite some after tea,
but lest you say, Mad Hatter, old chap,
io sotte voce sono,
come back tonight after my nap
to have more jam on toast with me
when the queen is on the tele.



BEFORE


The Poet, Now Mad, Was Always Absurd.

It is time
For toast and tea,
Mad Hatter.

Princess does her wash on Monday,
Visits at one otherwise
And counts the hour
In the parlor.

Time and space,
Time and space,
They both come and go
Like shows on the tele
And afternoon naps at three.

What was that war
We fought in the trenches
So, so many years ago?

We tasted mustard
On our meat
And cleaned our teeth
For barefoot whores
With mud-stained knees.

Gigi knelt
As Bainsworth stood
And was blown
To kingdom come.

“Condolences to the mother, Son,
You’re the poet.
Something nice;
Carry on. Carry on.”

Caught in the act
It was all so lewd,
Learning our isms:
Communism,
Fascism, Nihilism,
And, of course,
Their schisms.

Whatever you were, I wasn’t.
Whatever I am, he isn’t.

After the war
To end all wars,
The better world
Fought better wars
For sterling silver,
Better cars,
And al-u-min-i-um
And Lebensraum,
Both of which
Roll off the tongue,
Much better
In the Queen’s English.

I shall recite some
After lunch
Before my nap
When there is time
To roll out the tongue,

But lest you say,
Hatter, old chap,
Io sotto voce sono,
Come for tea again tonight.

The queen is on the tele.
 
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1-24

After
With a burnt spoon
I scooped out those
Ice cream memories
That began to melt
Almost immediately
And ran spooling
Around my arm and
Down to my wrist
Like a dark silk tie
Calling me to spin myself
A cocoon so I pulled out
My needle and stitched
Myself within its folds
And waited to emerge

My metamorphosis
Left much to be desired
But held such promise
That I began again


Before
With a burnt spoon
I scooped out those
Ice cream memories
That began to melt
Almost immediately
And they ran spooling
Around my wrist and
Down my arm
Like a dark silk tie
Calling me to spin myself
A cocoon so I pulled out
My needle and stitched
Myself within its folds
And waited to emerge
My metamorphosis left
Much to be desired but
Held such promise that
I began again
 
4-22

Forgiveness

The gunmetal sky looks grim,
the little of it left in January
5:00 o'clock in the afternoon
when a pockmarked moon,
the full man of which rises early,
makes me think of it:

That Oriental print, a sumi-e
with ink and wash bamboo stems,
white nothing elsewhere on rice paper
of what always was but can not be named.

Yet all I see is void tonight,
black absence with a dull moon hole
in the middle. There is no snow
for my bamboo reflection,

brittle as I stare at the moon,
looking for law that governs purpose.
Our planets don't collide after all,
and is not forgiveness pure white?

Why then the gunmetal end of a gun
ending what could have been a contrite life?


BEFORE


No Answer from David

Gunmetal skies make grim
one's gratitude, what little of it
there is in January.

A pock-marked moon,
the full man of which rises early,
makes me think of it:

That Oriental print,
a sumi-e

with ink and wash
bamboo stems
white nothing
elsewhere
on rice
paper

but all I see is void tonight,
black absence. Twilight
crumples on the snow.

And so I stare at the rising moon,
looking for law that governs purpose
with planet and satellite,
but ask myself why did he stare,
when nothing's really black or white,
into the barrel of his gun?

Rest in peace.
January 16, 2010
 
4-23

Witch Hazel


They call me Witch Hazel because I sting.
Ooh, Baby. I know how to sting.

Half the price of psychobabble,
and more than twice as nice for your money!
Hey there, Joe, get me a beer and one here for my buddy.

Now tell me, Pal, what gal ya know buys a man a beer?
Look at that head. Ya know what I mean?

And though you shouldn't swallow me,
hold that image. Ya know what I mean?

But keep me beyond the reach of children
and if your condition starts to worsen,
Don’t call a doctor. Come see about me.

They call me Witch Hazel because I sting.
Ooh, Baby, Baby. Wanna see?


BEFORE


Witch Hazel


They call me Witch Hazel
Because I sting.
Ooh, Baby,
I know how to sting.

Half the price
Of psychobabble,
And twice
As fucking good!

Hey there, Joe, give me a beer
And one for my buddy
Sitting here.

Now tell me, Pal,
What whore ya know
Buys you a beer?
Look at that head,
Makes me hot,
Ya know what I mean?

I know how to handle
All irritations
And whatever
Witch Hazel labels say,
I don’t avoid swallowing,
Know what I mean?

I keep out reach
From all the children
But if your condition
Starts to worsen,
Don’t see a doctor,
Come see about me.

And all the boys at Bailey’s bar
Know me well.
There they are.
Read their lips:

Yeah, I like it.
Hey there, baby.
I’m as clean as it comes.

Hah! Silly me!
Here I am
Cuming again.
Makes me hot,
Know what I mean?

They call me Witch Hazel
Because I sting.
Ooh, Baby,
I know how to sting.
 
1-25

After
We are made up
from the detritus
The fragments of the past
With the broken pieces and
faded photographs
we build hodgepodge creatures
serious or silly,
sweet or scary
Nearly always malformed
in some way or another
We try to reshape ourselves
to fit an ideal that exists
only in our imaginations
Never coming into full being
only ever changing in size,
shrinking or expanding
with the heat and cold


Before
We are made up
From the detritus
Of the past
The fragments
We cling to
From broken pieces and
Faded photographs
We build hodgepodge
Creatures, serious or silly,
Sweet or scary
Nearly always malformed
In some way or another and
Though we try to reshape
Ourselves over time
To fit an ideal that exists
Only in our imaginations
Unless we start again
With new materials
Our creatures only ever
Change in size, shrinking
Or expanding with the
Heat and cold
 
1-26

After
Sandwiched between night and day
On a train bound to nowhere
I lost myself in the rocking and
Hoped the ride would never end

I took in the midnight sights and sounds
That both lulled and excited me
And couldn't help the occasional
Squeal of delight that escaped my lips

Eventually, as has happened since the dawn
Of time as the sun waxed the moon
Waned and I awoke to the realization that
The destination is secondary to the journey.



Before
Sandwiched between night and day
On a train bound to nowhere
I lost myself in the rocking and
Hoped the ride would never end

But as has happened since the dawn
Of time as the sun waxed the moon
Waned and I awoke to the reality that
The destination is secondary to the journey.
 
1-27

After
I flip the switch and am appalled,
Though strangely fascinated,
As they hurry scurry away
While I stand stunned by their number
Their ability to hide so well
Quickly do they dart for the obscurity
Of darkness, their instincts honed
So finely that they're gone
Before I can properly react
I'm stand and wonder
What is a proper reaction
Eradication?
They're dirty and disgusting right,
A sign of an unclean house. And yet,
They must serve some purpose
Feed some larger organism which in turn
Feeds a still larger organism and so on
Until we finally come to something that
I find palatable enough to feed upon.
What else can I do but flip the light back off,
Let my dark thoughts roam at will- away from scrutiny
Less I be forced to deal with them
And in so doing eventually starve myself



Before
I flip on the light and am appalled
As they scurry away while I stand stunned
By their number and ability to hide
So quickly do they dart for the obscurity
Of darkness, their instincts honed so finely
That they're gone before I can properly react
I'm left to wonder what is a proper reaction
Eradication? They're dirty and disgusting right,
A sign of an unclean house. And yet,
They must serve some purpose
Feed some larger organism which in turn
Feeds a still larger organism and so on
Until we finally come to something that
I find palatable to feed upon.
What else can I do but flip the light back off,
Let my dark thoughts roam at will- away from scrutiny
Less I be forced to deal with them
And in so doing eventually starve myself
 
1-28

After
Bodies side by side
Twisting and pulling
Make me want to slow time
Stretch out this taffy moment
When I am pulled apart
Breached by your stiff yet
Pliable sweetness.
Savor the consummation
As I swallow you down
While you poke at my center
Nibble my edges and
Lick your fingers clean


Before
You make me want to slow time
Stretch out this taffy moment
When I am pulled apart and
Breached by your stiff but
Pliable sweetness. Savor the
Consummation as I swallow you
Down while you nibble at my
Edges and lick your fingers clean
 
After
Bodies side by side
Twisting and pulling
Make me want to slow time
Stretch out this taffy moment
When I am pulled apart
Breached by your stiff yet
Pliable sweetness.
Savor the consummation
As I swallow you down
While you poke at my center
Nibble my edges and
Lick your fingers clean

....

Oh, my. Is it hot in here?
 
Forgiveness

I'm late to this wonderful piece, and my comments are about the version posted on the New Poems side (the latest draft?).

I think your assessment is spot-on, and Ishtat is forgivably confused. The imagery is too opaque for any but an inner circle.

Going back to the previous versions (and into the comments) provides all and more than anyone would need, and the poem leaps into light.

You never want to explain a poem, of course, but I wonder if some introductory text might open the piece up a bit. Perhaps a tersely worded death announcement?

In any case, I enjoyed the journey immensely.
 
1-29

After
Kiss My Lily White Ass

Out of place
In a crowded
Stand of trees

She appeared late
And lonely in
The growing season

She found her roots
In the detritus but
Forced new shoots out

When she finally
Bloomed amid the
Shade and shadows

It was to an exclamation
Of indrawn breath and
Unexpected appreciation


Before
Kiss My Lily White Ass

Out of place
In a crowded
Stand of trees

She appeared late
And lonely in the
Growing season

She found her roots
In the detritus and
Forced her way out

When she finally
Bloomed amid the
Shade and shadows

It was to an exclamation
Of indrawn breath and
Unexpected appreciation
 
1-30 (ending where I began)

After
Steve

The two hundred year old
Oak in our front yard
With its toga of elephant ears
And massive roots
That have begun rearranging
Our driveway
Has been officially named Steve
By our little one
After being read the story
'Our Tree Named Steve'
She's a hugger our girl
And we're afraid she has
Quite the crush on Steve
As she hugs him so often,
More than any of the others
She says her hugs
Pushed his roots up
And we've been told
Not to blame Steve
For the wonky driveway
He can't help it
He's just a tree and
He was here first
We park on the street now


Before
Steve


We read a children's book
from the library titled
Our Tree Named Steve
A lovely little story
That we all quite liked
Since then, the oak
In our front yard
That's tearing up
Our drive way with
It's massive roots
And toga of elephant ears
Has been called Steve
Our little one hugs
Him, at least
Once a week
And then runs
From the ants
That litter his trunk
We bought the book
 
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