pkd1220, I happen to have two vases, for two bunches of flowers. I'm glad you enjoyed!
Ainjel, you flatter me with your continued support, thank you
tazzops, I'll drink that beer, x4!

I appreciate you all dropping by, and liking this poem despite its edginess. I didn't know how people were going to respond to this one. Thanks again,

Duck!

The Sunflower


It rises.
An imposing figure, when ready

it bows it's head, in order to release its seed.

Catholic priests can be like that,
on the news, I hear

letting go, like salt from a shaker.

So I too will bow my head
in the moment, and god--

he makes it look like bloom.

Mig25, the pleasure is all mine. Thank you for dropping by,

Duck!

Sneaksintoyourheart, thank you for the drink. The flower is now in a vase.
Bravalady, I only have one Separation poem, but the copies are free.
kc0003, thank you thank you
teasingbrunette, I appreciate your kind words, thank you
belletinky, I'm glad this stirred some emotion. For what it's worth, I had no one in mind when I wrote this.
bastet126, and I appreciate your continued support, thank you
iam4u, I appreciate your continued support as well. I'll share that beer with you
pennyg281, thank you
ShannonMarie21, you are too kind

Thank you all again for dropping by and commenting,

Duck!

Separation


Voices are so primal.

They have their own opinions to feed,
their own stomachs, their own caves to echo their egos.

They seem to know a lot about everything.

Today, nothing seemed right, as we watched
our voices separate from our bodies

while we sat, drinking in the fire before tea.

We watched our voices hover over the room
and clash, converging on tongues of smoke,

then blow up in something pink.

When our voices returned to us,
our bodies had already distanced themselves

like pollen from a bee, when honey means everything, or
the way piano legs peel away from themselves with age.

When I'm near you,
sound flows out of my body.

Come back to me dear, so I may hear again.

Miss Leigh, the flowers are now in water, thank you.
tazzops, I can never have enough thumbs-ups, thank you.
iam4u, your continued support is very much appreciated!

Thank you all again,
Duck!

Noah Explains His Hangover


And Noah woke from his wine, and knew what
his younger son had done unto him - Genesis 9:24



Animal style is imposing.

The first emerged from a fold in my clothes.

I slashed at its pelt with one dovetail
of my knife, then seven stitched it to my side.

A ferret played in the heat of its pocket.

I tracked the low hum of a duck,
and plucked its purple plume.

It braided well with my black hair.

In its place grew a horn. And cold water made it go away.

I felt the balls of a jackal.

I fell in with a crocodile and drank the pond red.

I confessed to God of the robe missing from my soul,
and set his animals free.

I then woke nude, with my son Ham
lying next to me.

Because of this, mi amigos, I
now have a disdain for animals.

Dear Sister Sherri, 

I never told you how funny you looked 
in that uniform.  I never got use it. All black 
and white like hate.  I only liked the field trips. 
Remember the river?  I have to tell you, 
I snuck away too that time, and took a peek 
at your body by the water white like god. 
I sure liked you then.  And eating crawdads. 
Ain't nothing better. You're so nice 
peeling them for me, after I sucked juice 
from the head. You know that's my favorite thing 
in the whole world.  Father Davis knows that too. Telling me 
to find the crawdad behind the robe. And he's behind 
the altar and all. He's not a nice man.  But I do it 
cause I love Jesus.  Now I feel bad
running away these last three days.  
Tell Father Davis I'm sorry. He's hiding 
in the choir closet, surely hungry, 
being tied and gagged and all.  I know 
he won't like me anymore, but 
I'm coming back for you, my love, 
and I like playing hide the crawdad. 
Maybe I like them robes better after all. 

Tazzops, Ainjel, iam4u, I appreciate all of your kind words and continued support,

Duck!

The Indestructible Nauga

I like the creative marketing idea of the Nauga Monster. 
I like to think the creators of the Nauga were smoking marijuana when the idea was conceived in the 60s.
I like how the Nauga sheds his hyde once a year, like a sheep. 
I like how it looks like a chocolate version the abominable snowman from the classic clay animation of Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer.
I like how the hyde is like leather and is strong but is not leather.
I like to imagine if I ate a Nauga that it would taste like beef, but is not beef.
I like to imagine if the Nauga made sound, it would be a cross between that abominable snowman, and a cow.
I like how a mini doll version of the naugahyde monster was given out with every purchase of naugahyde furniture.
I like how the Nauga made himself useful.
I like how The Federal Trade Commission claimed the Nauga might be mistaken for a real-life species, and as such could be deemed as deceptive advertising.
I like talking as if the Nauga were alive and sitting next to me.
I like how it was only when your naugahyde was on my couch that you were tamed. 

iam4u, I appreciate your continued support, thank you.
poppashroom, I'm glad you enjoyed the journey. Thanks for dropping by,

Duck!

Teditis - Thank you so much for your kind words
tazzops - I appreciate you dropping by
bastet126 - my flowers are in water, growing. Thank you
iam4u - I'm glad you enjoyed the lines
Sharris - I love the sound of that, linear fusion
Ainjel - I value your continued support

Thank you all again,

Duck!

Lines
 
I.
 
We play with the same lines. These
that were tossed into the world
like Pick Up Stix, 
stacking nets and racks
for the earth to impose its details.  
The world was meant to be seen in lines.
I have heard its challenge
and I accept.
 
II.
 
I am DNA in the cell of my car.
I drive on the freeway that has been waiting
for me. It's an isosceles triangle 
that spreads its legs, as I pass through 
the middle towards the apex.
 
III.
 
I sit in the reception area of the doctor’s office. 
There are lines here and I am happy. 
The lines of my chair ground me
to the outline of the room.
When receptionist calls my name,
I find the closest edge of the closest baseboard,
and follow its line along two walls 
and up the door frame to meet her eyes.
 
IV.
 
I wait in line at the pharmacy. It is straight
as it should be.  It connects me
like the dot of an ‘i’,
or a grass stain,
or a condom.
 
TAMMY is behind the counter,
all smiles and lip gloss.
Her customer service tag wears her body.
I can address her, as I connect
with her line angle name.
 
V.
 
The lines in my hallway 
are straight, like a plank. I walk 
its length.  At the end, toy trains
are parked on the bedroom floor in rows.
I know the game. 
I see the lines. 
I pick up the sticks.
 
 
 
 

iam4u and Up2Us, I'll share a beer with you two anytime. Thank you for dropping by,

Duck!

I hope to live up to your kind words. And thank you,

Duck!

teasingbrunette, I'm glad you enjoyed the art. = ) My best friend painted that picture. Thank you again for dropping by and your continued support!

ArtGurl, I put the flowers in water. Thank you!

Duck!

ArtGurl, the world must be a beautiful place through your eyes. Thank you! iam4u, You're too kind, and thank you for my beer! bastet126, I appreciate your kind words! Thank you for dropping by. Sharris, I'm glad you enjoyed! I have an artist friend who painted this and several other paintings I own. I've been fixed on this one however. I posted a poem on this site that is also an ekphrastic to this painting. Here it is again so you don't have to look it up. I think I'm going to try and get five more poems out of this painting. Thanks again for dropping by



Inspiration

The most elusive of all moments
is like a dancer in motion.
When secretly turned downward
she discovers nothing is real. Her legs
are gone, and the floor
sounds something the color of goat hooves.
That's when movement meets still life.
First the painter stops the image,
then the frame does.

Dear Artist,

Since you’ve set me out on my own, I've been on a quest to connect with the most intelligent of men. I must admit this has proved to be somewhat difficult, with a body pressed frame, and legs I haven't seen for months. To add to this I found myself co@k blocked and out of reach, being posted to various walls like a stamp. I’m not writing to complain or worry you. I still keep up with my image of all arms and hair, and my pastels remain unblemished. On one occasion, I was taken to a meeting of lobbyists and prominent farmers. Their dullness made for the evening, and from their heads, I picked cotton. And recently, I dined with newspaper politicians who sat crinkled up in their words. I found no suitors among them, only the black and white of their suits. But I am not discouraged by the lack of quality men, or in living a life without folds. I know someday I'll be appropriately delivered. Until then, I think I'd have better luck as a poem.

Signed,

Your Female Portrait

Ainjel, bastet126, I thank you both for dropping by. I wasn't sure at first posting this one as I thought it might have been too strong for this audience. But I'm glad you enjoyed,

Duck!

Unless you're in a clique here where friends routinely post back and forth their postings, you can assume that no one was moved enough by your poem to leave a comment. If that's the case, suck it up, and take that poem back to the drawing board, and maybe come back next time with something better. If you haven't realized it yet, this board is more of a place of vanity than a place to advance craft. People aren't obligated to leave comments, and it's definitely not a place to get feedback to advance craft. If you want a real critique of your poem, I suggest getting thicker skin and reaching out to a poetry workshop where craft matters. Otherwise, let your poetry fall off the page if people want it to.