22

villanelle

VOW OF SILENCE VOW OF SILENCE
My cat, she likes to chase her tail and eat
small mice and twisty snakes she finds hunting.
She drops them, eats them at my shrinking feet.

His new wife likes to rack men up, each cheat
she marks with daggered smiles. And then laughing
alone, she chases some more tail - then eats.

My daughter watches me from under sheets
as shouts ring from my mouth. She lies; swearing,
she drops fables before my shrinking feet.

Model, guide, icon of forgotten heat,
my old mother watches herself withering.
She plays parent too thin and will not eat.

I lost my job today. Clever and neat
I was, but not enough for her thinking.
My boss drops me and scorns my shrinking feats.

I lost my job. I lost my girl. My sweet
love faded into sour roses wilting.
They all can thrive on chase and food - they eat
their success right before my losing feet.

#16

Why count down hours if I still can dream?
Why waste my time impatiently inside,
when more is found and lost in life's hard themes?

My wasting only makes slow hearts that bleed
with thoughts inviting consciences that hide
and count down hours in their still sad dreams.

It's time to push and fight, not sit and scheme,
the time to act on truths instead of lies,
for more is found and lost in life's hard themes.

We cannot hope to learn by shunning beams
of bright sunlight. Remember how I cried?
But never count down hours instead of dreams.

Though purity is held in high esteem,
the life well lived is one that's truly tried,
one that is found and lost through life's hard themes.

I used to turn from anguish, from my screams,
but never grew or got away - besides,
why count down hours if I still can dream?
Much more is found and lost in life's hard themes.

December #17

These lies of beauty spread under the skin
and force pale noses up into the air.
Oh spare me from your vanity, your sin.

Too many girls will forgo food for thin
and powdered faces always will look fair.
These lies of beauty spread under the skin.

The compliments will fly on idle whims
as people try, pretend that they do care.
Oh spare me from your vanity, your sin.

It's smiles and hearts and beds men try to win
as countless smiles and silly winks they share.
Their lies of beauty hide under the skin.

Women are taught to think they ought to twin,
imagined beauty, but they should be ware
and spare me from their vanity, their sin.

for those that judge by looks will cast lots in
with cover judgers - they will never win,
for lies of beauty spread under the skin
and spare none from gross vanities and sins.

December #12

My life is made of coffee cups and spoons.
I wander through a daze of days and mist.
I learn people by TV and show tunes.

Futures are told through tea leaves and through runes.
You read the lines I cut into my wrist.
My life is made of coffee cups and spoons.

My mind is made of shifting, windblown dunes.
I cannot know what I have never missed.
I learn people by TV and show tunes.

I'd rather spend my time with raving lunes
than memories of men or boys I've kissed.
My life is made of coffee cups and spoons.

My father drowned his sorrows in saloons.
He taught me lessons with his angry fists.
I learn people by TV and show tunes.

So all my learning's stuck in old cartoons,
I watched them as my father showed me this -
My life is made of coffee cups and spoons.
I learn people by TV and show tunes.

December #8

I let my days fly by in idle sleep.
No fires burn within my mind or heart,
I seem to think my soul of ash will keep.

I dream of wonders, rising from the deep,
of novels, poems, perfect from the start,
yet I let my days fly by in idle sleep.

My mind is full of thoughts and dreams that leap
from point to point, but will they stay so sharp?
I seem to think my soul of ash will keep.

One day my mind will only slowly creep,
And I should grab my chance and do my part -
But I let my days fly by in idle sleep.

My pen can only throw my thoughts in heaps,
and so I fear the critic's cruel remark.
I seem to think my soul of ash will keep.

But ash can crumble, fall without a peep,
no shaking steadiness like that of Art.
I let my days fly by in idle sleep.
I seem to think my soul of ash will keep.