Weekend getaway in northern Wisconsin!

Owning 60 Acres, Stolen from Indians

They were the Ho Chunk, or the Fox

In pretty paddle boats on the waters

Where they used to “roam,” it is said

Selling off dark and braided daughters

Their stories slung low as effigies

And conifers bent down for hunts

We own a basket made by them

In the attic of our cottage, munched

Faces painted, dancing, wrapped

In wigwams, fornicating in latter

Roaming with the buffalo, or was that

The Sioux?  It doesn’t matter

My ancestor was kidnapped

By a band of warriors, dark

Riding horses crippled, bare

Until they vanished, famous, stark

Photo books for the coffee table

The gift shop sells them in a row

A white young lady is at stake

Settlers’ barrels straighter than a bow

Cream & sugar on the deck

This morning above Bear Lake

I think I shall fish today where

I hold the deed by no mistake

The refrigerator magnet proclaims

How many ways they saw the sky

Above the sofa, in acrylic

Chief Seattle whispers “Why?”

This exercise was to create “a fresh, cutting-edge, 20 lines or less poem using two or more of these overused, clichéd, and stale words: beautiful, bunny, grandma, trunks in the attic, rainbow, heart, pretty, & unicorn.” So, for fresh, I used all of them.

citta eht ni sknurt ekil     

daed si ynnub lufituaeb a   a beautiful bunny is dead

nwal eht no daed   dead on the lawn

nepo syal nosiop fo xob eht   the box of poison lays open

citta eht ni sknurt ekil   like trunks in the attic

esromer ni eulb si traeh s’amdnarG   Grandma’s heart is blue in remorse

ssarg eht ssorca ti gnitriuqs   squirting it across the grass

erehw sehsub eht otni   into the bushes where

egrog lliw nrocinu eht   the unicorn will gorge

ynnub gnillor kool kool   look look rolling bunny

wobniar a edam evah uoy   you have made a rainbow

tew gninnips tsal eno ekat   take one last spinning wet

kool neknurd ytterp   pretty drunken look

We are not so exclusively human, but a combination of other pre-human DNA. We therefore retain the biological connection to all strains of who and what has lived before, wondering inward toward the trunk of the tree of evolution.

We are many

We are puppeteers, peddlers, Ivan the Staker

goddesses or Asimov, grunts, healers and diseased

Lingering in our marrow, DNA ghosts. Our lashes

we barely see when squinting are our thickset cousins’

Roaming angelic with the fowl, proper and Neanderthal

the Far East, Norubians fornicating on rafts of reeds

Moving inward toward the fleshy trunk of evolution’s

stocky tree, we can sniff, sniff what we have been

Retaining the fur, the bio insides, connections to

Canine howls, puffin snortles, drools of megafauna

Species is our construct, a wall of attraction, hiding

swathes of fenceless genomes under berry bushes

Painting new cliffs from which to jump, we alone

an illusory perception, making sense of who we aren’t

Laying upon each other through strata of bodies

at ancestral orgies—oh, the fun we’ve had

As sun melts frost and memory from our proud core
Along a ridge of the free sky run synapse and sperm

Written for an exercise. First 2 lines from...?

You Want To Burn

You don’t want me to tell you about tranquility

But I’m going to tell you anyway

Sentimentality aside, I want you to know

You are in the middle of my sanity

When our lives are drawn into a thin slice

our edges vanish, we disremember

Forget the walls, the paths walked in on

forget fear, you are in my gaze

Alert as puma, tell me about these

cakes of pride you’ve baked, iced

In superior swirls of accomplishment

shimmering rounds to swipe with licks

Indulging gut where vines grow.  Let us

hang in the moment on the muting fog

Fix our eyes on our eyes on our eyes

where the caption of the cave reads calm

Reach to the stalactite, conceive nothing

forget dimensions of living room

Where we wonder, but just a little.  Mostly

a groaning moment, expansive, making

Off with sense of time, keeping up with us

smack in the middle of NOW—Strike me

In the heart with your tantric squint

to whip up tranquility, its burn

Yes, I bought the dress.

The Green Dress

Hangs sexy & taut

Poised, yet ready to launch

When I imagine you inside

Excited to see you there

My fingers liberate across

Your silken waist, fall

To the dimples of your back

Halt in the rough organza

I struggle to evoke

The color of your eyes

Until resolving they are right

Before me in muted green

Exactly as this dress

Peek around. Sales ladies

Ring up and smile and fold

Untouched by my caresses

By the window and mannequin

At Francesca’s in the mall

Tilt over to breathe you in

On the humid heat from where

A woman cut and joined and eight

Girls leaned hot over engines

Just for me to touch you here

Or trace your simple dints of

Neckline, or wander in the

Flower garden of your pleats

Breathing out

Breathing Out

I don’t know if I’m 46 or 45

For the first time, I forgot

     Finally, half way through my life

All there is is breathing out

Not like writing last year’s date

In the opening days of year

     Appearing on an empty plate

All there is is breathing out

Breathing in is not the same when

Bones are speaking in a tongue

     Neuroscientists defining sin

All there is is breathing out

Wise but ugly, with gaping sighs

Mountain gorillas carried on their backs

     Surrounded by le mort and time

All there is is breathing out

Measuring worth with gushing speed

Volcanic lurid late night chat

     Exactly when, how long, how deep

All there is is breathing out

The comedian bows into laughs

Her favorite jokes are winding down

     All mountains strewn with trash

All there is is breathing out

Shifts go late and hard at work

Since boyhood scared of touching fire

     Wrecking daytime with a fork

All there is is breathing out

Our bones fuse in a dimming light

Exhale what I have not touched

    Squeeze your ass into the night 

All there is is breathing out

Is it forty-six or forty-five?

For the first time, a lost count

     But I’m not arguing this time

All there is is breathing out

Doesn't get any better than this

Meditating at iHop  

Stomp off your snow at iHop

Follow her this way past booths

By the black ladies with eyes

Order decaf, a plate of fries

Note the heating ducts, syrups

Uniformity, rhythm and orange

Plug in at iHop to meditate

Regard the breakfast photos

Everything lucky and consequential

She brings the copper kettle

You are feeling calm and relaxed

Outside scrape the snowplows

Ketchup, Equal, iHop

Squeeze those muscles, good job

It is as if—you are there

Each fry slick and hot and cut

And now I’d like you to bring your

Attention back to the body

Everyone just fine at iHop

That’s it, breath deeply, pour

As much as you wish

Make two tight fists, that’s it              

When you meditate at iHop
It is as if--you are there