Poetry | Posted by Jannie on 20 January 2012 @ 10:10 AM
I’d like an old woman
to wrap my tired shoulders
in a shawl of sleepy seaweed.
I’d like the seaweed to wrap
all my Christmas presents this year
in yellow pansies and cedar shingles.
I’d like my shingles to hold fast
through days and nights of snow
and dusty misplaced bedroom slippers.
I’d like my bedroom slippers to be
made from Doc Marten leather that
has danced in Australia at least twice.
I’d like Australia to move a little closer
to Texas, and I suppose with tectonic shifts,
Australia soon will be at my front door knocking.
I want Milo to open my front door
and step robustly inside, leaving his
wet umbrella out on the bottom step.
I want my bottom step to welcome
all peoples from all lands and invite them
in for tea and poached eggs on toast tomorrow.
I want tomorrow to be as awesome as
this moment seems to be for me, here after
midnight still up with the aroma of earlier burgers.
I want my burgers to all be organic,
on softest nine-grain buns, with dashes
and lashes of relish from an old woman’s fridge.
I want an old woman’s fridge to be full
of apples, celery, carrots, and walnuts
and I want her to invite me to lunch daily.
And if she felt so inclined to pop in with Milo,
take up my broom and waltz around with it until all
the dust was in the old cast iron frying pan, I wouldn’t mind.
And if the frying pan should marry the vacuum
cleaner to the dishwasher I wouldn’t mind that either.
I’d only mind if I forgot to let Milo open the door to your heart.
~~ end of poem
When I was a teen I thought that Pete Townsend song went “Let Milo Open The Door.”
Years later I realized the lyric was actually “Let My Love Open The Door.”
🙂
Sweet Leaf Tea — made right here in Austin, Texas, USA, whooooohoooooo!!
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Poetry | Posted by Jannie on 17 January 2012 @ 1:50 PM
It’s all tea and crumpets
until inspectors in fedoras
and restless 3-piece suits
stand pointing at your
railway car and leaning
on your tiny caboose.
Other snoopers,
as you possibly know
from your own tangos
with clipboarded eyes,
are the popcorn police,
the chain-link fence patrol
and the nudity overseers.
There are even
government spies
ever on the watch
that farmers’ spring
grass fires never burn
wider than a 2-square
meter patch per year,
farmers whose
great-great-great-
great-great-great-
grandfathers cleared
said land almost two
hundred years ago,
farmers who, by age 10
had already forgotten
most of what had been
handed down to them
about ash fertilization,
ladybug June cotillions
and the pull of the moon
over October stallions.
Did I mention a good
many stout farming
lads and lassies were
conceived those April
grass fire nights as the
last puffs of snowmelt
were seeping back into
the love that still is and
always will be recreating
itself from the lungs of
the universe breathing?
~~ end of poem inspired by above photo of a model railroad scene.
~~ and brought to mind the time a clip-boarded kid told Dad to put his burn pile out,
~~ Dad who still loves and lives! Great Typo — in the farm house he was born in 75 years ago.
My dVerse Poets Open Link Tuesday offering.
xxooxoxox
Thank you for your comment.
I look forward to getting over to your blog in the next day or so!
Song Stuff | Posted by Jannie on 13 January 2012 @ 7:46 PM
shooting hoops, ringing their little bells,
watching Little House On The Prairie and
dancing to 70s Southern Rock anthems.
And here’s a new Jannie song mp3 for you… DO YOU DREAM It’s 2:40 long.
Still in rough-mix stage. Piano and harmony vocals yet to be added.
If you can’t save it to your computer and want to, let me know and I’ll e-mail you the clip.
Sure hope you are well and will have a great weekend!!
~~ The Jannie
xoxoxooxxo
Poetry | Posted by Jannie on 10 January 2012 @ 6:55 AM
Write a poem on a chocolate morning
when the parakeets are trading recipes
and the cat’s already into the beer.
Write a poem at noon when the bacon
leaps from the fridge and fries itself into
a frenzy of hip-shaking mardigras magic.
Write a poem in the mashed potatoes
stuffed into the hollows of old oaks and
clumped onto the thighs of the moon.
Sleep ten days. Wake and write a poem
on the rejuevenated skin of your cheeks
all plump with vikings in pink velvet.
And since fives are magical… write a
fifth poem on palmetto leaf at the dinosaur
disco your dreams will dance in tonight.
whooohooo, one for Tuesday Open Link Night at dVerse Poets.
xoxoxo
Ye olde traveling dinosaur show, Galveston, TX, August 2010.
Flash Fiction 55 | Posted by Jannie on 5 January 2012 @ 5:55 PM
Ice patches.
Rough patches.
Calm patches.
Patches on a marriage
in spots, but the seams
triple-stitched to last.
Vintage 70s patches
lookin’ so groovy.
September apricot patches
on a cute little curious cat.
Sail to the kitchen
or maybe the moon
and you might return
to find that curious cat
in your patches patch too.
Those were 55 words of Friday Flash Fiction for The G-Man.
FFF goes live Thursdays at 8:00 Michigan Time!
Write fiction in 55 words, post it and tell G-Man — he’ll comment and put you in his good books.
xoxoxooxoxoxoxoxxoox
