Waking up Weird

Do you ever have those days where you wake up and feel somewhat "off" or weird?  My weirdness today seems to be just underneath my skin, as if I am almost vibrating with it.  Maybe my planets are not aligned properly, maybe I am just tired and hormonal, or maybe my tanks of weirdness have filled to the point of overflowing.  I am not quite sure in any regard.  Nonetheless, it did get me to thinking about some of the stranger poetry I've written and I decided to share some in this entry today.



A picture of a calico cat, fat and fluffy, staring lustily at a bust of Elvis inspired me to write this poem a few years back.  It is one of favorite strange ones.

I Want To Eat The King

I am obsessed with Elvis.
As a tiny kitten, sprawled on speakers
in our living room, I felt him.
He moved through my lazy, lay-about body
and I loved him entirely, adored him absolutely.

Strange, but now he lives in my backyard.
He says nothing, does nothing.
I am suspicious of his silence.
I watch him, wait for his gift.
I think he might be sleeping.
Maybe he is tired and needs a rest.
Sometimes I get so unbearably sleepy,
I collapse where I stand for an afternoon nap.
I understand.

Nevermind the quiet, it is an afterthought.
I cannot get out of my mind
the image of me devouring him completely.
Right this very second, every second
I want to forget all I know
about dignity and restraint
and sink my feline teeth into his majesty.
Oh, but to taste him, to swallow him whole!
To make him dance and gyrate while I
bat him with my paws until he
disappears inside my waiting soul.

I want to feel his rock-n-roll
sliding down my throat
to jitterbug in my belly
and swell me with
electric sound.

I want to eat the king.

In this poem, I attempted to mislead the reader.  See if you can guess what the poem describes before the ending.

Making Something Beautiful


Yellow like the sun
and full of my powerful potential,
I eagerly await
the hands that long to hold me,
fingers creating a sweet refuge
of direction.

He picks me up,
tenderly strokes the length of me,
and I dream in those moments
of his need, his creativity
meshed with my ability
to make something beautiful.

Such release,
when the very tip
of my being touches
the expanse of white.
Gray shades and hues,
clean lines and circles--
a pencil's dream
to be of such use.


 I wrote this poem to remind myself that sometimes the things we consider to be wrong with ourselves, aren't necessarily bad qualities.  Sometimes, what others consider to be character flaws comprise our most powerful traits.

Character Flaw

So he said to me these things,
these ugly words that I tucked
behind my ear
like a cancerous rose.

Oh! The thrill of my malignancy of character
on display for all eyes
to devour in a feast of pity.

I owned those words.
I shamed those verbal fists
into timidity, and whipped them with
my audacity to flaunt

these things he said to me.

The Lion in Winter, one of the best movies ever about Eleanor of Aquitane and Henry II inspired me to write this poem.  It's about a relationship that loves as passionately as it hates.

Loved Another

You should have lied to me--
told me that the need for loving never stops.
But now, I am hungry out of habit,
and not among the ones who give a damn.

No, I won't let it be that simple.
Forget sending rusty lust to the cellar
with its entourage of hope and affection
to let it molder into the grotesque.

My love is a dead cat--
no curiosity resides behind those lifeless eyes.
Somehow, the most terrible thing I think,
would be to deny that I lived with everything I lost
and loved another through it all.

This poem attempts to describe a singular emotion as vividly as possible.

Uncertainty

Uncertainty vibrates,
almost shakes through my skin
and pools like beads of sweat.

It collects and concentrates.
Nervous rivulets swirl
and gather to burn like fire.

So surprised it doesn't move you,
go through you
and crawl upon your body.

Over your limbs,
into your eyes and mouth
slipping through budding ears
to burrow beneath your faith
to undermine your certitude.

Colonizing like a parasite,
I know it well.
I know it will
drain your reserves
sap your still-to-be-born spirit
and make a pale reflection
of all you once knew
to be true.