JuPo 9 - (rev of JuPo 8)

Moon Drifting

Selene gathers the wooly, gray gossamer
of cloudstuff close about her chalked, Geisha face
on this film-noir night, uses it to play games
of peek-a-boo with me as I idly ride
the porch swing, its rocking rhythm erasing
my mind’s slate until it is completely cleaned.

Seduced by her irrational rays I can
travel to untrod shores that lack footprints, bask
awhile in the sun, meet all the unmet
lovers I have ever dreamed of and fashion
many different lives. Her milky elixir
delights my tongue; tantalizing, pure, alive
with its cool power charging my unleashed dreams.

How easy to lose myself in her slipstream,
freed from the days tedious cage; how easy
to grow lax as the tea kettle steadily
whistles its impatience on the stove; and how
easy to lose sight of often visited
places on those cobbled paths that lead me home.

copyright 2006 by cookala

JuPo 8 - (long poem, more syllabics)

Moon Drifting

Selene gathers the wooly,
gray gossamer of clouds
about her pale, Geisha
face on this film-noir
night, uses them to play
peek-a-boo as I ride
the porch swing and lose this
days thoughts. Seduced by her
lunatic rays I can
travel to distant shores,
meet unmet lovers, live
different lives. Her milky
elixir drips on my
tongue; tantalizing, pure,
alive with the power
to control the myriad
direction of my thoughts.

How easy to lose my
self in her slipstream, freed
from the days tedious
cage; how easy to grow
lax as the tea kettle
whistles impatiently
on the stove; how easy
to lose sight of the old,
familiar path back home.

copyright 2006 by cookala

JuPo 7 (long poem, syllabics again)

Molt

Love, let nothing touch me unless
it is the nibble of your lips
tracing my neck, my spine, my hips,

stirring whispers of sensation
beneath their subtle nuzzle. You
may do with me as you wish; I

offer no resistance, eager
to discard this days long toil
and be absorbed into the bright

light of unbeing where we will
transcend the snug mundane; refuge
in that nook where we are nothing

yet everything; that locus where
we are weightless, where we can hide
among bowers of apple trees

sheltered from the changeable breeze.
Only then will I be released,
be risen to a new plateau

able to shed my carapace;
my unfurled wings iridescent
from sunrays you cast upon them.

copyright 2006 by cookala

JuPo 6 - long poem

An Oak’s Lament

Though my bark is solid it hides
the hollowness of my limbs.
Boring beetles have burrowed
beneath my crusted skin,
consumed tender pulp within;
and squirrels make nests
inside my chest.

I’ve hosted thirteen litters,
watched them grow and move on,
delighted in the colorful scraps
they’ve decorated me with; withstood
being chewed from the inside out
when food was scarce.

But they’ve moved into my neighbor’s;
his is a cozier house that doesn’t creak
and sway as much.

I’ve begun to fear the weighted shove
of wind against my brittle bulk,
worry I might snap beneath the weight
of wet snow. Even my children
compete with me, their vigorous roots
deplete the soil that cools my feet.

I will feed them when I fall.
My barren shell will host life
until it collapses with decay.
I will return to the soil of my birth.

copyright 2006 by cookala