Tuesday, November 22, 2011

All I Wanted

All I wanted for my birthday
was a purple feathered parrot
with a trace of yellow or black
not a plate of T-bone steak
nor tall clear glass half-full red aged wine
I wanted a talking bird of many words
“Hello, goodbye, pretty girl”

I suppose I should have said
“I am thrill of this good gesture
of putting this little eating together’
Seeing that I was the centre piece of attention. watching folks stuffing their stomach, laughing
spewing food from the side of their mouth
chowing down potatoes, salad and Brussels sprouts
An occasion to celebration my day.

My stomach turned and how I wanted to shout
How I wanted to stand and say it
“All I want for my birthday is a purple feathered parrot”
In a silver cage and a gold plated gate
But I couldn’t, something moved me

My ear was buzzing. My eyes circled the colours
around the brown people dressed in black, pink and purple
their mouth was going, not battery operated
not a plug in, but a motor motion from the belly

And the thought of my own purple parrot went mild
My parrot was here, six to be exact
with many phrases, many words
not in a cage- not yet!
But one day they will, one day when they become the elderly
And their grey feathered hair peeing through a window cage
of a retirement home looking.

Saturday, November 5, 2011

My Heart Is Forest Fire

My heart is forest fire
crispy leaves untouched
Foliage green, sweet bud;
budding up and coming
I am near-term to give birth
slow labour to deliver.

But the matchstick that once strike the skin
triggering the throbbing, bringing the tree to live
moulding the root in existence -
Now moving backwards

I taste his heart like white vinegar
filtering through pumping muscle valve
and the strong fist hold fast, stubborn to fall
abstain to feel, timid to taste
and I am crying water
and I am crying vodka
and I am crying blood
of the passing of love