Kissing
A strawberry pim
lips like an oval
this;where the heart ends up
My bed a silver willow
bending the moon from afar
stay here in the red blossom of my love
Your teeth chattering
against the green dust of
your past
A coy fruited core
standing in the way of
your shyness
Come lay beside the ocean
of my kisses
It is wide and floats
With butterflies commiting
suicide in a rage.
Library Love
The elbow needs room
pushing out brackets and books
it yearns for the fire of your pages
aglow with neon knowledge
and spaces met by brown eyes
give it room and time
let it meld with petty eyelashes
that sleep without being
Allow it to exhale like wine
let it dance the samba
flustered with wantonness
The Kama Sutra,The Joy of Sex
It will soon waft down to the hand
Licking fingertips to
push inside the words.
Planned Obsolescence
There it stood
the "it" of ages
a supposedly capable thing
Pawing for newness
Lo' it purchases your
Soul as the cash machine
Devours
The "it" is nubile
And fecund,mammoth
Bright,but obsolete
We grant "it" our object
Desired
Never aware we have tumblerfuls,drawers
Yawing
Of sameness
The "thing in its' thingness"
Is the eye temporally
Disobeyed by logic and greed.
Images cradling gingerly
Truth
As fictional art
we removed the
Constant theatre
cogent of the
Nothingness
Behind the surface of celluloid
We are not meant for Gods
True
Life rolling on
darkly in our marooned seats
The promise has
Always been that it ends
He dissolves into
The art of living
while it still matters
This hero knows when to die beautifully.
The Ring
It granted me a future with a man whom could endure flaws like mine
a studded circumference of diamonds once belonging to you and my mother
It was sized down to a pinky,and I smaller inside the circle fit into you father
It baffled apish patrons away from me in bars,they knew not my mysterious gift
It waited for the man whom could someday cover me inside the platinum love
wearing my pride of marriage.
The Great Squid
Man is at a loss for depth
not sated by the smell of his familial inky blood
on the floor
or his belt sanded heart
unwilling to find solace in his natural place
Let him leave the waters
as he did eons ago
and with his back-bitten tail staining the sea
I say let him drown on two feet.
Don't Paint the Devil on the Wall
With love bickering blue and steadfastly on
the right knuckle and hate on his left
Kissing me like an urban demon
shadowing me up with raw cribbed hands
Jail a memory of days stonily only just past
I am standing behind a friend's iron front gate
He was easy to toy with,though I feared his
skin a mural of violence and sex
Don't paint the devil on the wall
bring him women and cocaine
My shotcaller let me go back inside of comfort that night
because I was the exotic and different one
On the other side of white walls
so unfamiliar to him.
Birthday Tree
It is February the month my aloof father was born
I see the trees tinny and wondering
Somewhere in the midst of losing leaves
they have troubled you for your name
Stumps lay quiet as men on the make here
they steal birthdays from the grass and flowers from the Magnolia
And ,yet,I love this unspeakable season
I cannot deny,it gives me a context for loss.
A Love Letter To Darwin
1)
There was a great bass in his spine
telling him to move as a turtle does
not swift,but with purpose
it was small at first
and anagram for a compass
to move without water,within
under and about the thing
flexing
2)
and it was work
a solid thing to feed
to make haste
there was a razor in his heart
to splice the code
to charm the fishes
to find the path of muscle
3)
within the buxom creature
there was still not a name
but a thrum
a sinew ,a marble
like a fistula in his gut
4)
it said “eat”,it swam “breathe”
it tattooed his flesh
like a catholic ex patriot,coming
out from behind his divine curtain
it gave him the reason for God
5)
It spoke like a nun in vespers
it held a salty berth,water and bone
it cooperated beyond itself from the modus
but left itself to the device
it was a spring coiled like a
secret in his mime
and it followed all the creatures then
6)
it banked like a sailboat
below,above,into
and beyond sea grass
it became a path
it traversed each sigh of reason
7)
and here; finally, he stood
on his two pins; a manacle of
instinct, erect now walking
his captive newborn earth
8)
this was thought,he sang
the praises of the past
as time repealed her pearl bell
and the thing dropped her
purple row into the
tumult of the life
given
9)
call him man now,gallant
fleshly,corporeal, tall
from an abyss that can be named
the legs of life
will balance his spirit
see what where he
lays his shadow in the sand
10)
he is clothed in memory
though he was never ours to hold
there is my letter to him,unfolding still
in my blood,in your pulse too
11)
ungraciously divinity
has come to see him as madman
centuries still he shall reveal
his poesy to the turtles
finally shining reason against the bow
of all humanity.
Daisies
He brings flowers he's picked,daisies and weeds from his mother's tender garden
He stands with calm hands as he opens the door to my soul
Give me this man whom sees beauty in plainness.
Nimbus
A scale built of glass,a rainbow one sided
a chamber filled with myth and straw,easily burned away
he speaks to me in dream only
and gleefully traces his birdlike fingertips
against my eyes,he hushes my breathing
he tempers with sun and slap,then tickles the light
he nourishes from his vanity
you all along are before him
a gift for clever lucidity
live for his spasm of light
give nimbus what he wants
color,vapor and cloud,his halo
a throne,a prophet and the Godhead
that dissipates just as suddenly.
Plutonium flower
It was a blue field gone
yellow
the chemical structure,Pu-239
giving potter's field
a modern man's glowing
corpse,and an evil ardor for progress.
Jane Crown grew up with a Welsh/French/Brazilian great grandmother who told her some day she'd be an artist.
Eventually she became a student,a milliner,a bad photographer,a Den Mother,a purveyor and collector of weird baubles,a wife and companion and a gypsy.She still doesn't use the word poet to describe herself,but she has been published in print and online with poetry and freelance articles.Some of which are:Juice Press,Words Dance (women's issue),Instant Pussy, The Wild Goose Poetry Review,The Socialist Party USA (women's issue),Paranoia magazine,Huntergatheress (compilation of poetry and paranoiac tales volumes 1 and 2),Gloom Cupboard,Up The Staircase,Radiant Turnstile (current issue and upcoming in July),The Potomac (upcoming),Syntax Denver,No Cure For That and Luciole Press.
She also has a chapbook from Polymer Grove entitled "Her Delicate Shoe" which she got to read (out loud even) with Jack Hirschman,John Bennett and Sharon Doubiago this past January atLuna's Cafe' in Sacramento. One of her poems is also on a magnet for R.L.Crow.
She is working on her second chap to be with Lummox Press in the Little Red Book series this year sometime entitled "A Love Letter to Darwin".She still dreams big and in color,but works small. She spends an awful lot of her time archiving the American poet's voice, HERE, and working on her journal collective @ Heavy Bear.
She is married to a physicist/poet/folk painter/merchant mariner/New Orleanian- (Basque) Spaniard and is living happily ever after in Alamo city until she can escape to the Basque country someday.
