Goldy Bear (napowrimo #06)

read write poem   napowrimo #06

prompt by Rhiannon converse with images

Select an image, photograph, painting, or anything. Engage in conversation. Who are you? What are you doing here? (or something like that) Stir, and see what comes. (steeply paraphrased)

(So what is this silly response? Thought I might be profound, if just a little bit. But the fairy tale keeps wagging its tail, and here’s what left, not crumpled on the floor. Unredeemed I am. So be it, like the good book says!)

little red, by Jenny Bitner (with permission)

Goldy Bear

(in praise of things with teeth, including little girls)

I love to wear my pretty red jacket in the rain

I’m cloaked in my best fur when all these faces rain on me

My galoshes too, ten toes counting you

Ten times ten wishes I have seeing you, toes in flight!

And leap!

Golden hair, secret locks, stairs to my lips

Oh, you said lips! And they say I’m the one big and bad!

I’m just seduced by loveliness!

May I pet you sweet bear? My fingertips!

Well, I’m not, but inside my dear, yes I am

See the ribbon of my tongue, the emeralds of my teeth?

It’s not cold, but I’m shivering

I hear bells inside

Here, the door is open for you, yummy lovely you!

Oh, it’s dark and warm inside and

I’ve always wanted to be a wolf. My secret revealed

And I’ve always wanted to be innocent, and now

Brave new world      Brave new world!

We never would have guessed

Yes, love raw just like this!

Neil Reid © April 2010

Read Full Post »

For my teacher, Dave

Memories, you know, don’t say anything about the past.  What they say is how we hold then now.  Interesting critters.  (Take note of the dedication and RWP article given below.)

 

 

For my teacher, Dave

 

I wore my cowboy hat.  My boots were

just ordinary shoes, but I knew better.

 

I had a badge, holster and gun, but honestly

I wouldn’t ever shoot you.  I’m on the side

of what’s good.

 

My hat might be black, but I’m still good.

 

I wore my cowboy hat every day.

Until someone said they didn’t believe,

not at all.  Not even in make-up stuff!

 

I understood, but still it hurt.  That lasted

for a long long time.  There remained many

cowboys on TV, but I wasn’t one of them,

not any more.

 

Mostly I kept that all a secret.  Mostly,

until right here.  Mostly.  I’ve been normal,

I’ve been good.  You’d probably not have

seen that cowboy in me.

 

I hungered, I craved for peace, long long

before it was fashionable.  Be it on the

dust deep streets of Cimarron, or now

here where I work a growd up job.

 

I reckon you’d understand.  As one day

a new teacher rode into town and had

nerve to say, write what you wish!

 

And just so, the cowboy did.  And

it looked just like this!

 

 

Neil Reid © October 2009

 

A little Tomfoolery, but not.  And there really was a cowboy, you see.

And dedicated to Dave Jarecki, author of the wonderful and instructive RWP posting, children and poetry – the kids will all write.

Read Full Post »

Darkly humorous

Darkly humorous

 

Where is dark?

 

Is it under this book?  No, just my desk.

Around the corner, under those old clothes?

Just a carpet, green shag.  Shucks!

 

Oh yes, the refrigerator!  Surely here.

Darn, that pesky bulb.  Every time!

 

Is it in the closet perhaps?  Not when

I open the door!  Someone’s looking 

over my shoulder here.

 

Is it under a rock?  Just worms!

I looked twice.  Pretended to walk away.

Hurried back.  No luck!

 

I calculate the tides, influence of the moon.

Stealth!  That’s it!  Outside at night?

Stars abound!  Dim, but no dark.

 

Aah!  What about between the stars?

Isn’t that black?  Really, just what mortar is.

And a hole is not whole!

 

No cheating!  Please.

What if, clever me, I close my eyes?

Yes, but understand your prize!

 

Standing at the gate to everything

and nothing much.  Yet bathed all the same!

Your might is only over one.  Incredulous.

 

Complete.      Indivisible.

Get the joke?

 

 

Neil Reid © October 2009

Read Full Post »

Poems are a piece of cake!

Poems are a piece of cake!

 

 

I think I’m a little slow, not that bright.

I’ve even forgotten my second line.

 

And now the third is pressuring me!

The dictionary is so full, but not me.

 

Gimme a break    or a good comma will do.

Sleep, sheep, Bo Peep.  Never liked rhymes.

 

Anyone got a magazine?

Someone distract me please.  Please!

 

Well now, this is just plain silly!

Time to go eat some cake?

 

Tomorrow I’ll be an astronaut.

Surely I can push a button or two.

 

And a very small leap for poetry-kind.

 

 

Neil Reid © September 2009

 

Read Full Post »

Flood water

Flood water

 

A flood can come on small feral feet.

A flood wants to lick your hidden toes.  

It wants your shoes.  Its got none, you see.

It wants to look in your pockets.  Spare keys?

Or tumble in your drawers, riffle your socks,

find an old pocket knife.  A flood has nothing,

except what you give.

 

A flood is brown.  Waiting to bath in the sea.

A flood doesn’t really understand fish.

Why are they so slippery to touch?  They just

so seldom want to sing, only to get away.

But a flood takes tea with trees.

 

A flood is a little forlorn.  It began like tears.

A flood remembers a sky that’s grey,

remembers looking down on your home.

Wonders why you’re away when she comes

to town.  Sees tail lights, streaking red.

 

You came to me just that way,

and I fled right up slippery banks.

And all you wanted was all of me!

 

 

Neil Reid © September 2009

 

Read Full Post »