Brown Grass, Green Grass

What a wonder! What a miracle! Grass—
Of all plants, it receives the least respect…
And yet it speaks with a consumate wisdom.
Disdained by the masses, ignored or blamed
As fashion takes us, still it grows, relentless
In its determination to survive.
Scorched by the summer sun, the green grass burns
And turns a scraggly brown, withered and fragile;
But one small shower, one brief morning dew
Renews its luster. Left for dead, once-lush
Fields turn brick hard, their life crumbles to dust,
Cruel winds whisk away the last trace; and yet,
Should the rains return and soften its heartland,
Tiny blades of grass will soon find some way
To reassert themselves and start a new
Empire, their tiny green hordes now determined
To spread their dominion across the plains.
Jesus said that even though grass is here
Today and ends up getting burned tomorrow,
God still cares for it. Lord, make me like grass.

Where Wolf Dreams

Full moon rises; howling wolf cries out,
No companion save moon’s icy stare.
Bloody death alone can still the pangs;
Fierce desire consumes too-brief despair.
Cold night passes; howling wolf recedes;
Morning light steals blessed peace. Throat burns.
Transmutation finished, broken heart
Rules human thought till howling wolf returns.

Ginocide

Back in the Twenties, a thirsty public
Filed into the speakeasies and roared,
“Give us a drink – Uncle Sam won’t tell us
What to do!” So the bathtubs became stills
Where juniper berries, grain alcohol,
And a lot of nerve became bathtub gin.
The patrons drank, and many became still,
The noxious concoction silencing roars
That dying to drink was worth dying for.
Such happy hours caused Uncle Sam to take
A more temperate approach to buzzkill.

Plectrum

Frantically I claw at the guitar strings,
Trying to dig melodious sounds from
The steel ground with a dull plastic pickax.
Untapped veins of music run deep beneath
This flat plain of spruce, but all I find are
Irritating buzzes. I wipe my brow,
Take a deep breath, and resume my mining.
This song is buried deeper than I thought.

Aphrodite

Rising slowly from a roiling sea
Of strife, the fledgling goddess lifts her head,
Reaches out her hand, and smiles, demure
Yet brazen; all the world stands still in awe.
As Nature rearranges life itself,
Acknowledging her presence, she is drawn
Toward the man she chooses to receive
The gift of her devotion. She enchants
Him with her smile, then with her scent,
And then her gentle touch; she takes his hand.
Together they depart this sacred beach
While others watch with longings unsuppressed.
But he sees no one else, save her alone;
His life began anew when love was born.

Vuvuzelas

Angry hornets sting the air
And swarm around the soccer field
Their raging thunder shakes the walls
Until the opposition yields

An ancient custom modernized
From horns once worn by quiet kudu
Critics argue: Is this noise
A cheering blast… or aural voodoo?

No one knows for sure, but somewhere
Businessmen are all abuzz
They’re making lots of money selling
Noisy plastic vuvuzelas

Ode to a Personal Toiletry

I’m into silly poetry lately;
I’m sure it will pass soon. Just be patient!

I don’t know what I’d do without
My trusty little deodorant;
It saves me from those social gaffes
That come from being malodorant.