Tag Archives: Heather Susan Haley

WINTER MOURNING

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WINTER MOURNING

March mad in February
Ma’s temper heats the window.
A flutter of juncos alight
Plying the bare limbed willow
Like a lyre
Fawn, dove, hare
Sheltered in cedar shade
Frightened still.

Bonded in blarney
She’d weaned me
On clever jive
My conception a farce
Life a fiction.
Let the need to know go
She repeated as if Buddha-wise.

Her demise should illuminate
Every secret, every corner
Every cowering tot
Lit by the pop and flash,
Truth, its triumph at last, though
Revelation offers no resolution.
We are all stories in the end.

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CLOWN DUTY

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Not my circus, not my monkeys.-Polish proverb


CLOWN DUTY

Born wrong, he got me right
Celebrates my fanny
Charms, trailer windows, black mind
For comedy. Gutterized beau
Replete with affection disorder
Grog blossoms, cauliflower ear
For doggerel. Broken noise.

Bloviating Master of Ceremonies.
Glitterized stallions. Elastic pratfalls.
Nothing distracts from my To-Do List:
Test trapeze. Reform winter law.
Conduct gravity. Reorient.
Polish tinware. Flush away

Chimp guano. Marvel
At the mess we’ve made, beatify
Our radical slaphappy love
Bless big top bounty
The largesse of my longing.
Remember what matters.

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EVERY HAND JOB

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EVERY HAND JOB

Every hand job
Ever given
Every hand job
Ever received
Belongs to me.

Each furtive grope
Stolen kiss, mine.
You fuck
I come.

The time you delivered pizza
To a lonely silk robe clad blonde
The one who took your virginity
I was there.
That was me.

I’ve been inside
Every bachelor apartment
In the world
Since bachelors began.

Your escapades, my escapades.
Your sex, my sex.
I lick, suck, bang
For you
Whenever you can’t make it

For no reason
For every reason.

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HOW TO DODGE LIMBO

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Not for Catholics only.

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HOW TO DODGE LIMBO

She is a fossil, suspended
In amber. On display.
Before Shot,
Example of what not to do
When you know not what to do.

Limp hill-headed escapist
Maiden in name only
Took his offer
Got his goatee but not intent
To trample. Renege.

Do not go there in your mind.
Lurking invites infestation.
Do not wait for the next move.
Do not descend into minutiae.
Do not kill time.

There is no glory in the coffin.
Do not hang on the line.
Do not wait for the perfect fit.
Do not wait.
Do not do nothing.

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SEEKER . . . “Seeking what is true is not seeking what is desirable.” ― Albert Camus

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SEEKER

She found him
Verbose, wondered
Why he was gargling,
Carving salt with his uvula.

Too much tongue?
She was the type
To fondle q tips
Groom his climax.

Swish. Swallow. Marvel.
The questioning type
Blessed or cursed
With a savant prone womb.

She found slums
More frightening than marsh,
Collarless dogs
And red grapes

Dozing, frozen in the sun.
Then she found me
Long after she’d quit
Seeking answers. Clarity. Peace.

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MIRAGE . . . Verse alluding more to the optical phenomenon than the Vegas hotel

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When I write and think I feel like EveryWo-Man, that I am nothing more than bits of all and other people talking to myself. Them. Us. And today please bear in mind that which we desire can kill us before we reach the oasis.



MIRAGE

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Strive to wake slowly

To answers, to morning

When I hear best

When I am best heard.

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So, what’s my weather?

Clammy Kurt Cobain,

Decapitation dreams

Verdant commotion

Microchip dread.

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Don’t shy away she said

Pretend you can’t see

What you see.

Here comes your tall order

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Last Coke in the desert,

What you thought out loud

Sacrifice bunted,

Bent light rays for,

Made manifest, integral

Part of the landscape.

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In dubious collusion

With your dawdling beau

Inspirational quotes

Make you puke,

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The unsaid, uneasy.

There is no rain.

No water.

No lake.

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SCIENCE OF LIFE . . .

. . . even when you’re not looking; especially when you’re not looking.

SCIENCE OF LIFE

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Take umbrage.

Sour all I have.

I used to allow it.

Did not rock kismet

Delight in peals of spring.

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I mired. Flickered,

Got the dirt on

A waif, wily, perverting

High school rituals

Claw hammering rivals

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Blind to the nests

Cocoons, hives, shells

Snoozing in biology class

Oblivious to living organisms

Living in, on, through us.

All escaped our attention.

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Now I name stars

Species, ripen salmon

Salvage withered pines

Old friends, repair things

Beyond repair

Sail toward a ship.

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BOTCHED MISSION; Some spectacles seduce. If you can’t beat ‘em…

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BOTCHED MISSION

Or, booty call gone bad.
It’s not funny. Nor murky.

Icy thorns of fury
Recede slower than scars.

The sustenance of pain wore off.
Frayed, aching, sopping

With venom, rage engorged,
Vein of mayhem opened.

Angel dust of adrenalin
Winging dainty arms,

Amplifying might. Charm
Offensive, to be admired only at night

Beloved as a mule,
His shame her cargo.

Serial monogamy, serial frustration.
No getting off this ride.

Flexing reserves of righteous
Muscle, she kicked ass and dragged.

Damn him, fuck spadework,
Shanghai the shower as tomb,

Victuals, body rotting,
Speculation rising

Till they found the red stench,
Cordial, self-winding businessman

In fetal position, lenses
In the washer, voyeuristic goo.

Water did not silence the apparatus
Nor launder its images

Truth as obscured
As that Judgement Day in June,

God in the guise of ex-girlfriend,
Jesus lost in five years of lynch mob.

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