Monday, May 11, 2015

Angel City Summer - poem


                That morning
                reckoning the day’s coming heat,
                my eyes ponder the thickness of morning mists
                against low slung hills.
                Early clearing means desiccation for every
                lip, brow and leaf scattered across this
                hot sprawling urban carpet.
                And up there in the canyons,
                the spring green grasses
                that earlier rode the hills,
                tossed with lively signatures of
                rust colored poppies, have all withered.

                The yellow freckles of wild mustard
                and scotch broom remaining there, 
                disappear a little each day.
                Soon deer and coyote will come forward
                into the oak strewn gorges,
                dodging cars, desperate for water
                with the scent of wild mint and anise
                hovering on their dusty fur.

                There, a pile of coyote scat marbled with
                bits of rabbit pelt sits next to
                a graffiti covered stop sign
                shimmering in the heat.
                             We all hunt the shade.

Abrade - poem

The jihadists sang carols
while they did laps around
the pile of rubble
they earlier blew up,
it was an evil music store,
like the candy and soda shop
they did last week.

They were saving the many heathens,
their brothers and ignorant families
from the certain wrath
and their very inspiration,
their beloved God and prophet,
Mohammad Jingle Jangle,
the paragon of sharia t-o-l-e-r-a-n-c-e.

After their sweaty workout, they dined,
picked each other's teeth,
surmised who was not
following their dictates,
driving their tanks in circles
in righteous anger,
plotted which building to blow next,
then selected by straws who would
strap the vest on the suicide girl.