A busy old December day when the childless afternoon streets
leave me itching for the cackle of a steaming fire
the peeling edges of a good man's finger
and the tenderness of a true big smile
peering with quiet acceptance I look in the sterile mirror and bite my crippled tongue some more
the lacklustre glass stares with arrogance and returns my face to me
I cry.
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The overweight raven cat was bold like a monster from the deep.
it's sage green eyes big and bulbous
like perfect breasts in aspic
but a plate of coddled fish and the monster was no more.
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If I crept into your room tonight and every night
would you hide me under tattered spreads of purple
or
could I lay on top and crease your snowy perfection
both I hope.
*************************************************************************
The poet ran amok with words
yelling her grievances without mercy
riding the whirlwind with bare legs akimbo
she altercated with the invisible
and then
the poet sat
adorning her lover with heavenly words
addressing the gods with her unbelievable love
and then
the poet sat
sat like a little girl
singing her verses out.
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Copyright Angela Norris
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