Pull me blind into the dumpster,
play with my strings
make me dance and cry
with my hands against the walls,
head in a corner until it bleeds out the demons
as they come running out single file,fly away to your finger perch,
whisper in their ears sweet nothings,
send them back on the backs of snow white doves where I stand at the bird feeder, all white,
waiting with seeds as I play on the bridge as if I was the dove, able to fly.
This poem was inspired from the prompt: How Poetry Saved My Life…
The words swirled confused on my doorstep
in a warm wind after the coldest part of winter
passed over like the giant span of dragon wings
held out to cover a cold noon sun.
I opened my mouth with awe when I opened the door
and they came floating to me out of thin air on ice,
like snowflakes twirling at the lake all grey-blue.
I gathered them around and strung them in between
the strands of twinkling white lights in the house.
There they glowed like how magic glows in love with
spirited smoke rising up from the groin through the
middle of our bellies, fills our hearts, and dissipates
through my fingers to write this poem through an open window.
Thrown out like a line to save whoever is on the ledge left
standing all alone after everyone went home to their mothers.
~Persha’s Typo 2.19.14
Bring lawyers, guns and money
bomb the gore, the bore, the lore
Flood the floors.
Watch the door.
No one sweet like honey to taste the bleach.
Tie your neck.
Dress your head with firecrackers lined in silver
Bake the tongue black.
There is a pain in my window seat. Humiliation dances through the nose ring of a bear. All the rings are chained together. Do the money chain dance. And then men act like hungry monkeys watching bananas and fancy fruit go by on a string. We are all in the cage throwing coins down hill. Hey, man do a wheelie for me – through fire with your butt cheeks glued down and your hands tied to bare metal handle bars so I see the heat come screaming through your eyes a I watch from my window, throw money at your pain. Confetti pours in the street and the bear cannot breathe, can’t smell fear nor honey, stands next to the chained elephant with the naked girl on his back. Can you see their glass eyes? Aren’t they pretty? They can dance, do tricks. There are the ponies tied to the spinning pole. Their heads held high by halters all day. The chain is too tall for short legs Nose up!! $1 pony ride and no one’s in line. Rusty lunch boxes left out in the rain. Everyone traded a ticket worth $10 for a movie.
There is a man in the distance who curls close
in smokey rooms of lustful trust, in rhythms
that dance in the long hauls of laying down bricks
and feathers for us to rest on the mountain crest,
next to the stars he hand-picked for me come
the day he’ll unfold before me in all his glory.
“I love you,” she said to the man who sits
with the moon watches her breathe her dreams,
her wishes, her breakdowns crash the air
like waves on rocks. Desert air dries her tears,
leaves her blowing kisses to the dark knight.
“Kiss me,” he says in the midnight moon beam.
There will be more come the day of the sun.
She lets down hair to climb the blue stairs
each hand on a star, true love never far.
Pershas Typo © 2013
There are doors in the dark, knock and you will be heard by what’s inside.
Trust when water flows over the brim, love will be there in your drowning.
With cupped hands of flowers, offer them to the beast in the storm.
In the silence of being alone, breathe in its infinite reach to hear bells in the forest.
Questions arise from the simmering boil, jumps like a sparkling frog out of the water, lands in the snake’s mouth. The eagle flies above the spider’s web eyes the snake slithering under the leaves. Little birds chatter like city lights and the wood pecker is the only sound knocking.
Holy monster at my door dressed in sin
Two left feet rock and teeter shapeless grin
Faraway howls at the moon blow in the wind
I see him stare with pregnant wife to let him in.
Says there is no room at the Inn, no star to follow
Could he please sleep in the hay filling the hollow
coffin out in my yard. I say cool. Keep the calls low
Looking down at the bumps in her belly giving full blows,
I shut the door to prepare a Halloween baby broth made
special with fresh sprigs of oregano and pumpkin lemonade.