* * * * *
MAMA, CRIED THE TOON
mama, cried the toon.
why you let them crown me
the king of oafs?
my dreams are the stuff
of mud, dark slimy things
only vagrants or the deranged
ever look at.
mama, all i ever wanted
was to be beautiful
& loved.
my twisted fingers fit in locks
i should have left alone.
now the only company i know
are these ghosts
that whisper truths
i wished i never knowd.
* * *
LOVING IN A DANGEROUS TIME -after Bruce Cockburn
beneath a corrugated tin roof
we watched the river swell,
grow confused & lose its sense of direction.
the flooded fields of lettuce
& artichokes nothing more than
profits lost.
the rain spoke a hard language then.
but your hands spoke of softness,
of dreams waiting fulfillment.
your hair, twisted in knots,
graced the magic of your bare
shoulder. the wind
remained silent that night,
as an old man waiting for morning,
before rattling the windows
& waking the dark skies
to the dangers of living once again.
* * *
THE TWO GHOSTS IN ROGERS' ATTIC
unlike most of us -
there are two ghosts in your attic, my friend.
one is the usual: old & angry, waking
at odd hours & kicking the neighbors sleeping dog
into fits of delirium. he paints graffiti
on your sidewalks & has been known to smash
in the windows to your mini-van
when he is extremely bored & cantankerous.
the other is eternally beautiful, eternally young -
the stuff of dreams, or the source,
depending on your perspective. She is awkward
& frail, spending most of her time
convalescing in dark recesses.
but in her rare appearances,
you have been known to orchestrate
beautiful music together.
* * *
(c) Kenn Mitchell 2000
Kenn Mitchell - his latest manuscript - Humbly, I
Offer These Awkward Poems has recently been
accepted by Cedar Hill Publications (Mena, Arkansas).
He wishes blessings upon the person (or persons)
responsible for the creation of rotating shifts. Any poets
interested in exchange of poems, ideas or general chatter
can contact him: echopark@qwest.net * * *