E.T.

Poem © 2015 by Joyce Mason

All Rights Reserved

You
vulnerable

both baby-faced and wise

underneath your biPAP mask

Outerspaceling trying to breathe

the thick Earth air

Precious embryo

lying without an ounce of protection

tied to your bed of disability

working hard to see the bars

as mobility props

not prison

You are my E.T.

my love

my life

my companion

my hope

not the least bit diminished

in my eyes

that see the universe in yours.

I’m so grateful;

you’re already home.

~~~

Photo Credit: © stuart - Fotolia.com

Spring Haiku

Poem © 2014 by Joyce Mason

All Rights Reserved

Mother Nature’s kiss

On the brow of sleeping seeds

Awakens all life.

~~~

Photo Credit: © Michael Schütze - Fotolia.com

Self-Doubt

 Poem © 2013 by Joyce Mason

All Rights Reserved

 Thank you for spinning me into self-doubt

your perfectionism a magnifying mirror

of my own.

My creations rendered ugly by your measure

words only a mother could love

the baby spanked with your measuring stick

before it draws its first independent breath.

I’m grateful for the preview

of the moments that will terrify me

when my uniqueness confronts others

more concerned with form than substance.

I’m better prepared.

I stood up to you.

Self-doubt will not be

the boss of me.

My child will go out into the world

find its own way

make its unique contribution

and if it wears purple spiked hair

with a gray flannel suit

self-expression and reverence for custom

will meet in an explosive synergy

a blast that leaves in its rubble

the best of all worlds

an explosion that might just change forever

the one where we used to (almost) live.

~~~

Photo Credit: © Aleksandar Todorovic - Fotolia.com

My Throat

Poem © 2013 by Joyce Mason
All Rights Reserved

Deep inside my throat
A cork begs to be popped.

Fizzling words, opinions

feelings

New Year’s Eve of Flowing Voice

spilling

celebrating

not stopping

till the last bubble bursts.

 
                 ~.~

The song reverberated.

My sinuses a sounding board

my lungs

a bellows.

A passageway cleared

to hit the high notes

for the first time in so long

I was a giraffe.

~~~

Photo Credit: © Andrea Izzotti - Fotolia.com

Feast

 We hugged every high hill
in San Francisco
tasting the world
in a fast stroll
climbing cement sidewalks
you eating eggs
at a breakfast
where I ate you with my eyes.

Later, we gobbled up
the radio waves in the car
chewing on California Girls
swallowing the bay
and planning our next meal
unbeknownst
to the Chinese check-out clerk
charging Safeway
with our bill of fare.

Not even
the museum
the Cannery
nor Ben Johnson’s
knew what we were going through
as we gluttonized
our particular piece
of the universe
in ravenous recourse
to the miserable malnutrition
we knew before Tiburon.

Not Bob, nor Victor,
nor the few human characters
dropping in for dinner
suspected this mad meal,
not even that crazy black cat.

Not even God Himself
noticed the teethmarks
we left on that week
or the empty cupboard
in the clouds.



© 2010 by Joyce Mason

All Rights Reserved

joycemason.com

Photo Credit: Contemplating a Beautiful City © Celsodiniz  Dreamstime.com

No Cry But a Quicksand

I threw myself down

buried my head

in a caseless pillow

A primordial ooze

melted down my cheek

in death    procession    pace

my face gorged in mascara molasses

crawling too slowly

down my arm

no cry but a quicksand

of gooshing

melodramatics

The Good Angel shouldered a smirk betting the devil
which drop would win.

© 2010 by Joyce Mason

All Rights Reserved

joycemason.com

Author's Note: No Cry but a Quicksand  is part of a three-poem trilogy I call The Sanity Poems, which also include Today I Saran Wrapped My Sanity and The Glass Blower and the Goat.

The Glassblower and the Goat

Watch the glasssblower

spin my sanity thin.

See my knees go weak.

Strange, that man

works on my head

in daytime nightmares

of panic mirage.

Thus cut, now tinkling

in air-conditioned breeze

my Chinese windchimes

balance

trembles in fragile fear

of a goat to come

rushing in

crushing

no tin-can in his terror teeth

comes bucking

shattering

masticating   (glass)    me.

© 2010 by Joyce Mason
All Rights Reserved
joycemason.com

Photo Credit: Forming the Glass © Ahmet Ihsan Ariturk Dreamstime.com


Author's Note: The Glass Blower and the Goat is part of a three-poem trilogy I call The Sanity Poems, which begin with Today I Saran Wrapped My Sanity and end with No Cry but a Quicksand.

Today I Saran Wrapped My Sanity and Unplugged the Refrigerator

You can see right through it
and it never sticks
like it says it should
(reminds me of men I have known)
so I stuck it in the icebox, pulled the plug, and hoped.

I think I just saw it oozing
toward my big toe.
Mixed with the grape
popsicle juice
and the smell of stale fish,
it almost looks green.

Guess I gotta clean it up
or move my foot.




© 2010 by Joyce Mason
All Rights Reserved
joycemason.com

Author's Note: Today I Saran Wrapped My Sanity is part of a three-poem trilogy I call The Sanity Poems, which also include No Cry but a Quicksand and The Glass Blower and the Goat