THE WOMEN gather under the trees.
They bring gifts, food, and chairs.
They are gypsies and queens, oracles, saints,
Jezebels and jesters, healers, sages, and warriors.
And when the circle is complete, the magic begins.
Shyly, with dainty movements, they take turns,
shifting aside their robes to expose
missing limbs and gaping wounds.
The others gather close and peer, heads cocked,
eyes straining, and they chant,
"That is lovely, that is good,"
and the wounds stop weeping,
and they melt into scars,
silvery and light and beautiful.
Then the women lean back and laugh,
and they stretch, sensual and fierce,
like cats in the sun.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

White Chocolate Star


The prompt for this poem was "A food that inspires you."

Oh, delightful white chocolate star,
you tiny container of phenylethylamine
that wonderful natural monoamine alkaloid,
descendent of entactogens, anorectics, 
and psychedelics of yore!
You are the foundation of the 
chocolate theory of love and 
holder of rich raspberry splendor!
You modulate my neurons, 
make my heart race, and lift my spirits. 
My eyes light up when your chocolate-brown 
UPS chariot delivers you to me in 
your golden Godiva Chocolate box.
I ravish you!  
               --Agatha   

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