Two New Ones

When someone asks me to critique their poetry I invariably am rendered speechless... how can one critique a message from the gods, or pick apart the messages they whisper to poets as they sleep? Still. Words are imperfect. So I ask of you what I cannot do for others. Read my two new poems, and let me know if you can see a way to tweak more feeling from them.


YOUR FIERCE TIGER EYES

In every season of my life
Fear has been
The cut that makes me bleed
Red as a rabbit’s eye, and
Just as frightened for
No good reason.

I fear every imaginary
Thing, but only
One real one… that
I might lose the center
Of my self that sings
And asks without guile for
What I see or need or want.

Monticore could drag me
Across the floor before
I would relent
Even if my flesh were torn
And spent, I would be less afraid
Of pain than of the tendency
To submit, to limit who I am.

So stay back a little, if you
Can, and let me get my
Bearings, don’t rock
The boat while I am
Looking into your fierce
Tiger eyes and loving them,
Still wondering if it’s safe to
Show my throat.


CALLING IT

The wisdom quoted endlessly
By relatives and friends is
That love is right
Around the corner for
Anyone who wants it,
Really, truly
Wants it, but
Everyone knows the lottery
Will roll in on tarnished silver wheels,
Seek me out with an embarrassment of
Riches before someone comes to
Love me. I

Know how to figure the
Odds, abacus-up my chance to call that
Valentine flock of turtledoves, and it
Is almost every bit the same as
Tasting a flavor so perfect that, once
Savored, hunger never comes again. Or,
As likely as sleeping a sleep so deep
That forever after one is rested, and
Can run with daycare toddlers, never
Out of breath and always ready for
More candy. Hah!

Like love will come by Fedex,
Glowing, perfect, costing nothing more than
Signing on the line, healing all
Wounds, ignoring the rent and the key
To the lockbox where the will is kept. Love
Doesn’t even know its own name but
I do. I am calling and calling and
Calling it.