Rooster Plates

© 2007 Photo by Sue Miller

Kind gesture of a neighbor--
never thought a man would do this.
His thoughtfulness, no matter
how small the favor.

He rang my doorbell--
a gift from his trip to Arkansas.
Four ceramic plates
smaller than my hands.

Each dish a different rooster
hand-painted in country
reds, browns, blues, yellows
black rims and solid bottoms
traditional American style--
something I might find
at a Cracker Barrel store.

I will buy four small hangers
display them on my kitchen wall
admire them while I eat,
singing in falsetto,
Cock-a-Doodle Doo.

Cafe

© 2007 Photo, Sue Miller

a patient Labrador waits for his owner
in a classic red convertible
parked in front of a small white cafe
in quiet Hillsboro, New Mexico
smells of hamburgers drift in the air

the driver inside waits for his order
we can't see him, he talks to a waitress
asking directions to Las Cruces
so he can stay for a while
he wonders if James Dean ate here

a few clouds dot the sky
floating like flying saucers
the blue road curves into a one-point
perspective, leading to somewhere
perhaps to winding roads
of the Black Range mountains

the driver just drove through there
lonely, hungry, he needs gas for his car
all he has is the dog, and a suitcase
of clothes in the trunk
anxious, he hopes for renewed
caresses in the arms of an old girlfriend

March Storm

Thunder cracks the blackened sky,
dropping booms on this desert valley.
Sheets of pouring rain POUNDS
the one-peaked roof like a million
laser beams scarring thin tissue.
Run-off patters, dances off vents and gutters.

Wind howls through cracks and holes
like dragging buckets through a stormy sea.
Claps of thunder walk away momentous
blasts again southwesterly.
The tempest circles north, rides with devils
on grenades, rips through whirlwinds
and back out again, echoes through the Doña Anas.


(Note: Originally written in 2005. Revised in 2007.)

Under a Scope

A bird's eye view,
many islands surrounded
by red beans and mushrooms
in a soupy fuchsia sea.

Perhaps these islands
are tug boats hauling
red cargo. Maybe
they are millionaire's mansions
or cockroach cocoons
waiting to be hatched.
The artist says
they are ladybirds dispersing.

Squinting, I see
white blood cells
with red corpuscles
floating in blood
under a microscope.

I suppose this is more appealing
to a biologist.


(Note: This was an Ekphrastic writing exercise where postcards were passed around. I wrote about the image on the postcard handed to me. First, the image looked like a map, and then it looked like something under a microscope.)

Red Hand

The wind brought
a gift today.
Outside my door,
a small hand greeted me--
lying in the dirt
scribbled with red Crayola,
excess paper cut around every finger,
a happy high-fiver
waiting to be found--
I set it on my kitchen table,
wishing me a good day.

I remember drawing hands
in my youth, turning
them into turkeys or plants,
decorating them with glitter,
painting them in rainbow colors,
one for every mood.

I imagine the child
who created this.
Did the wind snatch it away from her?

I will display it for her
on my refrigerator.

Peggy

I used to work
with a shop 'til you drop
kind of woman;
she went crazy at Christmas,
spent hundreds of dollars
just on her mom,
and her kids
must have everything.

The whole year through
she floated around
from office to office
singing carols
like a jolly Mrs. Santa
eyes glistening
as if she'd just bought something
and hid it away
for Christmas.

Restless

fine hair tossed with the blue-cased pillow
       crazy scenes twisted my dreams
sweat drenched my neck
       designer sheets crumpled every angle

my body turned, a rocking barrel
       alarm clock labored through the night
phone rings too early this morning
       tired eyes peep at dawn

Naked and Ugly (Art Student Days)

shock factor
experimental

naked female mannequin
milky white       blushy cheeks
strawberry jam
spread on its body

One arm up
fingers styled--
so-o-o-o-o-o conventional

gooey and ugly
my classmate
calls it art

insanity
get it out of here
kick it       drag it
out of the room
throw it in the trash

give me a still life
landscape       portrait
paint splashes
child-like etchings
anything
except that mannequin

Daybreak

The wind whistled at the moon
      raked every star like leaves
the rain poured a million tears
      stretched a river in flowing veins
thunder cut the clouds in two
      black night closed a torn sky
the sun spoke daybreak
      trees catch the afternoon

Chattering Teeth

I remember a professor
invited to speak
to us about careers.
He could not wait
to dig his hand
inside a paper sack.

Like an overgrown boy
he pulled out a toy
wound it up
put it down

a set of teeth
chattering away
bouncing itself
around in circles
clackity clack
smackity smack
falling off the edge.
He ran to catch it.

I forgot his message.

Today I think
of people like that
whose mouths
flap endlessly,
they gossip away
as mindless puppets
their words mean little
and wonder
why they fall.

I remember
falling like that
feeling low and worthless

yet somebody out there
a mentor or voice
like that professor
caught me and helped
me back to level ground.

New Orleans Clown

no, don't drag me into your world
your skit, your mime
the silent dialogue
of your white-gloved hands

don't make contact
with those painted eyes
or frown and smile
with that hotdog-shaped mouth

don't put me through a guilt trip
if I don't play your game
of catch and release
don't make me cross the road

I don't care if I hurt your feelings
you tricky man hiding
as an innocent under that clown suit
how do I know you mean no harm

Prisms

fun
for many hours
when we were young
we played with those prisms
rainbow colors bouncing off the walls
refracted light shining through from the sun
those entrancing slanted surfaced paper weights

Four Walls

Float to the ceiling
I'm light as a feather
my arms have wings
at first I lose control
bumping into walls
twists and turns
spinning me around
as a tornado
tosses wreckage
it scares me to death.

Like a baby bird
first learning to fly
I figure the balance
and slow my speed
level my arms
gliding my way
travel the room
around and around
without hurting myself
and then I wake up.

Floaters

My strained right eye.
Frightening debris
obstructing my vision.
Did somebody clip my eyelash,
and place it in my eye?

A hemorrhage,
posterior vitreous detachment--
a sudden blast
of venous fibers,
octopus tentacles
floating in my eye.

Panic
distress
worry
It hurts
pain behind it
like tissue ripped
from the retina.

That eyeball
feels larger than the other,
a marble popping out
of its socket.

Sleepless nights
anxiety
forcing myself to get more rest

fear of losing my eye.

Rain in August

I raise my window
God's musicians
play in the cooling rain
I listen

hearing
a steady waterfall
tinkle a running creek

raindrops rap in a bucket next door
as percussionists tap
timbales and tom-toms

combining different thump beats
booming base drums
hands ripple one finger at a time

I want to dance as I am--in the rain
like dancing on noisy cellophane
to crinkle at least for the night

the pail has its fill
drum taps take intermission
the sky keeps raining

rumbles echo from the southern sky
God's kettledrums
roar and fade as lions on hilltops
a timpani in God's symphony

POM-POM-POM-POM-POMMMMMM

Good sleeping weather
Goodnight

Enemies

Besides the defender, emancipator,
the samurai manifested by fortune conquers
each rival in the branded earth,
awaiting fundamental disclosure of their choices.
A solitary fighter, discovers the enemy within,
he twists and thrashes away, opposing the ocean.

The guardian and warrior, upon swallows of tides,
wrestles the rebels as dragons on fire,
flinging their swords in armor of Imperial ranks.
Like a farmer in arms, the single combatant
clashes with a barbarian over boundary lines,
defeating his foe since he is a true noble.


(2007. This was written for a local poetry challenge.)

Silly Girl

Some people believe they are invisible
They drive in traffic, mouths moving, fingers point,
but they are the only ones in the car, laughing;
or they pick their nose thinking no one notices,
or sing off key with the window down,
belting out to a song on their stereo.

I'm just as guilty; I drive down the road, glance
at my features in the rear view mirror, make faces
until I crack up laughing. One eye squinty, the other open,
my lips stretched out of place like twisted Play-Doh.
I release burbling air bubbles trapped beneath my soul.

I get that ridiculous gut feeling as a part of my innards
burst into jiggling belly waggles
an itch to become the fool I am. I can't help myself.
I yell cat meows out the window as loud as possible.

MEOW! M-E-O-W! PRRRRR-EOW!

There. Now I feel better.

(2007)

Exchange

the wind is a dialogue
between whirling thoughts
that follow my ambiance--
from places of veneration
to days of awareness,
from moments of merit
to times at fault

my thoughts drift through cracks
like a silent draft
floating on high
or spiralling low

the wind sighs
sweet sounds of life
as a sailing vessel
on a smooth course
gliding through water
exchanging ideas
between then and now

a conversation circles
back from gusts to whispers
speaking from various directions
what only I can hear
and keep confidential

(2007)

Black Out

I am a juice-lapping cat,
licking black bean sauce
from a #28 plate
under a flashlight--
storm ahead, no electricity.

I am a curious cat
peeking out a window
adjusting eyes in the dark
wondering what others are doing,
a nice cool breeze on my face,
a fly crawls along the window screen.

Flashes of lightning,
lights from cars
expose my living room.
Neighbors walk around outside
slamming car doors
speaking in Spanish
waving flashlights in their hands.
A child cries "Mama. Maammaaa!"
Little footsteps scamper
along the parking lot.

I am a bored cat
watching cars pass by
wishing to be
on the computer
checking email.
Instead, I will curl up
on the couch, go to sleep.

(2007)

Gathering

On a Saturday, tired from the day before
I forced myself to rise for the day's promises
duties chosen because I wanted to
made connections in rooms big enough
to expend my energies for something new
to feel known for a little while
discovered creations that others share
listened to their plights, joys, experiences
seeking influences for I will need it
soaked it up until it uplifted, then drained me
because some day I may be like them
sitting behind a table full of my craft
marketing my words printed on paper.

(2007)