Metaphors in motion
Some say we create our worlds
from memories made long ago
like the clam awash in pounding surf
on a wild and pristine beach
turning into bony jaws and frothy milk,
irritations into pearly teeth —
on to roaring motors quieted down
and car hoods opening,
robots that look like us.
.
Lucky Penny
Its head was bright and new
its tail stuck in a concrete wall.
When I gave up trying to pry it loose
the penny quickly faded
and its space expanded a thousand-fold
on to a lane of soft spring colors
in early 19th century France
where carriages rolled over cobblestones
and elegant ladies strolled
in high-waist gowns and bonnets.
All I had to do was take the step
but knew I might not have the power
to come back, being ambivalent
about changing habitat and habits.
Remembering the maxim
“better safe than sorry,”
made to order for such occasions,
I walked away, looking back to see
the wall close up without the penny
and another chance.
.
Brown Pelican
Winged dinosaur, master fisher
I dream you are an ancestor
riding rolling waves with your mate
and circling high overhead.
You dive, spear first
reassuring, over and over
into the hungry sea where I toss.
.
Sign of the Tiger
Though often alone, I’m seldom lonely.
Born under the Sign of the Tiger
I can spot a demon or thief miles away
but do not close in
unless loneliness holds sway.
.
The Fallen Angels
Words can freeze revealed truths
and transform meanings.
Following dogma
many grope towards the light
and fall or stumble,
warriors losing battle flags
sacrificed to profane causes.
Until they need to reach
far within and beyond
(sometimes called “suffering
and the last straw”)
followers fail guidelines
they haven’t sourced,
not unlike mothers bearing
children with malignant marks.
.
3 Chinese formula poems
Wafting in fragrance
a peach blossom falls.
Blown into the bushes
a love letter is lost.
No one sees.
***
Hidden in weeds
cat watches crow
pulling up a worm.
Overhead a plane purrs
trailing smoke.
***
Under dark sky
pink buildings glow,
a man looks up,
takes deep breaths,
forgets to hurry.
.
The Humanitarians
(prose poem)
We listened to WJC* tell us
to teach our children violence
is not a solution to conflict
while bombs rained on Yugoslavia…
Serbs, allies through two world wars,
had refused to kowtow to his ultimatum
and surrender sovereignty.
We listened to the soft, sexy voice
husky, pleading,
‘we have to help those people
in Kosovo before it is too late’
and then the bombs, bought
with social security contributions,
fell day and night for weeks, months,
until animals went insane,
until homes, bridges, churches,
hospitals became rubble and
children, arms and legs torn off,
longed for death
then the bombing stopped
and we heard his voice again:
‘we are a humanitarian nation
and cannot stop now;
we have nothing against those people,
but their leader is monstrous…
they must not have food this winter,
or oil, or medicine.’
We listened to the echoes of his staff,
the Media, NATO leaders;
we listened to our military tell us it could do
little to stop Albanian massacre of Serbs:
messages to all the world
not to defy the Humanitarians.
*William (Bill) J. Clinton
© poems by Joneve McCormick 