Constance

As flint sparks steel
Igniting a flame with a squeal
The machine’s pistons are firing again
At something churning within
As if love could be reduced in size
Nope, it just opens my eyes
Even as I can’t touch it, I feel
Weak in the knees, not at church, though I kneel
Laughing and crying all at once
Not being able to eat my lunch
It has nothing to do with mail or a package
I said, it has nothing to do with male or a package
I don’t know what else to say
Other than it’s constant
And I feel the same way
(Robert saw me kissing Jimmy across the fence…)

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Hand-pecked

Why is everyone in a trance?
Whatever happened to the dance?
And some of the romance?
I’m a sexual intellectual
Provoking feelings contextual
As I eavesdrop on negotiations
Between parties with association
I pity the hen-pecker as well as the hen-pecked
For one wants the money
While the other’s keeping check
And the hen doesn’t know she could be free
While the rooster agrees to hear her plea
Together they care across a round table
That spins like a record on a turntable to no avail
It’s hard to tell if progress is made
Doesn’t seem important nobody’s ‘getting laid’
If only they could see the big goose egg
The golden goose produced
So, then me thinks of how cutting loose
Was the best solution from the noose
Even as my soul wants to live life spontaneously
It reminisces about all this mediocrity
And so, I just rise every day as a phoenix
When really, I’m much more like Felix

Cans

These cans are awfully big – I don’t see how they’re missed
Garbage piles up – on this medieval canvass
They make a mess – I clean it real good
It stinks all this trouble they conjured in the hood

Needles, Feces, dead Animals
Sometimes just resting Canibals
Yes, they eat meat, the Flesh Eaters
Too old to just lick Mom’s beaters

Yeah, this poem’s kinda tacky
But that job I couldn’t quite hack-eee
‘Twas constantly moving getting orders
Barked at while we swept the borders

And under somewhat beneath cars
On the side and then we saw stars
Since the hot monkey suits made us sweat
That job only left us really wet

Yes, greenhorns we were and we stayed
Since our only job was to obey
But we took what we got
Sore muscles for money…not too hot!

Yes, I know I’m not Paris
But I don’t need the harass
Or the coaxing, if you prefer
Not much new…another turd!

 

Octurnal Conscience

Love is an ever-knowing mindfulness
Love is transcending-it’s never-ending
Love could be a noun or a verb
And it flavors life up like an herb
Love shows up at work or at play
Accepting everything put in its way
Because they’re all simply minor distractions
Which delay us taking action
In the midst of building or dismantling
Love is busy bantering
Happily cheering, but sometimes jeering
One can’t really harness it since it’s elusive
Even as we desire it to be, it’s not quite that exclusive
But it’s there every waking hour
For all the universe’s changing power
Love could talk story endlessly
Or be as a silently growing tree
Love is the energy flow as well as the perception
Love is quick to guard against the falsehood of deception
Love is a threatening promise for the doubting Thomas
In its weakness, it is strong
Despite events going wrong
Mostly, it’s an eternal song
Helping us know we still belong!

For Laughing Out Loud

Oh, for laughing out loud
Why do I avoid being proud?
Been a ‘Yes’ woman so long
Rising above what is wrong
Earth girls are easy, so they say
But I’m a woman on the moon today
For I’ve been once bitten
Under the sea while eating pecan pie
And that Grinch stole Christmas
While I visited Copper Mountain in my pink cadillac
So, I’m sitting here with me, myself and Irene
Feeling dumb and dumber to an extreme
Even the incredible Burt Wonderstone
Had some dark crimes, don’t you know
My cold dead hand reached out
To kill that itsy bitsy spider
I’ve done my time on Maple Drive…or was it Mallard?…
Anyways, I heard that Peggy Sue got married
Could have been Lemony Snicket, Simon Birch, or Rick Stanicky
I can’t recall…
The cable guy stopped by to sing me a Christmas carol
It was all in good taste!
If Horton hears a who while watching the Sex and Violence Family Hour,
He’s probably a Liar, Liar or had a drunk, historic Christmas
There was a Presidential reunion today
And his address was, ‘I love you Phillip Morris’
In that dead pool containing eternal sunshine,
The spotless mind had fun with Dick and Jane

I wore a rubberface mask to the Nantucket Film Festival
Even Batman forever felt dumb and dumber
The bad batch of actors were rubble kings
Ace Ventura was able to capture Mr. Popper’s Penguins
Mike Hammer was able to kick ass too
Bruce almighty had a superstition about the number 23
And while you’re all out watching the Truman show
(or any other show for that matter)
I sure hope this poem will be included
In your finder’s keepers collection
(for laughing out loud!)

She Wants to Multiply

When we imagine sleeping with the one we admire,
Can they feel the warmth of our fire?
More importantly, would I ever tire of that desire?
Seems some imagination is transcending
Into a blissful blending
Of colors, shapes, and taste
This vanity is not all waste
This love is an interconnected menagerie
And I don’t even have to wear lingerie
Because hidden OR clothed
Doesn’t change its hold
Even as we let it go, it still lingers on
Because it’s in all of our songs
Singing us lullabies as we sleep
Therefore, love is something deep we keep
How much does He love me?
It’s multiplied over and over…’Two times, Baby!’ as Jim Morrison would say
Even death couldn’t quench that fire
It’s always LIVING as a bird on a wire
Yes, I write of an ideal utopia
Yet, it’s a bird that flies to copy ya
And why should I want to change the original?
When deep down inside, I’m aboriginal
And sometimes in this civilization,
There’s much too much marginalization
Now, God made me a wordsmith to bring us together
And I don’t really care much about the weather
All I want is for my loving endeavor
To bear fruit whenever and wherever

Smash the Rearview Mirror

Smash the rearview mirror
Cut it into bits
I just can’t look back
To all of that shit
A constant reminder
Of how mean I got
Now I try to live my life without doubt
Because facing the music is tough
The music could be shut off
Smash the rearview mirror
Lust and love are close cousins
I want to roast in the oven!
I’m not a magician
I just don’t listen
Sorry I’m a brat to do that
Smash the rearview mirror
I do not mean to be a walking Drama Queen
Or the Queen of mean
So if I could just not go out anywhere…
that would be really keen
If only I could disappear through spontaneous combustion
Smash the rearview mirror
Yet nothing ventured, nothing gained
Here I am, I still remain
Guess I’m high up on a pedestal
But what goes up must come down
See you downtown!

c Bonita L. Christensen