I. Uttered

On your tongue,
my name a signature
that flows like tied ribbons.

You lend me your syllables
sensing I am adjective.
I endeavor to be a verb.
You pronounce me.

I am spelled;
a gift from lips in tandem.

II. To tip a mirror

What paint would you spill,
if I had to pick the color?
Will it smell of roses
when I guess red?

Pedestals are dangerous,
like sleeping on silver platters.

You smile
and your dimples part
like an angels wings.

How dangerous is a cloud?

III. An eyelash for a wish

A sunburn on your eyelid
that learned to speak
blinks poetry aloud.

“Her eyes were listening,”
suggested the tears.

Yet it does not wash away.

IV. In sheep’s clothing

If I whisper welcomed words
will I woo you whimsically away?
A tilted chin and
shifted peripheral eye say,
“Indeed.”

A tenacious tongue
leaves me convinced,

you are but a tender crater.
I am the light of the moon.

V. Speaking of not…

They’ll poor their hearts out,
when pressured enough
by an insistent point.

Balloons are like men.
Full of air and
never wanting
to get
to
the…

Our conversation,
I’ve turned it to soup.

VI. An empty birch

A tree reaches out
to its neighbor.

Decades pass.

Not even the wind
can push them together.

VII. Ruffled feathers

Swans get dirty too, you know.
The weather doesn’t turn
the rain down just for this bird.
They play in the mud
and squawk at leering eyes.
They might act like a duck,
or even turn off the lights.
It’s all for show.
You are still a swan.

VIII. A watch tocks

The caw of a crow
hardly in the distance,
not confined and

echoing.

Ocean tides shifting
on jagged rocks
somehow sooth the mind.

Reassuring in their constancy.
Steady like a ticking heart.

IX. Devotion

Forgiven sins make for soft pillows.

In perpetual darkness
you hold a flashlight to my eyes.

I squint, praying I go blind
before the bulb burns out.

11/29/2010

Author's Note: To be hopelessly devoted is reason enough.

Posted on 11/30/2010
Copyright © 2024 Jody Pratt