Shadow Cat

The Cat who leaps is not the cat who lands... or so they say.
More true this is when focus is on a shadow's play.
The feline leaping is of flesh and fur,
though at landing is an intangible blur.
The meow not from a shade emits-
as grimalkin elects to have her fits.
She sees a squirrel and gnashes it to bits
-In shadowland-
with hisses and fierce spits.
My cat is lovelier than her silhouette,
though she does naught to damage it.

(c) Maria Enns 2013 all rights reserved.

Capture

Just as I try to photograph a shadow,
it turns and mocks me to the ground.
What business have I to rely
on scoffing shadows,
of bottles I didn't drink down.

The same goes for tellings of stories;
I have to trust when it comes to the punch
that I will remember the point of the tale,
that I didn't forget not to eat it for lunch.


(c) Maria Enns 2013, all rights reserved

I Remember You

These warm January days, juicy with rain
remind me of summer nights, on my own
A Baltimore apartment, a loft more like
in another life, with dancing bones
and 'Mack the Knife' spinning on the table
working 'cause I'm able, 
Cat is in the pantry sleeping like the gentry
Cereal trails telling me who's been where
one lucky charm here, cascade of cheerios there
Love is in the air.


(c) Maria Enns 2013, all rights reserved.

Vacuum-Sealing via Peanut-Butter

Peanut butter and milk, or hemp milk as I prefer,

should always be consumed in the same sentence,

so as to prevent the throat sticking together.

Just because I referenced a 'sentence' does not make this 'writing', nor poetry,

nor worthy of reading-- it's because I am a woman,

that fact makes this worth reading. No, really. Because I am a woman,

and now you know what women think about, at least what this woman thinks about

at 2:13 in the morning… My mind floats to writing, to peanut butter-eating,

to preventing myself vacuum-sealing via peanut butter.

And you are reading this because I am a woman. This interests you because,

you are another woman, or you are not- and you wish to know how we function.

I think of vacuums, writing, peanut butter, poetry, sisterhood and street harassment.

Of expanding the themes on which we write and are read, as women who think.

"A Peanut-Butter Woman, are we now, Madame?"

All the nuts in the world could not shut me up, nor vacuum-seal my opinions.

And it is our responsibility to take interest in how each-other functions.

I believe that you are becoming equal to what I am living, my opinions.

My integrity holds you by the millions, rapt attentions to my good intentions.

Hear, I stand, a woman worth reading, because now you know how

I am thinking.

(c) Maria Enns 2012, All rights reserved.

Frankenstrong

It's a strange sort of overcast
Foreboding feels like my last
Sit and sort the furnishings
Fort made of my ligatures
Subtle signs and signatures
Didg-ing more to sleep better
Your denial lingers here.

What could plans have made of us?
Past, tense, jawing, gratiatus
No ambushes, hear me thus;
I want you I'm made of dust-
Call direct, don't make a fuss.

My love, the depth of which is certain
Unknown, and made to draw a curtain;
still holds a passion and a flicker
though you continue to grow sicker.

Giving up. I'm moving now
Holding up, somehow.

Tornado, get along.


http://soundcloud.com/brightsparklymess/frankenstrong

(c) Maria Enns 2012

Bloom

Blooming, bleeding, needing
Heart is shopping, head bent
Nose is dropping, 'motions rent
Broken and torn,
Brand new, but worn
Expensively pensively peering
in windows and inserting self
into trains and stations
revelations of
life lessons when
evenings stretch
ins and outs of
being a wretch
while aiming to release, really
singly, not easily
used-up all the 'never'
black speck in my white paint
white drop in my inkpot
a little or a lot
so he rescues me
because that's the way
they say it ought to be
and I run, unwillingly
deepening my trust
foregoing no lust
justifying choice
magnifying voice
this is who I am
just for now, I can.

Scream

My head is a dream

touch

My face is a map

blush

My coat is unhung, unstrung

Forever young

hush

He doesn't love

thus

I pull away

bust

could never stay

still

momentarily

for good or ill

but


copyright M.E. 2012, all rights reserved