Four Poems by Four Authors
Dee Doyle • judi
goldberg
Ingrid Kincaid • Dixie
Lewis
from Naked Writings
PenHouseInk, Vol. 1. No. 1
ISBN 1-931002-06-1
PenHouseInk Press, 2001
Dee Doyle
Pit Stops for Your Mind
Hungry? Take time to stick your mind-tongue
into the sweet pulp of a nanosecond,
let its essence ooze into your curiosity
sense-buds, slurp it up like syrup, feast.
Sated? Then time again to zip
through your inner space roads.
Or, perhaps you’d rather park on the moment,
enjoy a comfy snooze at another pit stop
before racing off in thoughts
on the roads of possibilities.
judi goldberg
life
is rain and thoughts and the sound of the sky blowing up
your fingers in my mouth and my vagina greed
cracks in the sidewalk and the edifice slipping
the phone rings I know the news already before the harbinger
sour as lemon but mine true as the flood potent as rape
not death at all, life
simple as taking out the trash
hard as carrying wood up the stairs
complicated as walking a straight line
impossible as knowing without reckoning
which way is up
life plain as a road
plain as words making short shrift of their inexorable meaning
space occupying lesion bad enough
but like the choir eunuch innocuous
brain tumor an apocalyptic figure looming
steel blue eyes sunless face a close-hauled foe
a corrupt enemy of mine another vision
of me
Ingrid Kincaid
The Path
At dawn
the unruly oak trees
poke their curly heads
up through the tule fog
checking the sky
for signs of spring
By midday
the eucalyptus
dressed in ragged clothing
stand around in groves
wasting time
counting egrets
planted in the pasture
As evening approaches
the green grass lays down
covering itself with a comforter
of mustard and daffodils
while frogs croak a chorus
reminding the moon
it’s time to get up
Dixie Lewis
Where Does A Giraffe Rest Its Head?
It rests its head on the fog bank that lingers over the city zoo.
It rests its head on the morning breeze that dances through the
Eucalyptus tree.
It rests its head in the embrace from a Koala Bear.
It rests its head on the dreams of children who stop to count its spots
before wondering by.
It rests its head on the whispering sounds that come from the Tiger’s
pacing.
It rests its head on the baby Hippo’s cry for its mother.
It rests its head on the Boa Constrictor’s view from behind the glass.
It sometimes lies its head behind the Elephant’s ear, but it prefers the
random curve of its trunk.
It rests its head on the blue and white reflection that glides by on the
surface of the moat.
It rests its head on the pondering thoughts of the Gorillas.
It rests its head on the Polar Bear’s memories of floating on ice.
It rests its head on a vast plain the Lions often talk about.
It rests its head on the creaking sound the iron gate makes as it
swings shut at the end of the day.
When it sleeps it rests its head on the vastness that covers a place it
has never known.
In the dead of night it rests its head on the silence coming from
those who once knew what it was
Like to be free.