.................................
The garden
.................................

picture her silent
smiling
the cut grass damp beneath her spread skirt
mown daisies littering the lawn
sticking to her legs
green stains on the soles of her feet, on her thighs

the garden startles her
with its secret germination
sometimes massive scented blooms
erupt unexpectedly
from spindly hidden stems
or a delicate froth of tiny white flowers will spill
haphazardly across her path

he keeps cutting the grass
the lawn is his obsession
she sits quietly
her thoughts drowned out by the drone of the mower
as she watches him struggle for symmetry
edging the lawn with red scalloped tiles
clip clip clipping away at the border

picture her silent
her bare legs stretched out on the damp cut grass

 
.................................
Goat
.................................

My my, who who will sing goat?

the sing-song beard.
so barbed, so barbarous
the matted beard.
you get my goat
bothersome
meddlesome

who will sing my goat?
a mountain yodel
the dim clink of bells
on a distant slope
I'm Heidi, hiding
humorous
acting the goat

you get my goatee
bearded and bilious
my Billy boy
John-go-to-bed-at-noon
giddy goat

 
.................................
Eye kiss
.................................

I give you an eye kiss
pushing my lips against your closed lid
letting my tongue explore the socket
feeling the plump cushion of your eye
the dryish tickle of your lashes

I suckle gently
damping your fluttering lid
tasting the slight salt tang
around your blue eye
captured
by my soft lips

You hate the way I do it
the slippery wetness around the eye
the squirmy feel of my tongue
stoppit! you say
but you let me carry on.

 
.................................
Tagliatelle
.................................

tagliatelle
mushrooms with coriander
you ask me to kiss you
I lean across the pink tablecloth
the waiter is staring
my napkin falls to the floor
my lips meet yours
the white carnation quivers in its vase
a child is watching
the table rocking
a man is watching
our lips meeting
a mother is watching
our tongues touching
a boy is laughing
the whole restaurant watching
two women kissing
you taste
of tagliatelle

 
.................................
Her
.................................

Small particles, her dust, her skin
shedding onto me. She is meshing
into me. Her body loosening its boundaries
This is February. The garden is spiked with early shoots
bluebell, crocus, daffodil
dark bulbs rupturing beneath the ground

Traces of her like a watercolour wash
translucent in the rooms
her body is langorous and loose
her body opens easily
the indoor scent
delicate
pervading

 
.................................
Almost there
.................................

Holding my breath
I count to forty
imagining forty
not quite there
the edge of the number
cutting into me
My friend who is fifty
runs rings around me
while I puff and pant
on the cusp
She who is older
bowling along
effortlessly

Her sleek touch
tracing loose circles
stroking me out
soothing me
into a smooth loop
to coil in her bed
slipped
beneath her sheets
in her soft painted room
pink walls enveloping
our bodies

Holding my breath
I count her kisses
almost forty
almost there
imagining forty
from top to toe

 
.................................
The last year
.................................

I say to myself
I cannot change things; I cannot even try
with savage pleasure
the thoughts repeat
a bitter incantation
of denial

my lover, not yet fifty
her eyes of deepest blue
her voice a sweet whisper
cajoles me
taking me by the hand
she walks me over the scorched fields
the blunt stalks chafe my ankles
this is the last year of the burning corn
distant smoke rising and flames seizing the air
dry scent of ashes
charred stubble and blackened earth
she tells me I must look straight ahead
concentrate concentrate
and you will move with joy

orange flames cut jagged patterns
into the landscape
blue smoke drifts in flattened swathes
with toxic beauty
this is the last year of the burning corn
and things will change

 
.................................
Zoogirl
.................................

 
Copyright © Zoogirl
April 1997

...two poems in this room by Michael Ripley...
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