A few poems from my 2009 notebook. Poems copyrighted by: DorthaKay Brown 2009

Misunderstood
Food acting like nourishment
Sex acting like love
like a relentless snake
slithering up your back
tongue licking your face
taunting you, slowly enticing you.
You are the dinner.
Moist, and tasty.
Thick and raw.
You are the feast.
No wine required.
No invite needed.
You are the delight.
Every persons deep desire
for death, for release,
every persons weight measured
and found wanting.

Want another hit?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winter Reckoning
Mornings as usual mama arose first
shuffling across hardwood floors
laid a hundred years before
from timber harvested off the land.

There were hard clanging’s
from the black wood stove
as mama added more logs;
releasing wisps of smoke that

danced through the old house
caressing ours noses as we
made way down the stairs
to lay our jeans across the heat

to thaw them and get dressed.
She went about her morning routines
as every other farm woman had before her
serving up hot oatmeal and fresh milk

in dishes left by parents
and grandparents before them. I
being the mouse of the family
sat silently as everyone else chattered

away. FFA, 4-H, Church choir
all events to be discussed made me
nervous and was just expected of us kids.
I obliged them but preferred my writing

tablet and pencil rather than being judged.
Mama would poke me to eat more;
said I ate like a bird and needed prodding.
How was I too know forty some years later

she was right all along, as I arise first now
shuffling across hardwood floors,
adding logs, and releasing wisps of smoke
clanging pots and pans to prepare breakfast

on the same wood stove; serving oatmeal
and fresh milk in the same dishes
left by parents and grandparents;
for my own children and grandchildren.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Would Be Author
What sort of man
makes promises his ass can’t cash?
What sort of man
lays around waiting for something to happen?

A promise is a truth, is a truth,
a lie buried six feet down.

How can he be so smug,
yet so reassuring?

He hides like a stow away,
begging for food.

I have to guard myself in the garden
so as to keep the weeds out.

I am sure he has lost his way;
but I don’t have a map for him.

The coyotes are hungry,

the goats a bellowing.

Though the season looked to be good

the crops didn’t fair so well.

So he stands at his fathers grave

trying to figure with reason

why the strap was spared on him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hemingway Jumped Into Me

I sat there in the well lit place
drinking coffee and minding my own business,
waiting for inspiration. I couldn’t have cared less who else was in there. No big fish was gonna bother me. Not tonight. Not now.

I had big dreams. Gonna write that next great novel. That next great poem. People were gonna know my name and be moved by my writings. Begging for more like I was some Stephen King who hadn’t been hit by a car yet.

The waitress came over and asked if I was alright. I said, “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”
She smiled, looking at the gun in my hands, handed me a newspaper, and pointed to the headlines. “Hemingway Has Been Reported As Alive and Well, and Living Somewhere in the City.” The article further read that the official reports say they just don’t know where yet.

I put down the gun, picked up my tablet and pencil and walked out of the well lit place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rain, Thunder and Liquor
Every year or so
I get way down
sad and low
confused
taunted
worn
wondering
when my last
breath will be.

Every year or so
he comes around
upbeat and probing
mocking
taunting
enticing
wondering
when my last
fix was.

He should know
since he is the
medicine man
gladiator
soldier
pilot
knowing
my fix comes in small
doses of poison
between
rain, thunder and liquor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The voices in my head

Give me a minute...the voices are speaking...


The voices in my head finally put sword to my throat to do this....
along with all those who have supported my writing for over four decades...
Watch the crimson droplets fall from my pen as I learn how to Blog!