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Minx Cluney

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Del City, OK, US

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Titanic Panic

by

Minx Cluney

You ate jasmine blossoms
in my secret garden
then hurled -- and I mean huurrlled --
them in my face
in a public place --
no care for pardon

just so you could pay your taxes
on the farm
no thought to all the harm
it would alarm
in me

You chewed delicate blooms
tearing bites by belching mouthfuls,
wiped your lying lips
not quite on mine
then flushed the bloody evidence
down my own thalassic toilet...

flew Titanic into panic
making me walk a perilous plank
so you could feed my black intestines
to the dolphins and the fishes

Being dolphin-food was toughest
since you'd played the perfect porpoise
convincing me
your slips of teeth
were mere imagination

'till you pierced
Holocanthus ciliaris,
locked jaws and drew my blood...

so I bled the ocean salty
for your cruel & pointless cause

...whatever it was


Pearl of Greatest Price

by

Minx Cluney

The seed
of this gem --
irritated into existence
by the flint-spark
of everyday
indifference --
will glow lustrously
on and on

with or without visibility --
its beam growing stronger
with each unobservant eye

until some far off, distant star
recognizes its aluminum illumination --
precious jewel
lifted,
offered zestfully,
without order or commandment --
adoring sacrifice
upon His altar

Now . . .
this pearl
can only be polished
by the most holy hands

never again left
in a pig-pen
alone and shining only
for cataractic eyes


Dig It, Ride It, Loud & Clear

by

Minx Cluney

Lyou close your eyes
and mine open-sesame
magic carpet ride
through silent screams

dreams --muffled, both--
within
without
with out
with

open
closed
in
out

with

without...

magic rides
on carpet

do you dig significance
from this poetic hole,
or is it meaningless
even to me...

and does it matter
either way?


Dig It, Ride It, Loud & Clear

by

Minx Cluney

Lyou close your eyes
and mine open-sesame
magic carpet ride
through silent screams

dreams --muffled, both--
within
without
with out
with

open
closed
in
out

with

without...

magic rides
on carpet

do you dig significance
from this poetic hole,
or is it meaningless
even to me...

and does it matter
either way?


The Best Will Always Be the Last

by

Minx Cluney

Sherry
can taste
even sweeter
than schnapps
if savored
by a real connoiseur --

especially when sprinkled
with pure cane sugar
from the tips
of a real fairy's wings --

I should know...
I wear a pair...

and never considered consealing them
beneath my little tutu

to savor such flavor
one must imbibe --

never-touched
is
never-known

only a fool denies palatability
of an unkissed confection...

The best choice
is the last choice,
at least it would be
for me

but then again,
we'll never know,
will we?


Web Sight (or Blinded by the Blight)

by

Minx Cluney

Today you changed
before my very eyes
from ultra-violet blue
to meanest green

no subtle hues of in between
creating doubt

no rays of light
brightly beamed
to raise the dead

but irridescent
none the less --
you at your best

flitting rose to tulip --

humming bird wings
beating basal drum

these baby blues
are tired from all the strain --

drained of power,
weary from the pain
contrasting colors
ignite inside my brain


Signing Off

by

Minx Cluney

This station
is coming to the end
of its broadcasting day

a test pattern
will shortly supersede the screen;
shrill droning drown the
once-restless clap-trap clamor

don't be alarmed to find
phones going dead,
internet interaction downed,
or eviction marshalls
slam-banging at the door

Souls vaporize every day
from microwaves
of solitary survival

If you should happen to turn around
and miss someone,

look to the left of Venus...

or under a freeway
collaged in cardboard

...I hear
that's where
vanquished energy gathers
seeking warmth as well as echoes of existence


Anticipating Art

by

Minx Cluney


Art calls me to his bed

He lures me there,
addicted as I am to mink brushes
dabbing roses in my cheeks

gold-dipped mountings
adorned with moon and candle light
frame his glowing masterpiece

And then he chisels away
both our imperfections --
metamorposizing marble mayhem --
buffing shine
into a bust of us

arch-angel --

creative genius at work,
at life,
at living

He lures me jump
for the worm
as it reaches my mouth,

with no regret
I take the hook --
jaws slamming shut
in exquisite pain
that only comes
from feasting after famine --

spasms whipple Rhine
as Art accepts his place
among the gods


Untitled

by

Minx Cluney

Art calls --
and I come


Night Needling

by

Minx Cluney

clapless bells
toss me, turn me
weevil weavings dampen
clamping
legs shut tight
as charlie horses leap-frog night-jerks,
racing
cramping

diamonique squeezed into shatters,
shards and slivers --
shivering night-sweats,
terror gripping, clutchng, choking
stuck on repeat,
stuck on repeat

stomach lurching, but unmoving
presence menacing and looming
just above me,
or inside me
can't tell,
can't say,
can't tell,
can't say

monarch pinned to marble memories
collector's prize, adorning satin
elves glue diamonique together
just in time for birdsong-breaking
so it repeats,
repeats,
repeats --
mockingbird
of soundless bleeting

needle stuck
just where the band-aid
used to hide the point of entry
where the paralyzing sentry
commandeered his seering raids

and oh,
the night is flooding repeats...
repeats repeat,
flooding long


Untitled

by

Minx Cluney

green light --
no flashing lights or descending gate --
but brake, she's standing there
at the railroad bus stop again,
wind-wound skirt could possibly...
he opens the door with an expertised swoop
of worn leather-gloved hand

She tries to smile,
to force her eyes to say hello,
but her teeth cave in
between the memory of her second grade picture
and momma's "for her own good" comments
about smiling on just half her face

When She takes the vacant seat in front,
the one that has the driver's view
reflected in the mirror,
She's too afraid to look.

He notices the shell she's wearing today,
how she slips it on & off
according to the number of crows flying west
at any particular breath
(no, not the pink shell peeking
out from under the purple angora sweater--)
the "tortoise bubble" that protects her from
realizing where She is --
what she's become--
who she might always be/have been.

She snaps back into fetal position --
survival mode --
remembers to live between each breath
that-takes-forever

He sighs, folding out the door
for a senior lady with a cane,
watches how She slides her pack over
to make room --
in open arm embrace
of something not so scary --
how She starts talking to this new rider right away
so he won't think She's got a thing for him
or something

"I like your hat...
where'd you get it?"
and stories pour from first one dishing ladle
then another.

He realizes She hasn't worn a hat
herself today
and her hair curls up at the sky
as if its laughing,
laughing with her
as She thumbs her nose
at the way things oughta be...
the only time he's seen her smile
is when She's walking to some other stop
along his route,
or sitting, eyes closed, on a bench
zoned out until the squeal of brakes
returns her to his world

She loses herself in jokes and jestures about lady's hats
as freely as recitations of birthing stories,
forgets He's listening,
straining to hear over another rider's
political frustration and weekend itinerary

As She exits
behind the cautious steps of the lady,
he hears them both mention transferring
to the 1 or the 15
going past the hospital

They take up room
next to each other
on the waiting bench,
pull their sweaters up
around their throats
to ward off unkindly drafts,
and just as the doors fold in
she looks up at him,
a thousand questions moistening her eyes --
all of them hooking him with their curling lines --
and he wonders...


The Christmas Card Bard Hits Hard, and Yet Again!

by

Minx Cluney

It takes
a special kind
of Grinch
to formulate a signature --
a signature with pinch
an inch
well below the belt

...a special mean of green
to send unseen
through friends and foes alike
to strike
a bell that tolls for me
instead of thee

...a card
created by a bard of such
-- not much --
assorted crud
(though, thinks he is a stud)

a mortal, yes
t'would he be cornered

not a diety at all,
but quite the other way --
no angel quest or play,
a scoundrel more
or less,
if less be more
and more be jest --
but best is for the many
not the few,
perhaps not you
and certainly not me!

No Christmas card
this year, my dear, as
last, and last again
into eternity --
to be
or not to be,
the hour is now,
but comes a morning new
with frosty dew
upon a stamp
of disapproval
meant...

meant....

yes! twas meant to wound,
insert a foil,
make boil --
a festering pit of pus --
disgust
to set aright revenge
of something long ago
imagined

-- not to know --
or care
but to be shared afree
to only one,

to me!


It Came A'calling on Xmas Day, on Xmas Day 2000

by

Minx Cluney

A tale was told
on Christmas Day,
not black or white,
but simply gray

a tale as old
as grass and hay,
as flammable
as hair spray

Seems once there was
a germ or flu
'twas spread through nights
of being untrue,

no oint'ed gauze
or fabric glue
could do a damnable
thing for you

this germ, this worm
this cancerous curse,
maligned, tormented,
me worse and worse

proclaiming firm, through every term
the bug was strongly unwanted

"Keep still, keep still
you verminous plague!"
-your song rang loud
into the crowd-
"I'll kill, I'll kill
all nine of your lifes,
with kindness
followed by "stake" knives!"


No Place Like Home--Feb. 6, 2001

by

Minx Cluney

911

phone ripped
heart ripped
again
again
anew

again

flashback:
knife slicing through
bedroom door
held shut
by adrenalin,
sheer adrenalin
to survive

not to tell
ever

until today,
as the silver
drops down
to wound again,
this time
the last time
unfinished parental discipline

bell rings...

home is now
and forever
tainted by cops on Newport Dr.

neighbors run to see
if the sweet little ol'lady is ok

unaware
it is the prodigal
who almost became the fatted cow
at the homecoming wake

who now sits
beneath star-memory
arabian night,
full with another hopeless moon,
howling in the wind,
crying to be heard


Grave Desire

by

Minx Cluney

Before the ground
was turned,
she visited

trudged through ice
across the miles
to see
with her own eyes
that it was indeed finished

no waiting
for patted topsoil,
much less spring

tromping soldier-like
across eastern hills
past Devestation Lane
beyond Leave-Him-Alone Highway
far from Point of No Return

just as she did so many moons ago

when she slapped my face
with my own used under garments

turning me inside-out
confetti in the wind
outside speeding car window

howling in the night
that never ends

She is determined to see me under
this time,
since the last attempt
merely made me stronger

but this winter
is different

no welcoming wind
blows across the plain
through communication wire

She spins steel-wool web
around him and his,
making sure escape
never lies
inside
crystal balls
again

She visits my grave
still
every time he stirs
inside cohabitated cocoon

making sure
no earth
has been disturbed,
no return possible

She keeps
the Goddess down
away from him
as long as she can

but here comes
the spun,
shovel in both hands
to see
she is undone


Dearest Valentine

by

Minx Cluney

your arms
never empty,
never cold
but always
home sweet home

eyes lighthousing--
drawing this ship
safely home

to Yaweh,
Shekinah glory

earthy eden paradise
of active acceptance,
adoration,
Tom Petty nights
only interrupted by crowing cock

If you were mine,
you'd never know
torrential winds
buffetting body, soul, or mind

...only gentlest jasmine breeze caress
pressing you
from all sides and corners
at all times
in every way,
as you needed

no matter the distance
between stars or planets

regardless of other ties
or pledges

You could
have it all--
both--
for the pearl
of mere knowledge
that you are
mine
in spite of any other


Moonlight Magnets

by

Minx Cluney

One end is positive,
the other negative

spinning
in random orbits,
sometimes
we draw close,
but (+) to (+)
or (-) to (-)

our own
pestilence repellant

...ah,
but there are times
we butt (-) to (+)
like the twins
we were destined to be...

and the puzzle comes together finely,
becoming a perfect 8,
no beginning or ending...
a one-sided journey
through galaxies
and beyond

completing,
always completing


Beholder

by

Minx Cluney

As I sachet
through the crowd
I'm aware
of his awareness
of my desire
to comfort

I feel static
reach across busy heads
touching me
secretly
like you once did

He wants me
here
now

but my eyes
keep searchng western skies
for signs,
as moons rise and set
without...

tumbling tides
ebbing
within me

Would it bother you
to ignore me
into the arms
of an alien
surrogate?

With his arms around me,
would the sun set forever?

In my dreams,
I fly across
the mountains,
watch over you
as you milk cows
and collect eggs

You never see me,
never look for me,
and never call out my name--
but I return to my bed
screaming yours
in a continual attempt
to awaken you

His eyes
give me sovernty--
re-establish my kingdom--
crown my curls
with priceless jewels--
grow wings through my dry shoulders

like yours use to
brand me
when you thought
I wasn't
noticing

Waiting
has unleashed
tornados of volcanic eruption
in me--
it is a word
I now delete from my vocabulary
as I fly toward light,
toward him,
or other eyes
that find me--
meet me--
recognize my angel face
without shame
or contradiction

How quickly things change
when destructive words/phrases
are detonated...
like "waiting",
"nightmare",
"end-of-the-world,
as maybe
only I knew it"

For too many seasons,
I've wanted

to know the answers
to all the questions

to hear my name whispered
into a phone

or to open a door
and find you
there
for me

I need to love...

it is a call-of-the-wild--
haunting howl
of my wolf spirit-child

If I can't
be with
the one I love most,
should I concede
to loving any one I'm with?

I need to love...
without ridicule,
or warnings...
or waiting

Is it so bad
to love?

The stormng west
seems farther away
every day
that passes
without rainbows

As I watch poisonous snakes
devour the shells of mice;
dancing ties
strangling strangers
with messages;
co-conspirators unmasked
before an audience

What if
He takes me
into his life
as you hitch a ride
to my doorstep?

Would you be
understanding,
loving and kind,
anyway?

Would you wait
a hundred moons
for my return?

I end this pondering
to sleep once more,
and see where dreams
send me
tonight...
tomorrow...

or always


A Day to Remember

by

Minx Cluney

not one
but two
pairs of eyes
beheld a true vision
of me
today

beautiful eyes,
both he and she,
touching me loudly
without making a sound

silent seduction
renaming me "Special"

lifting me up
to adorn holy pedestals
adding me
to portfollios
of Renoir passion

I accepted both,
perhaps too easily,
eagerly,
dry as I was
from the long arid drought

welcoming eyes
greeted their need,
bedroom eyes, I've been told

My arms are slowly opening
to the new--
my back turning from
the aging mirrors
of memory

...all eyes
not yours
now find a way
to penetrate
my practiced guard

bit by bit
breaking me
into relieved submission

or not


Breath Takes a Holiday

by

Minx Cluney

one last whine
of escaping breath
whistles past taut throat
of long-ago
laboriously blown
birthday baloon

one last whisper
of cotton-candied aspiration
wheezes through throttled rubber neck

then sunset is extinguished
in ocean mire and muck
no more to rise--
baloon or sun--
hope, or angelic arrows

the air
now dissipating
fills the ethers

condensation--
soul's release
now set free
to be disguised
in yet another
jar of clay,
perhaps a few millennium
around the bend,
or a million planets away

... no different from
miles and messages
moods or madness
played out this summer's tour

When a candle burns
it is eventuallly consumed--
nothing left to light--
not wax nor wick--
no sputtering flicker
to spark remains--

just ashes

and ashes - to - ashes,
you shake my dust
from your high-kneeing boots;
high-five your foes
{costumed as friends};
and shower-snuff
the only flame
that might have saved
your nazi soul

in this
or any other
incarnation

The Book
ends with "So be it"

...and so...

AMEN


Bottom Line, Last Stanza

by

Minx Cluney

I heard
echoes
of mute rings

throughout
dusty decades
of wandering herds

...saw all lines
unwritten
and betweens

still

never
got the message

--bottom line: there never was one

("Good-bye, Sweet Prince of RC")
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