Ariel ~

Taking it's name from Ariel's Irish ancesters, this explores a looking back from modern Irish emigrants. Or perhaps it is Ireland itself looking back and missing them? Whichever it is, It is meant to be read with an Irish lilt.
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Perhaps we lack our purpose
...

When feelings boil over
and you get bit by Rover,
When you get mixed up in your roles,
and in your pants you find four holes
...

What a pretty ball you have …
Excuse me, that’s your eye.
Isn’t the grass so nice and soft?
Did you know that I can fly?
...

Today we talked
About life, school, Priorities,
The future and
Responsibility. Responsibilities
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They were just sprawled in a small pile,
Just lying.
About ten small, brown bodies,
Just waiting.
...

Come unbidden
In the night;
No longer black and white
But shades of gray, And I don't know the way
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The male ladybug
Rocks in the wind as it rests,
Hanging by grass stalk.
...

Written for the Silverton Poetry Festival's Verbal/Visual event in April of 2009. This was a project that pair artists and poets - this piece was inspired by a strong textually Southwestern mask created by a local Silverton resident.
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"…But still man must wait to enter.
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Gaia, what have we done?
Your frozen tears melt and run
Threaten to drown us.
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Half of my soul is leaving.
Willy … I don’t want you
To go.
I don’t mind change,
...

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When I was a rabbit
the coyote was at my door
leaving me shivering
in the dark.
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My friend (and poet) , Willy Whippor Willow Jr, and I would write poems together we called 'Shared Questions'; a format where one would write - in just questions - and the other could only answer in questions. This was the first.
PLEASE NOTE: the default settings of this site do not allow it to be posted in its original format. This is meant to be read as a conversation; I have used line spacing to separate the two different voices. The first voice is Willy; the second is Ariel.
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This is a 'Shared Questions' I wrote with my friend (and poet) Willy Whippor Willow, Jr. Willy currently lives in Fairbanks, Alaska.
PLEASE NOTE: This site default formatting doesn't allow this poem to be posted in its original format. This is meant to be read as a conversation between two; for this site I have used line spacing to separate the two voices.
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The 'Willy' referred to in this poem is my friend & poet, Willy Whippor Willow, Jr.
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I heard someone complain about something
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Am I innocent? Do I not share the guilt?
Perhaps the family is right;
Maybe I did give up too easily.
They cannot understand why I will not forget,
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The fog is in the fir trees,
Now dragging its slimy belly
On the bank.
Even the dirt keeps breathing
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Martin, I'm afraid
You're mistaken
Mankind is tragically flawed.
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Salem thinks I exist in purple -
the multitude shades of it,
feminine soft lilac
bold, saucy plum
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Keeping job requires
new skills today - balancing
the State on her back.
...