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Elysabeth Faslund

Katrina: The Shrimpers Tried Their Best

Twilight sprinkles mist over October waves...
Ribbing docks, straining through nets...
Into sunset boats waiting for tides...
Wishes of months vanishing in weeks...

When brown water seethes, barren
As ash...no one knows, as ropes loosen
Again...
The night harvest will be dreams in waking
Sunrises...nets empty, dripping water...

Bridges open, shut, open once more...
It is only October. Cold. Seagulls keep
Boats company by sunset again...
Flying, sweeping, well fed...

On their own, soaring down on unwary
Fish, too-slow crabs...empty shadows
Shred into webs of too-soon
Family Holidays...yet,

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I Hear The Cat. Listen. Listen....

If I told you hawks' secrets,
Should you listen...
If I whispered willow shadows,
Would you listen...
If I sang the ice of fire,
Could you listen...

A cat lay soft on garden wall.
A cat then gently slept.
A cat play-pawed the dawn
A cat Night's ending kept.

If I spoke the sands of Sun,
Would you turn away...
If I chanted mist to life,
Could you turn away...
If I laughed your nightmare fears,
Should you turn away...

A cat lay soft on garden soil.

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Katrina: Lady Of The Lake

And in the morning when the rain stopped shining,
The Lady picked daintily over waters tainted
With twisted wrecks of once-high trawlers.
The North wind blew flecks of lilies, pieces of
Sheds...crowding waves of last October.
Last October, Halloween month.
Tricks of hope, treats of tears.
Blue, blue string clouds. Sun shining on
Bags of ice, trucks of food.
Sagging faces, waiting in line. Whining children
Hanging on luck of one bowl of Cheerios.

He told the Lady to go home...she was not needed
To stroll the waters, hold the tides.
That, she did.
And through the murk Her voice went out,
Called Heaven back, biding, waiting...
Until Heaven was furious...boats' hulls' brimming.

Mortgages know nothing of Heaven, or a

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The Torture Will Be Sonnet-Drip

'Aha! Game's afoot, Wats, ole boy, ole pal.
What's this? Words on the people-page,
which had no use for them?
Agog! Magog! Then why did readers
read that rubharb? Aha! Googa! '
Puff, puff, shuffle of schematic rhyme,
time, chime, not fine, and definitely
sublime, went off the balconey, haughtily.
'Sonnets' upon us! Run from the dulldom!
Ten speed! Always the ten speed! Where's
the racer with fresh motion, ignoring
the notion 'sonnets' sacred cow must
be fed with musty, rancid, green-globby
fungus of yesterday's literary world? ' '

'Wats, here's the plan, the ruse, the
gag for the 'in a literary rut' writers....
in the dungeon with them all!
And, slowly....so slowly....drip words
of the 'sacred cow' upon their forehead.

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For My Father... The Slip, Falling

The slip...falling...
Our Father. I beg
The begging. Kneel.
In kneeling, blooded flesh.
Bloody hands' supplication.
Do not lift my soul, eyes, heart.
Not now. Not this day.
I will not pray, but
Our Father...

Hundreds of staples in my
Creator's legs...
Eyes open to ceiling, tears icing
Cold, stainless...stained
Pain.
Sheeted, still form.
Cold hands.
Our Father...my Father-
Why?

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Parody Of John Keats 'On The Sonnet

Parody to follow, but first, the real deal sonnet by John Keats,1819...
----------…
John Keats sonnet.....'On the Sonnet'...

If by dull rhymes our English must be chained,
And, like Andromeda, the Sonnet sweet
Fettered, in spite of painéd loveliness;
Let us find out, if we must be constrained,
Sandals more interwoven and complete
To fit the naked foot of poesy;
Let us inspect the lyre, and weigh the stress
Of every chord, and see what may be gained
By ear industrious, and attention meet;
Misers of sound and syllable, no less
Than Midas of his coinage, let us be
Jealous of dead leaves in the bay-wreath crown;
So, if we may not let the Muse be free,
She will be bound with garlands of her own.
----------…
My parody.....'On Rhyme and Money'

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Fairy Tale Sillyosophy

Hey diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle,
The Brahma jumped over the moon...
Got into Stephen's territory and was
Classified a comet, an extraterrestrial...

So much for cows.
But, the moon jumped over the Brahma,
And was classified as a reincarnated
Butterfly...careful who jumps over who, here...

Fairy tale, fairy tale, what have you to say?
Wishing on a falling star...what has that to do
With rings and strings and ceiling wax...
Ceiling wax? Uh, what is ceiling wax, anyway...

Integral portions of molecular structure...
Little Red Riding Hood went to the shore,
Little Red Riding Hood met Eliot's mermaids,
But they sang each to each, ignoring her...

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Jonah-Woman

Who are these white-capped jesters...and jackals
Who have placed me in the belly of a
White death-stinking fish?

Not this time, not Jonah-time fish.
Not walking out safe from Jonah's fish. No.
Not this time.

The jesters and tittering hyenas, with their night-lumin
Eyes, who tiptoe soft through the loud-hinged door...
And shut it quietly-quick behind them.
They are breathing to find me.

They safari hunt for me...beating the bush-room.
Mine. I am hiding in the pillow, in the chest of drawers,
In the air.
They can't find me with their needles and needle-quick
Pills.

The rancid, disinfected fish is down the hall, around the

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