Poetry in Our Time

Avocado Lovers

Blacker than the heated night,
they meet in secret
and fight each other
for the ripest of the virgin fruit.
Shameless, they strip down
to piano teeth and pin-dot eyes
that flash like beacons
and leer at the avocado trees.

There is something like lust here.

And they dig, and dig in a frenzy,
they dig and lay their seeds
deep under the trees.
They love the avocados.
They love to feel them slowly
and eat them without haste,
without waste,
without guilt.
They love to peel them gently
and indulge in the pasty taste
until their bellies bulge and shine
like their pregnant women.


strip poetry

one poem for each piece of clothing
she says so i read her some carver
the first poem is short but poignant
off comes my shirt tossed to the dogs
i count the many poems she requires
i quickly pick another poignant piece
and i am curious about socks after all
they are identical… now two poems
she says this is harder than you think


thin line

i dont understand this business
of anger i just
dont get it
i dont understand
the heat of this language
hateful words bang
bang gotta blame
anyone but
ourselves anyone but
us us
mean mister misters
gone and
done it again
i dont understand
the purpose of
this is my dilemma
and i find no comfort here



that day i torched all the poetry
i was a sick but determined man
i was looking for liberation like
the great bra burners of the 60s
in pajama bottoms at high noon
i dragged out the olive trash can
gathered up 29 years of poems
every one i could lay hands on
doused them with liquid starter
struck a match and tossed it in


on mars

we are a stupid lot
we are curious but
we are arrogant
we are proud
we are travelers
we are adventurous
we are warriors
we are taught to conquer
and vanquish all opposition
make them our prisoners
our slaves
or else we kill them
we are strong
we are taught to slaughter
we are persistent
we are stubborn and
we are prone to confusion
we are lazy
we are dirty
we are dreamers and
we are easily distracted
by those creatures of venus
the scented ones
who laugh and tease us
the ones who paint
their faces and appendages
we are struck by their beauty
we are jealous of their power
we are afraid of their spells
we are inferior and thus
we are convinced
we are clever
we are easily outwitted
we are puzzled
we are the first to admit
we are mystified and
we are foolish around them


Copyright 2006 by Jeffrey Spahr-Summers.