poems by Rena J. Mosteirin

Blog Archive

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Sugar and Bones

(a pantoum)

I'm going to paint an angel on a kite and fly by your window at dawn.
I'll tell you it's the end of the world
and I'll turn water into bourbon to prove I know what I'm talking about.
Let's fly away on painted devils and Christmas cookies sprinkled with angel dust.

I'll tell you it's the end of the world,
and you are equal parts sinner, saint and sugar addict.
Let's fly away on painted devils and Christmas cookies sprinkled with angel dust.
Tell that to the blood,

you are equal parts sinner, saint and sugar addict.
Go see the witch. She will know what to do.
Tell that to the blood.
If you want to fly, you must first shoot that angel out of the sky, she says.

Go see the witch. She will know what to do.
Drink some bourbon first. It will steady your painted hands.
If you want to fly, you must first shoot that angel out of the sky, she says.
Let's take your measure, in sugar and bones.

Drink some bourbon first. It will steady your painted hands.
I'm going to be wanting your soul.
Let's take your measure, in sugar and bones.
Do I have your word?

I'm going to be wanting your soul.
When the end of the world comes, will you be my miracle?
Do I have your word?
Lighthouse witches make bourbon eclipses. Take the vow.

When the end of the world comes, will you be my miracle?
If angels wore bells, they wouldn't be able to catch you by surprise.
Lighthouse witches make bourbon eclipses. Take the vow,
little mouse. The end of the world is stomping up the back steps.

If angels wore bells, they wouldn't be able to catch you by surprise.
By breathing you have cheated. The moon is huge,
little mouse. The end of the world is stomping up the back steps.
By your breath, it is the end, so cotton your ears and kiss my mouth.

By breathing you have cheated. The moon is huge,
and I'll turn water into bourbon to prove I know what I'm talking about.
By your breath, it is the end, so cotton your ears and kiss my mouth.
I confess: I painted an angel on a kite and flew by your window at dawn.

Friday, December 10, 2010

Six Ships

(First Ship)
Time was you could hear the skunks snoring, drunk
in the hollows, wearing my scarf for good luck, invention
was all new. Ways to make treasure, to make light and keep it, renewing
the value of the light in objects: rubies, emeralds, anything gold, pirate
teeth and dry whale bones breaking the implements of the working farm,
remember this used to be an ocean here, before the fish learned how to fly.

(Second Ship)
Hey, he's trying to make a bicycle that can fly.
It would have worked too, but he's got a screw lost, he's a drunk
pretending to think-up labor-saving devices, a man who's never had a farm
but somehow has a wife, and needs to keep her, so he must keep inventing,
oh the ideas that come from this man, this son of science and pirates!
Is anything growing in that dark heart of his that her light can renew?

(Third Ship)
Galloping consumption, eat your supper, influenza in the night, renewing
the disappointment of realizing that you will never grow up and fly
you might never grow up at all. Diseases come like angry pirates.
Once they have boarded your ship, they get blood-drunk.
What swords shall you swallow to slay them today? What medicines invented
so you may groan, old, learning the old disappointments of this old farm.

(Fourth Ship)
Sit, sew, snore. Time was you wanted to live at the lighthouse. Screw the farm
with it's promise of salvation. Make a bicycle built for two. Learn to renew
childhood dreams of going to sea. But you let go of the rope. Not an inventor,
not even in your day-dreams, not even in your night-dreams are you allowed to fly.
Someday you might be free. Maybe when you are older, when you are drunker,
grab on to the Northern Lights and fly, fly my drunken pirate.

(Fifth Ship)
Grab on to the rope, you collection plate pirate.
The church is drowning. Slip it round your neck. A new roof over at the farm
is needed, a roof and a hook to hang you on, you old drunk.
Kill you now, but the church needs a new cemetery, old one's full. Town renewal
I hear you knock. Why are you here? I can't teach you how to fly.
I'll tell you something though: the Northern Lights are my invention.

(Sixth Ship)
Pirates in rum, like it was a new invention.
Time was, nothing looked better to you than the life of a pirate.
Bicycles here are built of straw. You never went to sea. Never flew.
Learn about King Arthur's court. Learn how to make the farm
run better. Learn the Spanish word for flying machine. Begin your own renewal.
I gave you my secret. Put it in your spirit cabinet. Use the Lights to get drunk.

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Shivery and the Stag

With glacial intensity we have cut and carved these lives
in the middle-of-nowhere school for poets and critics, royal dreamers
we drink hot chocolate on snowy mornings from purple mugs
playing records, fucking, crowning everything with laurels and cold stones.

In the middle-of-nowhere school for poets and critics, royal dreamers
we find the right song-fit, the right mouth-feel for I love you
playing records, fucking, crowning everything with laurels and cold stones.
The royal stag darts by the thick glass of the window

he's got the right song-fit, the right hoof-feel, darling I love you
shivery, I reach for you, as
the royal stag darts by the thick glass of the window
flying out of death.

Shivery, I reach for you, as
frozen white ghosts flutter down and all our footsteps walk backwards towards us
flying out of death
all of our old loves dressed up in winter weather, come to sing carols from beyond.

Frozen white ghost flutter down and all our footsteps walk backwards towards us
we drink hot chocolate on snowy mornings from purple mugs
all of our old loves dressed up in winter weather, come to sing carols from beyond.
With glacial intensity we have cut and carved these lives.