Thursday, September 28, 2017


Following my divorce years ago, I met with a counselor to sort things out. She told me, “You have a beast inside you – what are you afraid of?” Her question led to my first book, The Beast Speaks, where I explored a new voice. Below are the first few poems from that book.

        The Beast

What I'm afraid of    I replied is
that when the beast    emerges from me
from my chest    from the pink tunnel
of my throat    as I shout
until tissue bleeds     and the beast
lunges out creature    from a horror movie
from peyote vision    Celtic illuminations
from tenor sax     bourbon dreams
its blood face lunges    and devours me
turns beast fangs     not against bitches
but devours me     as I devour myself
when the shout beast     bites hunks or
swallows me whole    I chew and am swallowed
in the beast throat     from my throat beast
chewed blood slime    until I'm safe
in the gut of my beast    throat child
to stew in belly juices    wait to be born
in the beast's throat     as a bird.

        The Beast Speaks

Don't you wish I would come
a fetus with fangs like the creature
in Alien ripping through the chest
at dinner to the shock of crewmates
who would not, at first, kill it?

But no.  I'm here, a beast who is,
let us say, in control.  I need
not come in a bloody burst, in
greed, in passion, with the volume
turned up to an unpleasant level.

The part about the bird--a phoenix,
perhaps?  Or blood.  No. I'm reasonable.
I just want people to get along.  I work
hard at my job.  I wear nice sweaters.
I exercise moderately and eat well.

        The Beast Delivered

Winter darkens the cave early.  He
paces the cold floor, listens to rats
at work in the walls, to the drip
of rain from moss.  Again.  Thinking

     deliverance   yes the secret
     warm rush when I crush
     frog  apple  face   the jag
     when I do my killdance or

     spy on couplings from snowy
     yards   knowing I'll be inside
     taking my turn next

     deliverance   from fur
     from claw into a snap
     of flame   into howling
     mouth round as the moon

Content, he washes a few dishes,
fluffs his straw bed, listens again
to rats and rain, curls into himself
against the cold, prepares to dream.

The beast takes

wing above dame's rocket, yarrow,
wild daisy, mustard, leaf spurge,
hidden white flowers delicate
as lips.  Its claws, fresh meat
jammed into last week's gray kill,
curl brown but black tipped

away from the wildflowered field.
The beast cruises, wings humming,
low over the beeless meadow,
hovers, now gently lowers
its rhino bulk, its tusked snout,
slavering, to probe the delicate

flower curves, rims and folds.
The heavy tongue, hairy, touches
pollen dust, drifts pistil, stamen,
caresses.  A beast in May flower-
tongues, wings a blur, and clumps
off to some hole some where.


I slip across frozen bog to
the riverside nest   strike
bluegreen mallard    throat
feathers   jawcrunch   bone
haul to woodsedge my flapping
load   beside junipers  I
quicksnap head and pause
in the drift of down

Grinning I chew the feet
bill   the small skull  eat
eyes fixed on foxbeast me
I leave for you meadowalkers
feathers   grays   some
half blue   white tipped
windtickled down   bloodless
bonesplinters   a ducksplash

1 comment:

  1. You are a brave lady.You are strong enough to recognize the beast inside you and also have enough guts to fight against that beast.