Dog-days
Night is so easy;
A crashing of arms
And bodies
Thrashing
For release;
So intense.
Yet i prefer my friends
Invisible by daylight,
Like my second wife;
A little Korean savage
Of kimshee death;
A warrior midget of
Great sexual compendium;
O, how we used to shun the day.
Now, i shun her.
Because i prefer the day for my own,
Walking the paths of morning woods,
Cedar miles and misty creeks,
As i chew the dog-bone of dog-days
In the solitude of hillsides
And tall grass pastures;
Than having to wear
The elegant worries
Of checkbooks, mad wives
And counting zeros
Upon my brow;
So, yes, give me the night,
And the drunken legs of virgins
Longing for frenzy.
Yes, give me the night,
Of slot-machines and obliteration.
Give me the night,
And great orgies of war and revelry;
Give me the night,
And the great knocking of minds against toilets;
Yes, Give me nights
Of big panties eating you alive;
Nights of swallowing dolls
That wear wigs and got balls;
Give me oblivion, hallucinations & public housing;
Give me bald and tattooed skinhead princesses
Who love and who suck,
And who,
Like good friends,
Ex-wives and poetry,
Vanish in the void of day.
© Lawrence Barrett; 2008
Lawrence Barrett, an unpublished poet, is a native Marylander who has spent his life drinking, writing poetry, and soldiering all over the world. He has an MA from Webster University and has, after searching world-wide for a home, decided to linger awhile in the El Paso area. Lawrence frequently participates in the Tumblewords workshops as well as at local poetry readings and open-mics . Lawrence claims his poetic influences to be Shelly, Bukowski and very, extremely loud Ted Nugent.
***
The Bloody Shoe
Each step became a burden
not even the glorious morning light
illuminated the path
Sweet scents turned putrid
the multiplicity of odors
overwhelming
Flowing scarves and torn panties
released a pleasant feeling
of nostalgia
It was the bloody shoe
that created waves
of nauseating smells
The earth contaminated
oozed bloody torrents
scattered hair
made its way
inside insistent nostrils
The urgency of the moment
released more sweat
more tears
more flies
around decaying bodies
in the dying desert lands
The dogs crawled inside
the shallow graves and howled
announcing a most gruesome discovery
The painful discovery
of another woman
mutilated by sub-human hounds
Nancy Lorenza Green September 2008
Nancy Lorenza Green is a Black Chicana from El Paso, Texas and Cd. Juárez, Chihuahua. Nancy is a community activist who focuses on women’s issues. As a writer and a musician, she uses percussion instruments and flute music as mediums of communication and cultural _expression. Nancy regularly conducts writing residencies for Tumblewords in El Paso, Texas. She has performed her poetry at at the Border Book Festival in Las Cruces, New Mexico and at the El Paso Women’s Writer’s Collective event for women’s history month. Some of Nancy’s poetry has been published in Border Senses and online in poetry.com. She is currently a visiting artist with the Ysleta Arts Alive program working with K-3rd grade students and their teachers in six Ysleta pre-k and elementary schools.
***
Recuerdo a mi perrito maltes
"copete", "copete"
te metiste en el soquete
llegaste a mi casa
con agua llene tu taza
con baño y espuma
al salir la luna
cortando tu pelusa
parecias medusa
te pintaba verde y azul
contento estabas tu
"where were you?"
aullabas cuando regresaba
corrias ladrando
con tu osito verde jugando
dormias en mi cama
y la llenabas de lana
tu sacabas a mi papa a caminar
pero yo te paseaba a rodear
papitas comias
de McDonald's, y sonreias
te pusiste malito
senti haber cometido un delito
cinco años en la casa
parecias de pelusa y masa
mi angel del cielo
te enterraron en el suelo
mi perrito cariñoso
siempre veo tu foto...
sonriendo con tu oso.
Chevalterre Nabil
23 agosto 08
Un trio de perros
"pow-pow" y "aza"
acostaditos bajo el kiosko
Y no les hables...
que se alborotan!
Uno chilla,
otro mea
uno huye
el otro te escucha
uno destroza
el otro se rinde
uno morenito
el otro blanquito
los dos hermanos
gemelos opuestos
complices peludos
juguetones y peleoneros
... pero luego
pobrecito "penny"
grandote y bonito
dulce y gentil
solito en el rincon?
nepas!
hablale y veras
que se cree chiquito tambien
brincando... revolcandose
mientras los dos chiquillos
se trepan sobre el grandote
consintiendose de tus cariños
By Chevalterre Nabil 23 agosto08
Karla López sailed the seas as a member of the US Navy after graduating from Irvin High. Upon her return to El Paso in 2002, she determined to pursue the visual arts and began painting on canvas, creating beaded embroideries, as well as exploring her heritage as a Chicana, an American of Mexican and European decent. Recently she has incorporated body painting and mask making into her approach to visual art. Her visual art, poetry and short stories can be found on websites: www.myspace.com/KLRabstracts, http://blog.myspace.com/KLRabstracts, http://groups.myspace.com/EPArts, on tumblewordsproject.blogspot and KLR Abstracts blogspot.
***
Closure
Are animals spiritual?
I never thought much about it.
Parents didn't like pets,
So only ever had fish,
Except for a little kitten called Smokey.
Smokey didn't last long.
Neighbors didn't like him.
Found him stiff and frozen
On my way to school one morning.
People said ground glass had got him.
My neighbor's dog kept getting loose recently.
Irritated me and made me uncomfortable.
But started me thinking about the spirituality of animals.
Kept getting the strange thought--
DOG is GOD spelled backwards.
Read Genesis in the Bible, and
Talked to an Indian Hindu woman.
Told her I heard Hindus believed cows were sacred.
She told me they believed all life was sacred.
Tried really hard to be less irritated with the neighbor's dog.
Felt less uncomfortable when I found out
She had just had eleven puppies.
Her puppies had been taken away from her--
Not enough room for them.
Figured she was mourning
And wanted to look for her progeny.
She's quiet again and not getting loose.
Are there animals in the kingdom of heaven?
Why not? God made them, too.
I'm pretty sure now
That's where Smokey went to.
Cathy Barnes 2008
Cathy Barnes writes poetry and essays. She participates and volunteers with Tumblewords Project, and is a member of the Friends of Memorial Park Library and volunteers in their bookstore. In a prior life, she worked as an attorney for people with limited resources. She just recently had a short essay published in the Christian Science Monitor.
***
dog days
© 2008 Mónica Gómez
1
my nickname was mut
with one “t,” my sisters’
concession to my humanity
I ran wild in the neighborhood
as much of every summer day as
possible to escape the
oppression of the house
when the thin yellow
stray was hit by a car
three houses up the block
I called my mom at work
crying, horrified
“blood is running
out of his head, mama”
I felt guilty
not wanting to touch the
still warm dog
I’d secretly fed Milkbones from
a box I bought
just for him
my son’s face bubbles blood
his left cheek and ear
slashed and punctured by
Queenie’s teeth
he’d squatted his little
5-year-old body by the
neighbor’s gate to
pet their German Shepherd
“she smiled and her eyes
turned red” he mumbles through
the gauze on his way to 50
stitches in his translucent
freckled skin
offers from friends and family to
toss a deadly filet over the
neighbor’s wall were numerous
and tempting
when I scratch my daughter’s dog
Roscoe emits a low growl that
becomes an impassioned
moan the more I explore
the black and gold
contours of his Rottweiler body
it scared me at first but now
we sing inarticulate
duets of guttural joy
when I sit up to leave him
belly up on the sofa
legs akimbo, tongue lolling
brown eyes glazed, we are
equally satisfied
he licks my hand and I am
humbled by his affection
fascinated by his graying
muzzle, black gums and
white teeth
2
heat presses against the window
an unpleasant yellow-white
holding me off-center in the house
I look sideways at the
glare off a dusty world I must
brave to get the mail
then turn my back
suck in the fan’s breeze and
work at the endless
minutia of life, thirsty for
deep shadows of
high mountains, hungry for
the salty wash of
the sea
in the sauna of the garage
a load of laundry flattened
by its final spin slops
from washer to dryer in
damp slabs
the next cycle commences with one
house slipper thumping
in the drum
I return to my desk with summer
thumping its slow cycle
in my chest, fueling my
quiet desperation
for a small boat from which to
study insects on a mirrored
surface under the watchful eye of
Sirius and a large moon
Mónica Gómez’s background includes writing, performing, music, martial arts, and media. As a teaching artist, she uses humor and creative writing to transform unconscious beliefs and behaviors into conscious choices.
