I'm posting some of my work, since this is the place to do i

Here is some of my work. It's copyrighted - Mariko Frost, 2003. So don't steal them. Stealing makes you blind.

Cookie

My tongue pierces the crack,
Wavering back and forth
Over the soft slightly resistant cream
It's too much for me to take,
And I swallow,
Then bring myself down on it, taking it in all at once.
Satisfied smacking lips meet,
licked clean by probe-like tongue,
Vertical machine jaw,
Happy mouth,
With the swallow a sigh of relief,
The sensitive muscle disks beside my eyelids
Tense as the rush of sugar hits my brain,
My eyes blur slightly with delight.


Versailles


The lines of spike-shaped trees exacting out the horizon
Reflected equally, evenly, in the square water.
incessantly
curved pathways dotted with lemon trees
Manicured, in fancy pots.
To the West, vineyard stakes carefully measured, consistent in height, width, character,
Growing perfectly spherical fruit.
Did King Louis XIV think that by dominating nature, he could dominate everything?
Did he take his lover's bush in his hand, and trim it into equal symmetrical shapes,
Believing this would make him her ruler?


The Clock

The clock, a living, talking, well executed recipe on the wall
Its metronome tick, soothing bell, sensuous body,
Elegant and expensive synthesis of craftsmanship, culture, and form
Made by
Historically precise eye-loop gadget working German mechanic
A Careful tending, balanced, systematiclly abrasing yet oil-soothing English wood-smith
Caressing touches with liquid filled brushes from a classically trained French painter.
The sensate famliar tools and steady, accurate hammer of an American metal smith
Assembled by New England laborers on its anniversary year.
Sold to one mesmerized ancestor
Passed down through generations,
To hang on the wall,
Ticking away this life's time
So we may know when to pass it on to the next.

A Used Kleenex

Still warm,
Crippled doves in flight
Drastic canyons of light-shadow
Playing across grainy delicacy
A gentle high pitched rustling emits when rubbed like money
Smells like laundry and salt
The traces of body fluid, wet contrast with dry
Rollable thin paper
This evidence of bodily ache,
This nurse in white armor
Retired, having fulfilled its duty
Sleeps peacefully with the frozen dinner boxes
And toenail clippings.

Parcheesi

A glove across the table
Shadows cast by pieces
Blind to the dim light
They march at my fingertips
Form side-by-side barriers
Like red rover,
Packs of friendship
Meant to be broken.

Brendan meets the Zombie

The night, quiet and cool
His searching eyes lay closed
A body twitch
He is in the woods, hearing a faint cry
The sky turns russet
He shoulders his mossburg
The familiar click, click
The metal shining, teeth shining, eyes shining
His legs stable, ready
He hears the low growl and crunch, crunch.
So close now,
Crunch crunch
Brendan lets out his warning
Click, click
But the beast isn't human, and won't listen to reason
It turns to Brendan, and whispers, shoot me and I die, crunch crunch.
Brendan plants a spinning dripping hot bullet through its head
The zombie gallushes into the mass of watery moss below, defeated
Through the fog, more zombies come, materializing
He moves with tensing muscles, his jaw clenched,
Fingers locking the rhythmic click, click of the Mossburg.
Brendan fights valiantly, blowing their brains
He kills them all.
All is still in the forest, save the fog.
He runs and puts an arm around his girl, the other arm cradling the gun.
They stomp happily through the softly drifting woods.
//
On clean but threadbare cotton sheets
He is awoken by the quiet sobs of his lover
He wraps his arm over her, the other outstretched, palm upward.
If only he could shoot those zombies
If only he had a Mossburg
That could eradicate
Her demons.



Combing

I am lying here for your pleasure, on the beach.
By "you," I mean any passerby who bother look.
My hair is a pink and sky blue sunset, like cotton candy.
My pale white skin absorbs the sun but never gets darker,
It traps light and glows from the inside,
My thighs long slender tubes of frosted glass.
I lay here on the sand too fragile to stand,
But comfortable where I lay
An object of generous beauty, notice me.
If I lie here long enough my pupils will absorb the endlessness of the ocean,
And you can look into iris ellipse to see the other side of the world.
My skin will become the texture of smooth obsidian stones,
Worn by weather, braised slowly by warm wind-carried sands.
My body will spring with the lighthearted spontaneity of indecisive clouds.
I am an object of generous beauty, search for me.
Find me.


Old Dishes

A slug piece of macaroni
Dangles fork spider legs
Soggy boats of bread
Surface from the swamp
Torrential rain
Cascades from silver spout
Down beyond the asparagus grass
Jet wet dribbles
make poultry slide
Pushing aside skin warnings
Of moldy poison dart tomato.
Dinner Plates
mill fine food sludge
At titanium river bottom
Where Slimy fish
Patrol the deep,
Waiting for unsuspecting prey.

Letting Go

Do you love me?
You me our arms
Lie on sheet
Think of years
Passing in darkness
"Where do you want?"
He said, eyes locked
Arms holding on
Go build
Out into the world
Go find
Another soulpartner
Go look
For a new way to live
Go learn.
Go be.
He said let go
But his arms
Held on.

Experience of a Mouse

The sounds have gone off for the night
Their doors are shut
The lights extinguished
I sniff the air, to the right and left
Whiskers tingling with excitement, nose twitching
My feet make their pitt patt as I pad
Out of the nibbled hold, pushed back with long paired teeth.
I slip into the broad white expanse of linoleum floor.
Glossy, black shining balls peer up
The mountain countertops,
I stake out my method, and climb up the back of the refrigerator grille,
Four feet placed carefully above each other, one at a time.
At a sufficient height I make a daring leap to the counter top
With a quiet "patoum"
Ears perk up, making straight disk receptors
(On rainy nights I can sometimes pick up channel three)
And there is no one awake, only the steady hum of machines and air ducts.
I step carefully, one foot after the other, my head bends down,
My tounge darting out to lick the salty countertop peanut butter
I shift my weight, and
THWACK.


Evening

Blotches in a circle, bright
Staring into night
Blanketed in cricket quiet
(chewing on their leafy diet)
Air hangs heavy from night clouds
Clothing tree-like shadows shroud
Force from weight of boundless sky
Over continental slides
People, cross-legged, around a fire
Wondering about the star empire.


Ode to a Spider

Get it off
Get it off
Get it off
Get it off
Get it off
Get it off
Get it off
Get it off
Get it off
Get it off
Get it off.

Sleeping Under the Kitchen Table

The grainy dust and slight stickiness of the unswept floor
Under the shadow of the stretched octagonal table,
The cool floor against my back
The smelll of my mother's cooking,
Her ankles darting back and forth.
The soft blue light streams in the medium window,
To the backround crackling noises of the fridge making ice.
Joyfully hidden,
Accompanied by my short furry dog.

Mr. Jabon
Mr. Jabon sinks into the leather sofa
ice cold in his paisley tie
soberly drinking scotch
While thinking about the
sunbeams on his Mustang
He taps his rubber-soled gascan alley shoes
Exhaling sticky spearament residue
His cigarette vapors rising into cumulous forms
He gingerly remembers the
Triumphant car sales of the day
[As he casually slips into oblivion.]


An Agnostic Acrostic
A re you really sure about your beliefs?
G od is so wishy washy as a concept
N o one can provide any evidence on the matter
O r shed some light into the insubstantial
S o why be a deist or an atheist?
T rue logic and reasoning need material evidence
I ssued book statements are so trite, anyhow
C ome into the light of educated indecision

My Second Toe

My second toe
Prevents me form doing ballet
It is crooked, bent like an old beggar
Stooped to the ground, too poor for a cane
"It is a direct descendent of Cleopatra," says the podiatrist.
I wonder if that queen would pick up small objects with her toe,
Like I do, a rubber ball, maybe she a scarab beetle.
I wonder if she hid hers under decorated sandal, or had it painted gold for all too see,
Kissed by servants and Marc Antony.
The podiatrist suggested cutting off my toe,
(Grin and butcher knife hidden behind his back,)
So I may freely wear high heels and do ballet
Cleopatra didn't need ballet, or stifling heels,
Or podiatrists.

(a)

Looking out my favorite window,
I see the tree with branches
Overhung, shadowing the road
They were later cut down.
The crocuses bloom, unplanted and free
Tickling the post of the mailbox,
Blooming like they always do after summer rains.
I smell my tired wet dog, Tukki, (I'm petting his damp fur with my feet - to placate him and keep him away)
and the green-yellow honeysuckle and lilac bushes,
Their scent carried by the undecided howling scatterwinds
From the backyard, whipped over the roof like icing
The wind sweeps fall debris in fractal patterns, arching
over the bubbling tar smacked concrete where my young toes used to wander,
Across the street, smacking into the dark house
Where the kids I baby-sit weekly
probably are inside staring, watching television,
They sleep with the remote control in their hands,
As though it were a teddy bear.
My toes wiggle, remembering their stiff carpet.
The pale blue lit storm is gliding back over the neighborhood,
dots landing on my mickey mouse comforter.
The old hinges of the window crackle like lightning as it slides closed.

(b)

Idly staring out the window of our stucco home,
Even the water in the swimming pool looks dry.
The hearty Texas plants still have their blossoms,
Making lemon-juice faces along the walkway.
I step through the covered breezeway, and the plodding dry wind hits,
Grittily licking my shoulders as I emerge outside.
I really want a cigarette, but it might set the whole state on fire. //
There are dark clouds on the horizon, but all is starch,
The columns of oppressive heat stretch up into the sky
I step carefully around them and the prickly grasses in my sandaled feet,
Avoiding soft looking piles full of vengeful ants, listening to
The equally harsh click-crack cries of grackles.
Rugged adaptation is necessary to survive in a rugged landscape.
The only drops of water slide down my neck,
Recieved like an ambassador from the north,
Absorbed by the thankful crack-lipped ground.
I stare, absorbed by blissfully cool water.
I lift my arms up to the sky and dive into it,
My salt meeting its chlorine and we console each other,
My thoughts streaming behind.

Candelight at Dawn

Across our faces, doubt could not be washed away
The clarity of sunrise or
The blurring caused by sunset
Sitting with Annie over famed
Chicago pizza from the place
With the holy scripture written on the walls
We decided we could not remain in this
Instant for all eternity,
No amount of good coffee, sleeplessness,
And candlelight
Could hold our tenuous illusions forever.
In that city, in that room in 1984,
Our thoughts still wait for us, looking out
The stark dusty windowsill at the
Red light beacons of change,
Annie spoke: For you who are without can't have within, and
Stole another bite.



Imitation of a Poem by Nazim Hikmet

You ask me why I paint
There are colors, dew sap, honey, drying blood,
Bubbling out of silver tubes
Begging to be brushed

Bare chested beauties exposed, waiting
The coat that is bright red
Which shows my pride on winter days

You ask me why I paint,
While oranges ripen, uneaten, bold
While children miraculously hold still for a pose
The soft blanket of sounds aligned with light
In the bright afternoon

Brilliantly moved chess pieces
Lie in dim light for sharpened minds
Bears cry, bass jump, balloons fly,
Brain-tired scholars collapse on the air mattress in a lump

I tell you why I paint,
It is because of the
Broken shadow,
The billowing water spring,
The beating of drums by vagrants,
Or the softly drifting feeling of being alone.

Preparation

On nights I walk below the Sunday Bridge
One thought bubbling like the ocean foam,
You'll jump one day and I will be alone.
When I watch lions' carnal homage,
You are the one they nibble to bone.
And I won't be able to drag you home.
Why don't you sky dive and splat into land
Try curing deadly contagious disease,
Work mine fields, Boom! On six o'clock news
Start diving with sharks and give them a hand
Should you get picked apart, covered in fleas
I will be ready, and I will be proud
As I'm numbly caressing your burial shroud.

Villanelle

Sitting counting the rosary beads
She signs to please the cardinal directions
All is quiet, nothing out of place

The double doors open to a man's shadow on the floor
His black hair shining goes unnoticed as she's
Sitting counting the rosary beads

Icons glittering in their spaces
Reflecting light from the open doorway
All is quiet, nothing out of place

Out of a cut the shadow bleeds
She and the man look for comfort
Sitting counting the rosary beads

Wind carried lights creep through the door's embrace
Lashing gashes into shadow man spills burning memories
All is quiet, nothing out of place

The man bleeds into ashes
Crossed on the woman's face
Sitting counting the rosary beads
All is quiet, nothing out of place


Little Mermaid
Blue light refracts around
You sit in prism home
Waiting idly to be played with.
Can you see the world, magnified through your sphere?
Do you see us as people,
Encased in clear air,
Waiting to play with you, plastic?


Imitation of Darwish
Isn't it funny
How three old religions
Take root in a place
Steeped in a tea of death?

Isn't it unusual how
People continue to dream and mumble prayers
Of peace in a place
Where the streets are stained red?

Isn't it interesting
That the avocado trees and olives and figs don't fight for soil,
How they still grow bountiful
As though they didn't get the memo
-this is the holy land?

Where are these invisible shepards?
How long will the earth scorch
At 32° E 35° N
In the name of demons and deceased kings?


Cold and Hot
Fragrant Rose lather massaged into scalp
Showerhead pouring down spaghetti streams
Pour soap into hand,
Rub into face, onto cheekbones,
Rub and scrub,
on eyebrows, into slight chin indentation, over waxy ear folds,
Covering everything in foamy white cleansing cream
Shooting water turns brittle ice cold
Guns explode goose bumps fleck neck tendons tighten
Eyes open, burning stinging searing,
World turning brightly splotchy lightning colors
Body fixed on feeling, hidden in corner, panting and prickly
Gradually, the H returns, the temperature warms, life again
Beautiful skin and steam work happily together
Goosebumps melt into solid flesh.
The rolling stones returns to the lips of the survivor,
Eyes Rinsed, body blessed, shower forgiven.


Let me know what you think, and which ones are the best/worst. I have to chose fifteen. I'll also be writing more, so I'lll post those if they're good.