Enter Head, Exit Mouth

bouche-et-levre-de-chameau

Watch out for falling filters
as you navigate the maze
of dearly special people
living in a mental haze.

Spontaneous eruptions
of uncalculated word
can range from ultra-shocking
to adorably absurd.

(“You’ve got a booger hanging.”
“That’s an ugly baby!” Or,
“I need to lick your elbow
to authenticate the score.”)

Uniquely wired and cobbled,
limitless synaptic arcs
can reach beyond the norm and
leap to unexpected marks.

And though, in common circles
viewed as socially uncouth,
there’s magic in proclivities
to speak untethered truth.

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2016


Public Domain Photo

,,

Pondering the Wandering

moses

“You’d better let my people go!” he shouted
at Pharoah, ’til at last they gained their freedom.
Right off the bat, he then commenced to lead ’em
into a raging sea. (They balked about it
but followed nonetheless.) The trail was crowded
with hot and thirsty, weary folks who doubted
they’d ever find a home. The children needed
new shoes.  Fed up with manna, lost, defeated —
there was no turning back. The women pouted.

Anticipation of the Promised Land fills
the biblical account. Why God chose Moses
might well be moot today. In retrospections
on forty years of circling through the sandhills,
the fundamental question, I propose, is:
Why didn’t he just stop and ask directions?

———

cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren,  2002

Conversation with a Saint

victorian-woman

“Let your women keep silence in the churches; …” – I Corinthians 14:34

I shall witness heaven’s glory,
learn the meaning of the story,
smell the sweet celestial roses,
have a dialogue with Moses,
meet the other saints and martyrs.
Whew! And all that’s just for starters.

After days of hugging Jesus,
I’ll go drifting on the breezes
over to Apostles’ Tower,
bastion of enlightened power,
where I might politely query
God’s devoted missionary:

“Brother Paul, I find it troubling.
Don’t you like us frilly, bubbling
girls? I mean no disrespect, sir,
but within the female sector
your instructions are a puzzle.
Women born to wear a muzzle?

To Corinthians and Romans
did you mean to say that woman’s
proper place is in submission,
or was that your own rendition
of the Spirit’s implication,
subject to interpretation?

Yield to men and mutely follow?
That’s a bitter pill to swallow.
Was that just how Jesus said it,
or should we give you the credit?
Well, at least I aimed to try it.
Sorry, though, I couldn’t buy it.

Was it really your intention
to encourage deep dissension?
Spouting rules in such profusion
generated much confusion.
Mightn’t things have turned out better
if you hadn’t mailed that letter?

Please excuse me. I’m confessing
ignorance, not second-guessing..
I don’t mean to be judgmental —
my opinion’s incidental.
I just couldn’t help but wonder
if you made a zealous blunder.”

… But before my last word’s flung,
He’ll cry, “Woman, hold your tongue!”

———

cc-by-nc-ndMary Boren,  1998

 

Backup Plan

in-reverse

Come along if you’d like and we’ll roam,
but take warning, for I’m the exception
to folks with a sense of direction.
I’ll be lucky to find my way home,
but I’m thinking of sallying forth
with the front of the car facing north
so the south will be always behind.
If my formula’s put to the test,
there’s no option to veer east or west,
but as long as we’re focused, we’ll find
destinations galore on our quest.

So, while I and my passenger guest
are observing the roadway unwind
straight ahead, never stopping to rest
(with our knuckles and bladders compressed)
we will know we’re correctly aligned.
When we reach the Canadian shore,
we’ll reverse the procedure.  Once more
with the car pointing north on its own,
here’s a plan that will lead to perfection
as gears make their backup connection
clear down to the tropical zone.

———

cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2010

 

Aunt Crabby Speaks to the Officer

shoes-in-mud

(With apologies to Robert Frost.)

Whose shoes these are I’d like to know,
and whichaway’d that rascal go?
He left a soggy mess behind.
All dressed in black from head to toe,
with naught but mischief on his mind,
I saw him peekin’ through the blind
while I was gettin’ into bed.
When you investigate, you’ll find
he lost his sneakers when he fled
and tripped across the sprinkler head.
I watched the water spew and spew.
My garden’s trampled, roses dead —
there’s nothin’ left for you to do.
But if the fool comes sneakin’ through,
tonight, I’ll shoot his socks off too.
Tonight, I’ll shoot his socks off too.

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2012

Image by hollykl  AttributionNoncommercialNo Derivative Works Some rights reserved

 

At the Clinic

at-the-clinic

She registered with casual aplomb,
then, with the other patients, took a seat
and, patiently as well, began to thumb
through magazines.  She never missed a beat.

Each jaw went slack; each eyeball turned to stare
in unison. They judged her overripe
for fundamental psychiatric care.
(An illness of the vegetative type.)

Her name is called. (To be pronounced deluded?)
As if she thought it proper to appear
in public thus: a celery stalk protruded
from both her nostrils, carrots from each ear.

Undaunted by this diagnostic plight,
the doctor said: “You’ve not been eating right.”

———

cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2000