clouded leopard

image:  wikimedia commons

at the zoo

for me

there is only

the clouded leopard

pacing

its fishbowl cage.

her sad eyes,

her muscles, taut—

excruciating

to be on display.

now, this isn’t popular

or proper.

come on, baby.

let us see you,

exploit you,

measure you.

we’ll feed you, promise.

you don’t want to be gregarious?

on facebook?

you must have your head

and spots examined.

there’s a reason

she climbs,

the best at it of her kind—

she’s designed to be

reclusive.

by day

she wants to rest

among the trees

and hunt at night,

elusive.

hidden

she keeps her pelt and cubs

and her sanity.

break the glass

and let her out, let her out—

she’s me.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Linking with other poets at Poets United:  The Poetry Pantry this weekend.

whispers

if only

they all were nuzzles

on the neck,

sweet nothings

at the lobe and ridge—

that none

were the black tar kind/unkind

to speaker

and hearer both—

like virus

from the vector’s mouth

if only

the cure could spread

as fast as the disease.

up to you and me?

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

for dVerse OLN

Dreams and Poems and Relativity

Poet's Sleep, 1989, by Chang Houg Ahn, image via The Mag 208

Asleep

in time’s elbow,

drifting toward

Escher’s labyrinth

the joint bends

toward

the dark,

toward

the light,

I follow

hoping

neither burn me,

knowing

they already have.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

For Magpie Tales

*reference to M.C. Escher, Impossible Constructions

Catching Foxes

Hedge the rows

where the birdnote grows,

lark a tune

‘neath the fiddlehead moon,

                             

tip the wine glass,

burn the firegrass,

bellow and croak

at the midnight stroke,

thatch the stormroof,

squall and rainproofed—

and all the other

rhymes and metaphors

it takes to build and protect

something worth something.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

*title taken from Song of Solomon 2:15

sharing with dVerse at OLN

Cute

i don’t want to be cute!

i hate being adorable!

when you want to

have muscles

and body hair

and drive a car

this is,

to a boy of six

with three older brothers—

a curse.

the curse of cuteness.

ok,

what do you

want to be?

with no hesitation,

all gumption and flash,

the reply: 

scary!

i laugh, and quickly try to stifle it—

because he really means it

and

because

i do

get what he’s saying—

he wants to be taken seriously

around here,

a mustachioed man/ninja/t-rex

to be reckoned with,

even if i do still help him

to put on his belt

and slick down the cowlick

on the back of his head.

i nod,

as somber and intent

as if i am making

a most grave and

solemn vow.

but

just between you and me—

he’s still so cute

it’s scary.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

shared at poets united poetry pantry