Witness

i write to know myself,

see myself,

bare myself—myself, bare—

to scratch my existence,

my witness made manifest,

on the conflicting world’s wall,

jen was here—

1971-20??

that is all.

and maybe my scratch

offers a differing/similar

view?

changes

a thing or two?

time will tell.

and that

is

all.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

For dVerse—Meeting the Bar:  Poetic Movements and Manifestos.  Gay Reiser Cannon has us writing manifesto poems.  Come take a look and join in! 

Lion Around

The Sleeping Gypsy, 1897, by Henri Rousseau,

image via The Mag

If you’re going to have

a pet lion

you’d better carry a stick.

He may get bored of your

pink hair, sitar strumming

and cheap wine.

After all

that fun gypsy-ing

one does, eventually,

have to eat.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Ok, I’m just having a bit of poetic fun with this wonderful painting by Rousseau provided by the excellent poet and hostess Tess Kincaid at Magpie Tales.  Check out the work of other writers there--I’m sure they came up with something less cringeworthy and cliché than I did in writing to this image.  :-)  I think it’s my mood. 

And I used to have pink hair on one side.  I kinda miss it.

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