Barbara Brooks, Author, Poems, Poet, The Catbird Sang, Hillsborough, Orange County of North Carolina, Finishing Line Press.
TheCatBirdSang.com
 

Published Poems by Barbara Brooks

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CALLING
CROSSING THE GAP
CHANGING SKINS
DAYDREAMING A POEM
DIGGING FOR WORDS

CALLING

Dead limb.
Hunched hawk.
Rust-red shoulders
glow. Morning breeze
flutters cinnamon
feathers.
Yellow eyes knife
empty space.
Ignored.
Kiiir, kiir
splits cool air,

no answer.

CROSSING THE GAP

I see the ragged cat
near winter oak
and call. Tense, it stares
at me, slinks into the grass.

I set out milk to lure
it from the woods,
watch from behind the door.
The cat of fiction
aloof, unwanting.

The Bishop's House Review

CHANGING SKINS

I admit I am powerless over alcohol.
            from AA's "The Twelve Steps"

Easier to be a snake.
Find a spot,
breathe in slowly and feel
the skin pop. Wiggle
until the head is out,
keep moving,
leave behind
old scales.
Wait for the soft
outer layer
to harden
before you climb
back down.

Iris

DAYDREAMING A POEM

two fawns bolted from their beds
of brown grass and asters
got me thinking
about where the doe was
what instructions she'd had given them
how long they had seen me
distracted by the poem I might write

horse swished his tail
humped his back
still I was thinking deer
felt a surge beneath me
was crow-hopped onto his neck
one heel hooked of the saddle
one hand twisted in mane
the other gathering up rein
just hanging in space
saw the horsefly on his hindquarters
felt the horse gather
shit
tried to pull myself back
just gave up
slipped to the ground

laughed at myself-
asleep at the reins.

have a laugh on me,
thinking of you

DIGGING FOR WORDS

Peeking out from the dirt
at the stump's base, that's where I found them,
black on white. I was throwing corn
to the squirrels. I dug with a stick,
disturbing the earthworms. One crawled
into the decaying wood.

Did someone write a letter--love or Dear John--
only to bury it? The magnetic words and letters
kept coming along with a penny and a blue
plastic dolphin. I cleaned it, gave it to Juanita,
she has one on her business card. The penny,
I tossed into the spare change mug.

Pieces were mudded together or joined
north to south. Spilled out of my hand
and into a jar from the recycle bin. Rinsed
them three times, wiped the words dry,
stuck them on the cookie pan.

After sorting them into categories-
body parts, verbs, single letters-
I let them sit for a week. I didn't
write a note or create strange lines.
I put them in a baggie,
started this poem.

Click HERE for additional poems
 
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