Night lilies bloom,
Leaves red as blood.
Frogs without legs
Are astir in the mud.
Foxes with eyes that are
White as blind moons.
Katy-don’ts creaking out
Raw fiddle tunes.
Possums play dead
Till they really do rot.
And I am out searching
For what I know not.
For what I know not,
And for what I most fear,
Afraid what’s behind me,
Afraid what is near.
Staring at the nameless octopus
under the sea
and he's staring back up
at you and me.
He knows what we're thinking
you better believe.
We all want to know his name.
He's considering designing
a shirt that says "Joe"
so we'll all stop staring
Author's Note: "I write a lot. Sometimes poems form before anything else. I just start thinking about something, especially something like the nameless octopus. Utilizing other forms of expression can be a little more difficult for me, because while I am doing that, my mind is still trying to make me write. If it is something really amazing, I will just go ahead and write about it too."
Once, the night desert was nearly our death.
Sand ran in sheets of sharp water down our
dry skin; flooded through my clothes and parched mouth.
Adan cursed me. Hot wind whipped my mare’s black
hair, and her bridle sang, as Bilal prayed.
His muezzin’s call now: God, give us water.
It was two days since we last drank water.
Two days off our path. I wondered when death
would come to claim us. Perhaps if we prayed
devoutly, Bilal said, we would find our
way to a riyadh. But in a storm’s black
night, all prayer is only sounds in a mouth.
Giving up on God, I covered my mouth,
the better to keep my hot breath’s water.
Adan fell deeply into a cold black
mood, muttering how he might bring me death.
We had long since passed any hunger; our
swift end a fate for which I now half-prayed.