pesbo since 2005.

Pearl Pirie’s book lists, interviews, event write-ups, poems and more.

snapshot

Today sun is over everything, the world flat as a damp watercolor.

Yesterday morning the clouds were rare. The sunlight kept popping out a hole in the deeply overcast fast clouds.

Now a light on the chair. Now off. Now on the church steeple. Now on one building in the center of residential block. On and on it played. A spotlight was thrown on building by building while the rest was in grey.

If I were . . .

…a meme, this would be the one.

Any line could be a poem fodder to expand and expound on. That’s my justification and I’m sticking to it.

Copy, paste, modify, and post your own!

If I were a month, I would be: June with the unvarying humid temperatures.
If I were a day of the week, I would be: Wednesday. Hump day.
If I were a time of day, I would be: 11:00 p.m. because that’s my best energy. I’m lunar powered.
If I were a planet, I would be: Earth. I am earthy.
If I were a sea animal, I would be: an octopus
If I were a direction, I would be: magnetic north
If I were a piece of furniture, I would be: a cat pillow. Oh wait, I am.
If I were a sin, I would be: lust
If I were a historical figure I would be: But, I am one…
If I were a liquid, I would be: brine
If I were a stone, I would be: tiger’s eye
If I were a tree, I would be: a sumac
If I were a bird, I would be: a sparrow
If I were a tool, I would be: the lever
If I were a flower, I would be: monkey-faced pansies
If I were a type of weather, I would be: thunderstorm
If I were a mythical creature, I would be: Alaghom Naom, Maya goddess of wisdom, consciousness, education and the intellect.
If I were a musical instrument, I would be: a djembe
If I were an animal, I would be: a meercat
If I were a colour, I would be: cobalt blue. Unless I were a meercat at the time.
If I were an emotion, I would be: giddy
If I were a vegetable, I would be: eaten
If I were a sound, I would be: wind
If I were an element, I would be: ether. No, silicon
If I were a song, I would be: hummed on someone’s lips
If I were a movie, I would be: My Little Chickadee
If I were a book, I would be written by: a ghostwriter because this is lo-ong.
If I were a food, I would be: a tomato
If I were a place, I would be: heart of a forest
If I were a taste, I would be: complex chocolate
If I were a scent, I would be: annoyed
If I were a religion, I would be: forgiving
If I were a word, I would be: celt
If I were a body part, I would be: cochlea
If I were a facial expression, I would be: laughter lines
If I were a subject in school, I would be: Ethics
If I were a cartoon character, I would be: Shmoo
If I were a shape, I would be: irregular
If I were a number, I would be: 3
If I were an item of clothing, I would be: jeans
If I were a piece of jewelry, I would be: 22k
If I were a clothing accessory, I would be: gloves

“Imported” from a blogspot person

Macro-Revolution

Waking to a line of red ants trouping across my thigh, abdomen, off the far arm, I realize the scouts lost in the clothes were nibbling. Being hardly able to find myself out of a elevator myself, I can hardly blame them. To swing vantage points we take our macro-mic and zoom in on the guy just crossing the cuff seam. He’s a clear muckraker. I can tell by the feelers in this heady chemical cloud of pheromones and clacking.

Big Red: They claim we are scavengers. Are we scavengers?
The Queue: Noooooo.
Big Red: They claim we are social insects with hive mind? Are we?
The Queue: (mixed clamour) yes, no, could you simplify the question?
Big Red: (feelers flicking in an irritation) They tell us we are one mind? Are they right?
The Queue: Nooooo.
Big Red: We can think independently of the Queen. We can be independent of the Queen. We can be independant. Are you with me?
The Queue: Yesssss
Big Red: On this our first fact-finding mission. And I remind you this is a peaceful fact-finding mission. There will be no taking of food trophies. We will use no formic acid unless provoked so I ask you to keep it plugged. We come as explorers and warriors, not as peevish petty greedy conquerers. (Whispered aside) So far.

We will take only what we need. We can show we are warriors. We can show we can bring down, not the whole forest gathering this crumb and that crumb, but bring home a single kill of the enemy.

The Queue: Cheering

Big Red: We do not come as scavengers but as avengers who will take back this forest and repel the giant’s invasionary force. We can not and will not continue the Queen’s policy of niche finding and beggaring ourselves to committee hormones.

We are not one. We come here to prove them wrong.
We come to prove we are more than our collectivity.
We come to prove we are more than our marching orders.
We are more than the ants bound to their instinct
to follow that are made fools walking infinity
on the edge of the giant’s glass. We are not
mandated by habit to be mandible to the gaster
of the drone ahead. Our destiny is greater ahead
as individuals of a new nation, than anything we
have come to yet.

(Hissed aside) Clypeus-Slant get your tibias back here.

We can show that this heaving mound of animate
earth giant does not need to be bowed to, pilfered from
as their flea-carriers do. These giants can be driven —

Clack-alert, clack alert: animate earth movement.
Take positions. Take positions.
Clasp and rasp as possible. Under fabric everyone.

Funiculus-Grande come back —

Omniscient Narrator: And so the animate earth rolls from bed, shaking limbs free of tiny itchy creatures and goes to get herself a morning wake-up. Something from the Columbian rainforest would be nice. Makes a mental note to speak to the manager about the hygiene of the room. A good scouring with borox would clean the scourge of insects out of here.

[Link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ant]

after crack of thunder

notice change in the air pressure, a low
draws my heat       clouds as angels descend

a downpour leaves no part of me untouched,
it turn me over as it releases the shoulders
works a diagonal across legs, shifts, soaks,
every inch tapped, eyelid or midback equal

indifference professional intimate masterful
there’s no sense in running or walking faster
the water and skin are drinking each other,

in a shop people comment on my getting caught
and I only grin and a clerk asks if I want a towel
I decline, drip my payment on the counter, return
to the storm, away from shadows under eaves

mind snaps to how you answered the phone,
– oh, (voice down an octave) I was just in the
shower. I’m here in my towel

excuse me that was my jaw- I mean phone
drop — lost grip for a minute and then the rain

sprays an angle of cold across my chest
intensity of stroking speed and I realize

waves of wind changing tempo, density,
making wet — what I already thought was,

deep current of oceanic chest has warmed the surface
new rivulets from partline down neck layer temperatures,
lashing droplets won’t permit thoughts straying

inside the wall of now there is no distinction
between the rain and me. snow suddenly seems
only a medium, for all its weight, polite

the streets are empty, cars pull over; no visibility.
Who needs all the senses — just one      fills.