On West Depew

On west Depew

On west Depew

Behind the stone wall

In the pink house

Of stucco the

Dreams

Grew.

            Small and hard hate currants, shiny

            Still in memory those bad

            Dreams were. Night howls of mad

            Dogs and brittle men.

The other dreams were berried in day

Light.  Silly giggles on the head

Of the couch,

Looking across to a decorative

Mirror, singing

And preening our

Hearts out.

            We peopled plants

            Of dreams and ourselves

            In them.  Nice places

            Where kind teachers let

            You be somebody else

            (a fervent ever dream)

like our novel chirpings in our kind of

twin chatter

we believed in our

babblings

and still do.

Amanita Phalloides: Death Angels

Amanita phaloides; death angels

Flat, misshapen open pores

bring instant death,

my Angelus.

White, speckled, orange prickly caps

bring rooted logs

some colour.

Ah! Death waits ‘til Spring’s clear day,

When all the toadstools rise to stay!

Parasol shaped party hats

are fungal traps,

my Angelus.

Long sticky, spiny, cloying spheres

wait out the year’s

four seasons.

I watch Death wait for Spring’s clear day,

When all the toadstools come to play!

I think I'm Dying, I hope

I think I'm dying, I hope

i think i’m dying, i hope

it won’t take long

the pain is strong –

stronger than me.

i have to laugh when they say

your life goes before you in a flash

at the end. the past

is more painful than this dying could be.

i have to shake my head

at the tears, the regrets

from my friends who don’t know the relief

that being dead offers me.

i have to feel quite content –

life, tho short, has been full and i am spent,

so i’ll go quietly.

really i think it is better this way;

i was all too much and long too real

and i was locked up in my head

half-witted at shadows, for all purposes dead –

why keep me alive

when i think i’m dying, i hope.

    Jamise Hopper