scarecrow poetics/essays

You have woken up, your temperament sour
You missed the morning
On this day your outlook dour

There is a staircase to descend
That is where it starts
Your day
In the kitchen
Downstairs

You are regret (pause)

There is no more morning pleasure left
To lift your limbonic' lard
No tea
No coffee
The milk is not

You must ascend
Ascend
Ascend
For your morning glory
It is a fight for your survival
Your eyes just openned

To leave your dwelling is a dagger in your heart
You know you can not begin your day
Without that hot liquid pleasure

The white mate is paramount to the accompany the dark
The dark paramount to accompany the white mate
You often played chess but winning became boring

Anger has flushed you out
You have lost again to fury's downfall

You remember where the axe is
The current climate expands the wood
Adding fuel to your rage
The door will not open
You bite your right arm sinking your teeth into your skin
You pull away when the pain becomes unbearable
You look up then down, you take a deep breath
When you release your temper rises
You climb on the kitchen sink and disengage the window lock
You do not break it
Climbing outside onto wet green grass feelers
Licking in between, your morning feet are bare, toes

There is the axe upon the cluster
A fierce manic stride you take your self to the clump
No yank from a log, the axe left behind on it's side
You grab the axe handle
A shard of light catches your right cheek and right eye
From the sun laid on the metal

Your frustration subsides after the wood whack and cut
Your mind has cleared
Unlocking the once surrounding fences, you once put yourself into

You return through the unlocked kitchen window
Ascend the staircase
Apply some fabrics, slip on a pair of slip-ons
You are ready to go out, face the street,
Face the world in your wee borough
You are geared up to depart your asylum.

If the corner shop is closed, you know it's open. You will burn it down.
If the corner shop is closed, you know it's open. You will burn it down.
If the corner shop is closed, you know it's open. You will burn it down.

However your day grows, you are excited
You are on your way to the beginning of (pause) your day.

What will it be?

Coffee or tea?

The mixture of dark and light is always your choice.

Cathy Flower © 2006.

Australian born, Cathy Flower has been writing and performing her work for the last fifteen years, enjoying the colour and conviction of poetry from her page to the stage. In 2002 she launched her debut CD of performance poetry, entitled 'Meniscus'. CD No. 2 is in the wings alongside a hard copy volume of her poetry and visuals. Cathy loves the oral induction, taste and mind altering pleasures of coffee, chocolate and (fine) red wine.