June 18th, 2009

butterfly

I have butterflies in my stomach

I am going to my first poetry open mic evening in about 7 hours.  I am intending (if my bottle doesn't go) to read a newly-written poem, plus an older one if I have time.
And I'm beginning to think "Why the **** did I say I'd do this?"

Confident performance vibes would be much appreciated.
Love being a writer

This be the verse...

The best of me is a bestiary

You say ‘beast’ like it’s a bad thing,
An epithet for screaming headlines:
“Beast Attacks Women”, “Cage These Beasts Now”.

But I celebrate the beast in me –
The best of me is a bestiary.

I celebrate the boneless cat-stretch, unashamed and sensual –
Stroke me right and I purr.

I celebrate the magpie lust for glitter
(Oooh, shiny!) –
I bring you pearls and crystals for your nest.

The best of me is a bestiary

I celebrate my inner squirrel
Hoarding provisions against a harsh winter.

I celebrate the butterfly flitting without clear direction,
Moving from brightness to brightness.

The best of me is a bestiary.

I celebrate my tiger fierceness –
Provoke me and my claws unsheathe.

I celebrate the sisterhood of the elephant -
A vast, slow loyalty.

The best of me is a bestiary.

I celebrate (often) the sloth.

I even celebrate the cockroach,
Stubborn, uncrushable.

The best of me is a bestiary.

And I celebrate the unicorn, the dragon, the chimaera,
The magical, the fantastical –
These beasts are in me too.
 
I celebrate
The phoenix rising from my own ashes.