HedwigStrange

Poem One

Then comes the noise,
the flopping sound from inside the walls,
or maybe the drawers, possibly the closet,
and probably somewhere distressingly near.
The tell-tale scabble of a mouse,
claws scratching, tail flipping grotesquely over my belongings.
Little vermin, bold as brass,
ventures out onto the open blue of my carpet
to nibble at the malt-o-meal grains left in this morning's
breakfast bowl.
Twitchy little bastard, widdling on my countertops and in
my linen closet.
Traps I set, and now I listen, maliciously hoping for the
snap that means the mousie has twitched one too many times.

But if I hate the wee beastie so,
why does my stomach feel made of lead when I lift
its bent and broken body from the drawer,
and why do I sew each mouse a shroud and bury them all in
my back yard?

Poem Two

I sit here on my bedroom floor
Three poems pounding at the inside of my head
(Where are straight jackets when you need them?),
Moving me to take out a sheet of paper
and let them surge down my veins
to settle on the crisp page,
After which they will sit contented in my drawer,
collecting dust and aging to a ripe yellow,
never to be published.
Unless, like the Dead Sea Scrolls,
They are found long after my death,
and my word taken as sacred,
and I proclaimed the God of Extremely Boring, Slightly Philosophical Ramblings.

Poem Three
Note: I think this one is rather lacking something. The meaning is not terribly deep, I simply express my desire to keep part of myself secret. Only a few people know all of me, and they have not gotten there quickly. Iffen you want more explanation, just say so, and I will give it.

Talking to me is like talking to a maze.
Like staring a maze down, trying not to blink.
But if you see the minotaur at my center,
I will cut your yarn and you will be lost.

I am a corn maze,
full of pale yellows, and mellow autumn colors,
you need only to part the husks to be free.
But delve to deep, run too fast,
and the razor leaves of my bladed stalks
will cut you til you bleed.

I am the twisted garden paradise,
call me Ed for short,
I welcome you into my midst,
of lush and green delight,
But do not eat my forbidden fruit,
or I will strike thee mortal and thou wilt die.

There you have it, one of my quite rare writing streaks (I did these all together last night). I welcome comments.