Meg Baird

tables

by Meg Baird

seat people

position bodies

station minds

for meals that are

too many

too often

too short

too perishable

they display

the food the drink

the dirty dishes

the spilled words

they cannot

be held responsible

one of these days

by Meg Baird

he sleeps in a cement box

scheming of ways to kill her

in an instant

when the time is right

how dare she have a life

he could snap that neck

in an instant

she’s just a sparrow

eluding his clumsy grasp

once she was his pet

fragile soft

singing for him

it’s unbearable to be without her

he’ll kill her in an instant

one of these days

summer trip

by Meg Baird

the road is a bend in the night

where headlights show corpses

of last year’s thoughts

in the passenger’s seat are bouquets for them

that crinkle and bend when you pull them free

from under your companion’s bum

What’s in a flower

by Meg Baird

Is it strange that I arrange

My dying cactus in this frame

Basket was his name

And red the bulbous

flowery head

that it contained

Yes, him and Pearl

I found them both

in a cool plant shop

Pearl’s a girly pink

And purple white lines

geometrical design

Not quite bloomed

Not this time

It seemed that Basket’s

stem grew pale

I hung him upside down

to dry but cactus do not die

that way and so I squeezed

out all that mush and left the

pulpy frame to hang

beneath his crown

His stem wrapped in

a piece of turquoise felt

in a beige clay pot

that’s a perfect fit

carved in symmetrical

hieroglyphics

jury’s out on a motorcycle

by Meg Baird

oil barrel outside lighted and flaming

by a shed on a rock by the sea

and a solitary figure in a chair

you must have seen him

as we crested the hill

and down you went

off the main dirt road

down the steep little incline

towards him

I’m thinking holy shit

you said nice day

I said hi and flipped a hand

he could have reached out

and touched me

but he sat perfectly still

with arms folded

light glinting off his eyes

and watched us as we headed

back up the hill slowly

story is he killed someone

and you said something like

seemed like a nice guy

you knew dizzy on the back

was too blonde to be greasy

and I’d have to agree

I think he enjoyed the company

he probably heard us coming

my mind

by Meg Baird

I have built my mind

a temple

from the outside world

surely you have heard enough

of misery

good things are forged

in jewelled rooms

soft marble walls

a ruby icon or two

emerald-eyed cat statues to pray to

the non

by Meg Baird

these are the middle years

the non

nothing to hang a medal on

that doesn’t hurt

for one reason or another

those gone years

inside my non

there is a man

outside my sphere

inside the man

is his own non

we long to be together

skin and bones

by Meg Baird

I feel my body

a rack of bones

and when I stand

I wrinkle

dying is upon me now

I hear the death bells tinkle

welcome welcome

come this way

faint and in the distance

it’s not that it makes me happy

it’s not that it makes me sad

it’s something I’m afraid of

and yet it makes me glad

III

when going around the corners

it’s best to hang on tight

surprising how it gets you

through the journey into night

It hurts a bit

not much not yet

the shredding of the sail

no going back

not free not yet

if freedom’s what you want

it’s ok

it’s alright

I’m so happy

how I feel tonight

my energy’s back

my back is back

my core awoke and ready

I feel so much relieved

but now it’s off

to sleep I go Dear Lord

please take my yearning soul

from out my living body

and walk with me

and talk with me

so I won’t be alone

suspend belief

we call it faith

I’ve always had my measure

tethered here on earth

I feel my body

as flesh and blood

lying limpid on the bed

I’d take another turn tonight

but I don’t think I’m ready

how many corners in a curve

when it has come full circle

there’s four of course

all in a row until they snap

together and then a circle

make those four

conjoined they are forevermore

the canvas

by Meg Baird

(Dedicated to Ann Marie Rhiel)

clean white

pristine silent

then life happens

lots of chaos color

boom!

order comes along

and soon we’re bored

except for those

who still have chaos

in their souls

me and the boys

by Meg Baird

I’m older now

I realize this

we closed our eyes

in corporeal bliss

we kissed

and kissed

I’m older now

I realize this

my lips are shriveled

breath is dour

and there is little desire

to close my eyes

and try them on for size

this makes me laugh

my heart is glad

for all those kisses

I once had

this makes me laugh

my heart is glad

for theirs are much the same!

ode to sleep

by Meg Baird

I’m off to sleep

I do it well

And if I die

before I wake

I’ll be in heaven

sure as hell

description of death

by Meg Baird

He’s a busy man
He’s not there with you in your pain and/or torment at the end
He comes once. To take you home.
He is not Satan, Lucifer, or evil.
He spends most of his time at “sudden death.” It kind of takes your breath away to think about it. Have some respect

Peace, baby

by Meg Baird

Something in the way she said

Matches and goes together

The way she said she saw what

Matches and goes together

Quite differently than most people

That made the word “Pyromaniac”

Flash through my mind

Like a neon sign

Cocksucker! I said to myself

Go light your fire somewhere else

And I proceeded to write a poem

And stick it on my wall

Peace, baby

Is all you’re going to get

From me

The Light

by Meg Baird

There’s a very fine line

Between Love and Hate

Between Loyalty

And Expectations

Between Possession

And Madness

It’s a very fine line

And when it’s crossed

There are chasms

That open and close

They chew you up

They spit you out

They leave a bad taste

In your mouth

There’s a very fine line

Between Loyalty

And Expectations

We have a fancy word for it

We call it Betrayal

Do with it what you will

There’s a very fine line

Between Possession

And Madness

When there’s nothing left to say

And we all get it anyway

There’s a very fine wavy

Dividing line

Encased in a circle

Black White

Love Hate

And a portal in each

For the other to escape

When it gets too dark

Pray

Go to the light

It holds an eternal well

Of sorrow in its Heavenly White

Eye of Black

Eye of White

A very fine wavy dividing line

Encased in a circle

To keep it sublime

To keep it from falling into

A very fine flat grey and dead line

Meg Baird can be found in the ezine archives of Yellow Mama, Twisted Sister, Anemone Sidecar, Open Heart Forgery, Apollo’s Lyre, and Prachya Review, as well as the paper publications Fluidity, CV2: Poetry Only, Expressions, and Fourth Floor Images. She enjoys performing in cafes, libraries, bars and special events. Poetry, her own and that of others, has saved her life on more than one occasion. Say no more!