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Published by doctorfrankbahr, 2015-11-30 10:44:48



Keywords: poetry

New and Selected


© MMXV Dawnell Harrison
ISBN: 978-1-927593-49-3
Published by Fowlpox Press

New and Selected



1. The Maiden Sky – Conceit Magazine
2. Describing Life – Fowl Feathered Review
3. Crop Dusting and Other Atrocities –
4. A Party – Blue Pepper
5. Angie –Hazmat Literary Review
6. Dresses in a Hovel – The Puckerbrush
7. Lady in Waiting – The Tower Journal
8. Tiger Lilies – Blue Pepper
9. Exhale – Ascent Aspirations Magazine
10. Heavy – Fowl Feathered Review
11. Eye – Black Magnolias
12. Happy – Midwest Poetry Review
13. Burnt Fish – Clark Street Review
14. Anywhere Town – Nerve Cowboy
15. Sad Moon – Allegro Poetry Magazine
16. Bury – The Screech Owl

17. The Unknown – Fowl Feathered Review

The Maiden Sky

I dine on sunshine
And chocolate
In the spring.

New colors, new days
Weigh lightly
As if on a cloud

That’s billowy, soft
And true
In the maiden sky.

The roses
With their thick, blood colors
Look like little virgins

All tucked into themselves
Before the quixotic bloom.
Their magnetism

Obviously apparent –
You can almost
Hear the colors breathing.

Describing Life

I am the lost verb,
The noun scurrying off

To some indefinite space,
A tsunami of love and

Indifference that is
Not solid or can be solid

Depending on the day,
The time, the endless

Blathering of my mind.
I have been given the body
Of a female but my thoughts
Are androgynous,

My physical address is
My days of wanting men are

I want to be a stalactite and
A stalagmite at the same time.

I float lilies downstream.

I have never skinny-dipped.
Is there a warp in time
That I can visit or a place
Where time does not exist?

Crop Dusting and Other

Today a plane was flying so low
I thought it was going to crash –
Turns out it was spraying
Over the hope and other crops in
the area.
Can’t wait to inhale the toxins.
We recently had a pack of ants
In our kitchen about 100 strong
In the gang.

It was all -out warfare with an
Of 4 ant traps lined-up near the
kitchen sink.
They all died within 24 hours –
As if they had a chance.

Our septic system filled-up today
My Dad had to dig up the cover
In the front yard.
He was about six feet off when
Started digging so everything was

A dirty rotten whore.
It’s understandable.

A Party

The rocks in my front yard
Are gemmed with rain –

A mill of rain drops
Battle with the forecast

Bruising the sky purple
And black.

A party at my house –
The human beehive buzzes

In one at a time as they
Lay their needs on me.
My heart is too small
For such desires.

I smile as if I truly care
As the headlights
Of cars trail down the street.

Nothing but the Rain

Nothing but the rain,
No footsteps on the gravel path –
No crunch, crunch sounds
Of somebody trying to find me.
I’m hiding out in the open.

The rain becomes snow –
Nowhere to go,
But this long alley
Has a story that is
A century old.

I hear a noise in the distance
And I turn around,
My small footprints
Etched in the snow.

You are smiling,
Approaching me –
Your hair laden
With crisp white snow.

Potato Bug

A few days ago I saw a potato bug
in the bathroom.
I left it there.

Saw it again today and decide to
recue it,
Being a cute potato bug and all.

This potato bug wasn’t your
average bug though.
It put up quite a fight before I
managed to gently,

Or so I thought, flick it into a glass
before taking it outside.

Problem was the potato bug hit
the bottom of the glass
And was stunned or I accidentally
killed the little critter.
The potato bug was completely

Hoping for some sort of miracle I
placed the potato bug

Outside on a ledge. Feet to the
sky, I thought the bug was a

Checked back ten minutes later,
my potato bug was nowhere to
be found.
Smarter than most, I think he was
just playing dead.


Angie is dancing
On the table.
Easy to say she’s had
One too many.

You know who your
Friends are on nights
Like this.

Angie likes pills.
Pink, green, white, orange
And the entire rainbow really.

She forgets what some of them
Are for and just “wings it,”
As she says.
She’s been pushed
Too far today.

She’ll forget it all tomorrow
And I’ll recall everything.

Long taxi ride.

Dresses in a Hovel

I make dresses
Out of drapes.
We are poor
You know –
Who else would do
Such a thing?

I make dresses out
Of old blankets.
We eat bread
For breakfast, lunch
And dinner.

Who else would do
Such a thing?

When the dresses
Are worn out
I still use them
For rags to clean
Our hovel.
Who else would do
Such a thing?

I make dresses
In our hovel –
I makes dresses

Out of drapes.

Lady in Waiting

The lady in waiting
Cries hushed tears
At night after she’s
Waited on the royalty
As if they were gods.
She’d like to uproot them –
Corsets, teacakes,
And all.

The sky’s done for
As she gazes out
Of her small window

Into the night of her
Own undoing.
Another night where
Nobody will serenade her,
Another night indeed.

Poverty begins to weigh
Itself as an option.
Too many days of
Yes madam and yes sir,
No madam and no sir.

Although she would be
Penniless, she could

Unhook the stars
As if the
Were her own.

Tiger lilies

The moon frowns on me –
I disappoint her.

Six tiger lilies
Sit in a tubular vase

On the kitchen counter.
They are too wild for me –

Their spots throw me
Off balance.

They seem to lean on me

As their open mouths

Say feed me.
I have nothing to feed them –

These beasts in habiting
My house, my eyes,

My lukewarm assurances
From the world.

Ghost town

The pain under my ribs –
The ghost town in my soul.

The gnawing in my stomach
For something to fill it –

Bits of red glass fragments
Tear at my side relentlessly

And without mercy.
The sound of thunder rumbles

In my heart.
Life. Regret. Doubt.

If you lay your troubles
And insecurities at my feet

I will simply walk away.
My heart is too small –

A shriveled organ that once
Beat endlessly with sympathy

Look behind my eyes and

You will find a blank stare filled
With flailing black crows.


We are all
Waiting for

That next
Great moment

In time where
The sparrows

Stop momentarily,
Leaving their mark

On your life.
You exhale

Knowing that
The moment is

Embedded forever
In your soul

Like an embossed
Stamp that you

On the back

Of an envelope
For decoration.


The sky was as bare
As a skull withered
To the bone and

The clouds were a wisp
Like a dream
Not remembered.

I lay still.
Wretched cartilage
Shifts around the joints

Of my bare bones.
I can almost hear
Them rattling like
A box full of sea shells.
So much ocean to hear
In just one small place.

I think of my emotions –
Bare and raw and unkempt.
I hope my skeleton will follow

Me on my journey to cast

Away from you like forgotten
And forgotten hands.


Your soul is heavy
A bag full of steel girders.

The weight of it presses
Into my bones, my flesh,

Any tender parts I own.
I do not cry.

My soul is light and golden –
It cannot take on your

Soul’s infinite mass,
The untouchable red.


The days tumble
Over each other
The way a huge
Snowstorm can catch your eye
With its center, swirling.

I heard your voice
Burn into the night
Through the leaves,
Bustling in the trees
And making me recall

That night because
It was laden
With senses roaring
Into the next morning
When you woke

To coffee brewing
Hot and strong
In the kitchen
Where the light presses
Its voice into your eye.


I thought moving
To a new house
Would make me happy.
I had temporarily forgotten
That I’d be bringing myself along.

Burnt fish

Ivar’s. I must have been about

Me and this cute guy named
Jaime use to burn fish
So we could eat it.
That was the rule anyway.
If it is burnt, don’t serve it to the
And you can eat it.

I also would go in the deep freeze
Eat sunflower seeds used in the
salad bar.
One time I got caught but there
was no response
From Pete the manager. What’s
he going to say?
Spit those seeds out. No. So I
just swallowed
Hard. Big wad of seeds going
slowly down my throat.

Beverages were also fair game. A
very pretty girl
Named Beth and I used to make
cherry 7-up
With the juice from the
maraschino cherry jars.
Those cherries were used for the
ice cream toppings.
That was the best cherry 7-up
In the world because of that
maraschino juice. Heaven.

A fat girl named Sue used to call
out “courtesy check please”

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