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The Cinnamon Beetle 2

By Glynn Young 9 Comments

Below are an additional five poems from our recent Twitter poetry party. All of the prompts came from Harvesting Fog: Poems by Luci Shaw. And there are more to come.

The Cinnamon Beetle 2

By @memoriaarts, @mdgoodyear, @llbarkat, @EricSwalberg, @luci_shaw, @gyoung9751, @RuminateMag, @mrsmetaphor, @doallas, @LoveLifeLitGod, @nmdr_, @KathleenOverby, @Sand_RAD, @mxings, @mmerubies, @charsingleton, @CherylSmith999, @lauraboggess, and @VinaMist. Cameo appearances by @LuvStomp, @poemblaze and @annkroeker. Edited by @gyoung9751. 

I open every window

I open every window to entice air,
draw in the scent of orange and lemon;
air flows in, wafted on beetle wings.
I open windows, cracked and splintered
like paltry words that can’t remember.
Air flows, a summertime breeze
cleansing a past of pain, the air hot
on skin, the spice of clove and cinnamon
pregnant with wishing, a fragrant peel,
bitter pith, promised sweetness
midst green leaves.
And when the window opened,
the winged bug flew out and up
through the scented air, pulling
the scented air after him,
through the window
into night.

Tattoo my soul

Tattoo my soul
with a love that never fades,
with a mark that never grays,
with an ink that forever prays.
The tattoo burns for but a moment,
while the artist speaks of Christ’s blood.
Tissue paper skin the tattoo won’t tolerate
no matter how thick the resolve.

I desire a coaster
to hold the glass
to hold the blue tattoo;
the blue tattoo
I had of you
has turned an angry red.
No tattoo can hide
the hand print bruise,
the cinnamon stroke,
the bloodstream broke.
I desire beetles tatooed
emerald against the glass.

My lover’s name

Lemon, orange, paprika,
my lover’s name is every spice.
They say cats hate the smell
of oranges so I line my garden
with them, damn cats. they circle
my porch, shifty eyes, soft paws,
strays as if I am the interloper;
perhaps I am.

We sit by the open window
and speak of oranges and
the scent of black tea,
of jasmine rice and the exhaust
of tired cars. Carve me angels
and bull dogs and my lover’s name.
The talk turns to food because
it always does.

Christmas in July heat

Christmas in July heat,
Santas stuffed in plastic,
attics full of tissue and
tolerance and mangers
without stars. Who can
remember stars when
cinnamon distracts
at every open window?
In time, in time, when
the children arrive
coming on a Christmas morn
hungry, hungry
for cinnamon buns,
cinnamon buns
cinnamon buns
when will I bake my
cinnamon buns?
Cloves and cinnamon
cinnamon and cloves
Christmas in warm fragrance.

The Word in the stars

The Word was the stars
the stars our desire
constellation of life lived.
Desire itself is a constellation,
low in the sky on winter mornings.
Stars entice, invite my soul
to wonder, and speaking of stars,
what fortune do they hold
this morning, rent as I
from long sleep rise.
I heard the stars tasted
of raspberry sweet, lips
enfolding Word made universe.
The word desire itself is written
on a beetle’s back, so small.

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Glynn Young
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Glynn Young
Editor and Twitter-Party-Cool-Poem-Weaver at Tweetspeak Poetry
Glynn Young lives in St. Louis where he recently retired as the team leader for Online Strategy & Communications for a Fortune 500 company. Glynn writes poetry, short stories and fiction, and he loves to bike. He is the author of Poetry at Work and the Dancing Priest Series. Find Glynn at Faith, Fiction, Friends.
Glynn Young
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Latest posts by Glynn Young (see all)
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Filed Under: poetry, Twitter poetry

Comments

  1. laura says

    July 14, 2011 at 5:25 pm

    It looks like I missed some excellent lines by arriving late. These are so lovely.

    Reply
  2. L. L. Barkat says

    July 14, 2011 at 5:30 pm

    Written on a beetle’s back. I like that 🙂

    Reply
  3. Ann Kroeker says

    July 14, 2011 at 6:00 pm

    Now I’m hungry for cinnamon buns.

    And I love how the beetle comes to life…so to speak.

    Reply
  4. Ann Kroeker says

    July 14, 2011 at 6:01 pm

    (maybe in poetry you never have to say “so to speak”?)

    Reply
  5. L. L. Barkat says

    July 14, 2011 at 6:21 pm

    Ann, at Tweetspeak, we don’t mind the word “speak” 🙂

    I am glad you aren’t hungry for cinnamon beetles!

    Reply
  6. Maureen Doallas says

    July 14, 2011 at 9:20 pm

    You do us proud, Glynn. I like how you’ve pulled together and reshaped our lines into more finished poems. Thank you.

    Did you know that on Etsy you can buy something called “Egyptian Beetle Cinnamon Sticky Buns Shea Butter Bar”? This is what happens when one is curious (I wanted to know if cinnamon beetles exist): one finds all kinds of strange things online.

    Reply
  7. nancemarie says

    July 15, 2011 at 12:21 am

    these are absolutely beautiful!

    Reply
  8. Charity Singleton says

    July 15, 2011 at 7:15 pm

    These are amazing! I can’t believe the beauty that emerges from this type of intense collaboration.

    Reply
  9. Heather says

    July 20, 2011 at 11:46 am

    I showed up late and I cannot believe I missed the tattoo images. They are perfect!

    Reply

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