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Poetry in Ideograms

P         a magnifying glass
           held up to
           anything
O         an open eye,
           a funnel conveying
           words
E         fingers grasping
           or letting go
T         a sheltering tree,
           a handle on a shaky train
R         a dance, a jig, one foot outstretched,
           ready for the next measure
Y         joy

© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved

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Hyphae

Hyphae by TheAlphaWolf 2006 
Fingers poking through
the grass provide evidence
of the beast below,
a single fungal network
holding the earth together.

© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, 
all rights reserved
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Wolves in the Woods

I know there are no wolves in these cold woods,
no bears, no foxes, no wolves, but I see
the hiding places, fallen trees, small mounds
of dirt, and branches just above my head.
I see the darkness here, but I can’t see
what’s hiding there. I hear the leaves erupt.
I know it is the sound of busy squirrels,
but still my heart suspects it might be wolves.
I’ve heard the stories about wolves and woods,
and children walking far from home alone,
the stories grown-ups told me before bed,
before they said the stories were not true.
I know there are no wolves in these cold woods,
But I am here, and I am full of thoughts.
© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved
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Small Mammal

holding the creature
in his hand the boy feels
its eager heartbeat
just as others have grasped
his pulse in their larger hands

© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved

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Iambic Lament

I hear iambic thumping in my head.

Each time I part my lips I feel some dread.

I wonder if the words that I will speak

Will make me sound like some obnoxious geek.

I cannot seem to quit, though it’s my hope

To speak in prose just like a normal dope.

Perhaps if I can hold my breath inside,

The hiccups in my words will soon subside.

I wonder if this happened to the bard.

He did it once and learned it wasn’t hard,

Then found he didn’t have the will to stop,

Despite his father’s shabby leather strop.

You say you have a great idea for me?

Something called a trochee?

© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved

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S. Mutens

Clinging to the walls
Of the hot, dark cave,
We eat every sweet
That you might crave,
Turning the sugars
To acids that file
The rocky walls
Of your cragged smile.

© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved

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Spore Launch

Mosses growing sporophytes to launch their spores
She built a sodden capsule
High above the din,
Relying on the sunshine
To shrink the rocket’s skin,
Squeezing all the contents
Until they must explode,
Sending all her babies
To find a new abode.



© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, 
all rights reserved

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Insulin Shock

I heard her call my name.

Her voice was high and far away.

She only said it once,

So I went to her in the kitchen

Where she worked every night.

Her smile had fallen.

Her light brown skin looked yellow.

She was holding the counter,

But her arms were shaking

Like she was having her own earthquake.

“My purse,” she said. 
I ran by her, grabbed the leather bag,

and ran it back. She dumped it.

Wallet, change, lipstick, tissues,

hard candies clattered on the counter.

She clutched a purple ball and tried to open it,

But her hands were shaking too much.

I took it from her and twisted the ends.

I dropped the candy in her hand.

She rushed it to her mouth,

Then sat down hard on the floor.

Sweat beaded by her ear.

I opened another and another and another.

I gave her every piece of candy I could find

Until she could stand.


© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved

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Stinkhorn Lace

Stinkhorn Mushroom
copyright 2010 Christian F. Schwartz
http://mushroomobserver.org

It grew in the muck

From an underground egg


That cracked in the dirt,

Then sprouted a leg.


The leg wore a sock

That stank and drew pests


That carried its seed

And started new nests.


Yet, to the mousy bride

It seemed—


         A more beautiful veil

         Than she’d ever dreamed. 



© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved

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Halloween Gypsies

We all dressed as gypsies. We all

wore tall boots and long skirts
and shirts un-tucked and we all
tried to flirt and twirl our skirts
before we skipped down the street,
tapping our feet and ringing bells, 
telling what we were to get our treat,
singing on the street the songs to sell
the candies we’d gotten that night.
That night we headed home on tired feet
to sort our treats and trade in the light.
That night, everything was sweet. 

© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved

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