Lovely Penguin

Disposable
By Marie Gordon

You dropped me
Like a plastic razor
You toss in the can
After a dull shave

You cleaned up
The little black fragments
Of hair in the sink
And you forgot me

As I sobbed
Little red specks faded
Into the fabrics
In my laundry pile

Red turns brown
As time forgets that blood
Once vital soon dies
Or so I was told

So I washed
Scrubbed the stains of you off
Of clothing, off me
But you were still there

I felt you
As I scrubbed you sunk in
Deep in my tissue
Deeper, in my fears

Vital lust
It faded ever quick
But not so fast the pangs
That your lust had tripped

I begged you
Perhaps not out of greed
Or even for pride
But for vital signs

That spoke soft
To me and told the truth
Of a growing heart
Drumming from your lies

Oh sweet truth
How bitter greed deceives
Dormant but to plague
My youth as you wipe

The shavings
That you assume remain
All that’s left of me
On your tidy sink

And far out
From bitter consequence
Your thoughts idly drift
While flecks clog the drain

Perhaps truth
You never grew enough to face
While I hardly blinked
To spill childish tears

Oh God forgive
The heart that wishes true
Such soured lies
And the lips that sinned

Truth, grow strong
Within my little cave
That will ache for you
As you shave your stubbly chin

A view of Christmas from behind
a wet nose
By Marie Gordon

I’m just a puppy
Whose furry dreams twinkle
With Christmas wishes
Of colored lights and tasty bones

Slobbery kisses
An eager wagging tail
Make Christmas morning
Chaos, a family tradition

I’ve got a green bow
Tied to my pink collar
That says I’m a gift
With a right to be by the tree

Wagging pine needles
Plunge deep in the white rug
And my filthy fur
Rubs against Mom’s fancy sofa

Nothing makes Christmas
Like pup dander and pine
And loving sneezes
That rub my head and scratch my ears

There’s no present here
Who can lick ‘I love you’
Or scour the tree
For low-hanging gingerbread men

I’m just a puppy
Sniffing candy cane treats
Curled under the tree
Engorged with sugary decor

This is me at age 15. This photo was taken by my brother Scott as we were playing with some packing bubbles on the patio.

This is a poem I wrote several years ago. It was a transitional time in my life before I went to college. Reading it now, I find it resonates more with who I am today rather than the vision I had for my future self a few years ago…anyways, it’s a funny poem, kind of.

by marie Gordon

marinating in color clover green
in a glass tunnel hollow white
crowded in like currency in tubes
in the back of a fridge, another holiday trite

in the back of someone’s mind
thinks, a housewife, a mother, a hostess
of the little palindrome condiment
withering, peeling, sinking, into a vast darkness

I’ve lost everything, my heart, and my soul
My sexuality, for good, is gone
Pop me in a festering jar and tighten the lid
a sour, wrinkled olive raped of rations and of spawn

It’s so vile to be pickled like dessert
Then neglected like elegant gourmet
Who wants an olive strained of taste and seed
In a filthy jar, with a decadent mass of decay

My floating thoughts conjure ,breaking, escape
To compensate the frigate bitter cold
Under chilled Mt.Olive’s rusty cap I must conspire
Over piled turkey, staring out, my livid realm of mold

it’s time for change- for the little olive to rebel
It’s time for the Evil inside my dirty skin to repel
With odorous accord and violent rage
My stench shall free a wrath from this lucid cage

Those who mocked my taste will feel the pang
Of olfactory machinery firing like a tank
Rancid rage- like frigid fire
Salable air off the open door’s plank

Beware I’m sliding forward to say farewell
Ready to desecrate an aspiring pastry’s façade
Ready to break the barricade of chilly air
And teach consumers why glass bottles should be fraud

Here’s my fired warning in the stagnant air- a toast:
Bottoms up to vegetable vodka of freshness drawer
Here’s to my imitation kamikaze soufflé
Here’s to the pickling of destruction and leftover decay

Ah, the flood is rushing like a storm
Flushing out the floors and bleeding stench
Rapids of seedless olive and freedom’s scent
A suicide note written to a neglectful host/wench

I’ll tell you what a guillotine is now
You freaks, you ungrateful bloated swine
I’ll show you, the essence, of my spirit
My civil hatred up rise, reaped off a foreign vine

the olive has unleashed a searing fire
igniting senses and grasping bearings of desire
to rot in unmarked grave of disposal
the eulogy of this olive’s modest proposal

Farewell friends, lovers… neglectresses of a future gourmet dish
this evil olive repents not- but here’s a small goodbye
To the comet that will shine for me
When my memory is wiped and dry

I say to you with scorn:
You let me fester in a vial
A castrated vegetable rotting away
In a swarm of dirt and bile

Goodnight, bon soir
I hope your palate tastes my sour retribution
That your fridge of hatred resents my darkness
Caveat emptor to the insipid tongues which forced my execution

Technorati Tags: evil, olive, heteronormative, marie, gordon, poem, poetry, personification, alienation

I take pride in passing down the principles of mass chaos to the younger generation (my little bro David).  I feel assured this legacy will far outlive me

i am sure he intended the dichotomy of the facial expressions…

One of my hobbies includes taking pictures of funny, obscure, and downright odd bumper stickers. It never ceases to amaze me the kinds of incriminatingly moronic statements people decide to make on the outside of their vehicles.

Here’s another one I just dug up in the disgustingly disorganized ‘myphotos’ file.  This is the epitome of a minivan mom gone mad.  Instead of investing in a car alarm, she got this.  Brilliant!

Technorati Tags: photo, marie, gordon, bumper stickers, morons

My Mom used to always tell me to act “ladylike”. She eventually gave up.
I took this photo in my brother’s old Chicago apartment. This magnet prose was left on the fridge by the previous tenants of the apartment. They were female, by the way.

While normally i tend to keep this site pretty “literary-friendly”, this picture is too good to be true and i’m making an exception. yes, college is a shit-show (not just duke). Nevertheless what is shitty is thus occasionally beautiful as well in its own right.  By the way, I didn’t take this picture, JD did.

Technorati Tags: Duke, party, phidelt, crazyness, Marie, friends

I actually don’t know if this grasshopper only lives in Australia. Anyways, I thought he was cool, especially because he didn’t hop away when I zoomed my macro lens on him.

if life sucks right now (particularly because it’s midterm time) remind yourself at least you’re not driving this for a living.

Technorati Tags: picture, car, inspiration, funny, life