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Ode to Feet
I have seen poetic feet so perfect,
The very smallest units
Of patterned stress,
Soft idioms of Iambic
And drum beats of Anapestic,
That march across the carpet
In
measured meter toward full-length mirrors.
I
am the bard of bare soles
And naked ankles,
Of fallen arches and
Swollen heels,
Of toenails
Pedicured and painted,
That catch the light
Like so many cut sapphires,
All arranged
In
descending order of size.
I
have crafted couplets in Trochaic,
And started the heartbeat of lines
in Spondaic,
For I am the poet of feet,
Perfect and imperfect,
Poetic
And otherwise,
Of bunions, bumps and bent toes,
Carried within or laid upon
A
pump, mule, sandal or thong.
Retail Egyptology
In
the supermarket
Where navel oranges are stacked
high
With great precision
Like the great pyramid of Giza,
And Santa Rosa plums
Form a lesser monument
For a more mediocre monarch
In
The Valley of the Kings.
I
am the jackal -faced god,
A duster of old bones
And petrified flesh,
Who breathes the desert air
At 5:00 a.m. and peers wearily
Over the meat counter,
For a fleeting glimpse
Of the floating head
Of Queen Nefertiti
In hopes her regal gaze
Will
fall on my English cut roast.
Awake
Osiris to the sound
Of the Nile's water
And sea birds calling from the reeds
To catch the gleam of light
On stainless steel countertops
For it is the deli meats
Hanging in long strands from the
ceiling,
Indeed it is the garlic bologna
and hard salami
That unites
the upper and lower kingdoms.
About the Poet: Doug
Tanoury is primarily a poet of the Internet with the majority of his
work never leaving electronic form. His verse can be read at electronic
magazines and journals across the world, and ebook collections of poetry
by Doug Tanoury can be read and downloaded at: http://home.comcast.net/~dtanoury1/Tanoury.html