SkyMall Poetry

At 35,000 feet, en route between Washington, D.C. and Portland, I invented a new word game: SkyMall Poetry. 

Here are the rules: you get one page of the SkyMall catalog per poem. Each poem must use at least 10 words (nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs) from the product descriptions on that page. No poem can be longer than 30 words total. Title optional.

Here are the five poems I came up with on my flight:

When the maple finishes with falling

I give myself the slip,

the easy luxury of turning away:

those branches, bones behind me,

blue-spun sky

and autumn on my lips.

***

New Orleans

there's midnight in my pocket

paprika in my soul

disaster in my mocha

and my latte and merlot –

so just depress the plunger

let me steep in my Creole

***

Name your roots. Single them.

Gather your earth –

crest, rim, bog, swale –

Nature is watching. Choose well.

***

Impending Bloom

Put your hands on my body;

Strip my facade with your teeth.

You: Peel me open:

Bloody fruit, ruby seed, ready heat.

***

Night makes a small showing.

One star clicks down center stage

in the full-moon glare, marking time

to secret songs and pacing off

her secret needs. 

So... I hereby throw down the gauntlet: next time you're on a plane, write a SkyMall poem and send it to me (or post it as a comment to this entry)!