Five Poems by Sterling Warner

 

Waltzing Towards Atlantis

Sepia pen and ink mermaids
swim across my canvas
luscious locks of auburn hair
levitate off bare shoulders
drift in irregular currents
allowing tail fins to stabilize
lithe dancing bodies long enough
to captivate a seafarer’s fancy
demonstrating, encouraging desirability

transforming into seals or humans
shapeshifting once again as nereids
ever inviting, always beyond reach.

Rise, rise, rise up through the depths
enter my saltwater dreamscape
requite romantic notions of oceanic trysts
reclining on coral beds like a coma reducer
we’ll share childhood secrets, reveal adult fantasies,
pantomime our aqua lust beyond seaweed and kelp
move closer and closer until fingertips touch,
pursed lips release bubbles, and laughter
generates tsunamis that cleanse my emotional prison

like Heracles flushing filth from Aegean stables
passion shall invigorate our oxygen deprived lungs
as maritime nymphs sing and reinforce siren resolve.

 

Motor Cards

 

Playing cards clipped to bicycle wheels

one eyed jacks motorize the rear

while all four aces shuffle on front spokes

drowning out early morning sparrows and wrens

slicing though dew laden streets

clickety clack, clickety clack, clickety clack

announcing my roadway prominence

weaving in and out of imaginary traffic

hands free from the handlebars

defying safety and parental rules

flirting with girls who stroll to school

in cotton dresses, waving as I zip pass them

smug as a biker sans leather… sans Harley

tires increasing momentum—wind at my back.

Clytemnestra’s Venue

 

Sultry laughter soared above

squeezebox-like voices in the lobby

personality echoed wall to wall as I

sought out Clytemnestra’s faceless figure,

legendary, alluring, exotic without form

as ever present as a phantom sirens

haunting mezzanines, balconies

and lobbies with effervescent persistence.

 

Over my shoulder a cool breeze whispered

curious thoughts in stereo, tickling both ears

 

turning I beheld a woman as enchanting as Circe,

spiritual as Dante’s Beatrice, chill as Helen of Troy;

a halo enveloped her body and shimmered

like moonlight glancing off virgin snowflakes

I stared. She smiled. We both began to speak—

 

then stopped—blushing in tandem, our mouths

refused dialog locking eyes in a mutual gaze.

 

Misreading her countenance as consent assured

when I reached out to touch her lustrous apparition

any semblance of corporal substance melted

into shadows although her voice—soft, distinct,

sultry, and pure—seethed up floorboards,

bounced off the ceiling frescos, vibrated

stain glass windows, and settled in rafters

out of hands reach, by memory eternalized.

 

 

Sidewalk Blizzards

 

Long before a gross-out contest 

with Mötley Crüe when Ozzy Osborne

snorted ants through a Jackson like a line of cocaine

 

Sammy sucked up rank and file travellers

along pheromones trails with her Ryobi

hand vacuum, watching the herculean insects

scale the transparent sides fighting

the intake draw, thrown into circle

as if attempting to navigate the eye

of a tornado—sans Dorothy, sans Toto—

looking for scented pathways and exits

their confined existence in the dust

busting penitentiary jostling for space,

competing with fluff balls, dirt, lint,

and whisk broom straw, claiming

microscopic space, steadying themselves

to ride out a storm driven by passion 

fuelled by Sammy’s cordless cleaner

 

screaming the lyrics to “Crazy Train”

eyes wide-open, lungs breathing heavy, she

stalked daylight pests like the Prince of Darkness.

Tanya’s Spin

 

We climbed the monkey bars during recess

watched the girls twirl in circles

on a cold, grey turning bar; around

 

& around they’d spin like circus acrobats

picking up momentum, daring peers

to follow their lead—regardless of age

size, height, or dress; Tanya walked

to the bar every day, stared at steel—

ever a challenge, never at ease;

though plumper than most girls,

she looked quite adult, long hair

cascading down shoulders that one day

would strut runways. We’d coax Tanya on,

till one morning she mounted the beasty,

left knee link around the bar, ready

for action; moments later she hung

upside down, her flowery dress

covering a torso (that dared to be great)

like a reverse umbrella, leaving

the sight of a chubby leg clinging

to the twirl bar, revealing pink flesh

 

through three holes in cotton underwear

—something we laughed about while sucking face

during high school, both seeking to reach third base.

Sterling Warner - A Washington-based author, poet, educator, and Pushcart Nominee, Sterling Warner’s works have appeared in such literary magazines, journals, and anthologies as the Galway Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, Lothlórien Poetry Journal, Ekphrastic Journal Review, and Medusa’s Kitchen. Warner’s volumes of poetry include Rags and Feathers, Without Wheels, ShadowCat, Edges, Memento Mori, Serpent’s Tooth, Flytraps: Poems, “Cracks of Light: Pandemic Poetry & Fiction, Halcyon Days: Collected Fibonacci (2023) and Abraxas: Poems (2024)—as well as Masques: Flash Fiction & Short Stories.  He currently writes, hosts “virtual” poetry/fiction readings, turns wood, and enjoys fishing and boating along the Hood Canal.