Nita Donovan is a former Los Angeles City teacher and "Stepford Wife." She is the alternate facilitator of the Saturday afternoon poetry Workshop at Beyond Baroque and was a volunteer teacher of English as a second language. Her chapbook, I Didn¹t Want to Make Any Mistakes Either, was published by Spout Graphic Press and her new manuscript, If We Had Stopped We Would Have Had Nothing, has recently been completed. Nita¹s poems have been published by Moondance," "Poetry in the Sand," "The estside Writers," "Aquarius West," "The Palisadian Post," "Haywire," Blue Arc West, an Anthology of California Poets and "Gentle Strength Quarterly." Many of her poems evolve from a parallel life of dreams and the realities of wars and politics as forces of power.>

UNDERCURRENT

I want him
this man is perfect
drifting
off course
and we don't even speak
the same language.

He was going
there
but something snapped
and the pull was strong

four months drinking
rain only
eating seagulls, fish and turtles
twenty-four hundred miles lost.

When found,
he made me laugh,
What did he remember?

The taste of sea turtles,
delicious.

POEM REFERENCE

BLOAT

We're seated at the hard wood table
eating escargot, pate de foie gras
served by a tummy-tucked, neo-blonde.

Six courses, flute decorated
and still no dessert.

I tell those who will listen,
the water is rising,
it's midway up our chairs.

But the guests are discussing
Janet Jackson's breast and Jesus.

I notice a cadaver
floating around us.
Somebody do something,
I'm too squeamish to touch it.

Will you stop eating?
This person needs a burial.
Strawberry sorbet is served.

JUST BEFORE THANKSGIVING

Who would take
my orthopedic cushion,
which I left after
Shakespeare class.
We were discussing
corruption at the king¹s court.

Reminds me of the old trickle
trickling down and not,
It droppeth as the gentle
rain from heaven.

Perhaps this person
also has a bad back
maybe plain dishonest
not to leave it at
the lost and found.

As the Bard said,
It blesseth him that gives
and him that takes.

Somehow this doesn¹t make
me feel better.

Nita Donovan Moonday poetry reading


© 2008 Nita Donovan


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