Poetry by Ellen Orner

Legion

(Racket)  

A lovely symptom

of multiple lesions

scattered strategically

in who knows what matter -

gray, white? -

was laughing

as never before -

annulling all efforts

to yell at my offspring,

who had my number

and dialed it often,

batting absurdly long

lashes at my frustration.

My kinship with Chief

Inspector Dreyfus

was a joy to behold, Inspector Clouseau’s

antics beyond

his control

like mine

beyond

mine.

Drugs aided Dreyfus:

le rire, ce n'est pas plus moi.

But I cannot do

what I hate

anyway.

Seriously.

The lesions, my Legion of mangled defenders,

repel all duress.

Disciplined racketeers,

they wait to collect

their cut.

           

                        2009, 2017

Real Art

If I were a painter, of paintings
not houses, I would paint
a giant mural of grand, pained
gestures, abstract and fierce and fast,
angry fat smudges, and angst-ridden furrows
in the parts where too much pigment condensed —


If I were a painter, an artist, I would sigh deeply,
wiping my brow, and step away a few yards, daring
to look at my fury with detachment —
only to wring my paint-smudged hands in despair
at the mis-gouged furrows and gestures flailing
the wrong way —


If I were a painter, a real artist, I would sit on the floor,
my back against the furious mural, and take a long
respite from being a painter of paintings. Perhaps
my kind neighbor will hire for me
a real painter of houses.


2015

Definition Exercise

The Nose:

presents a united front

in front of the face;

it holds two nostrils,

both equally runny

or ardent in

sensing dinner,

seduction, stink.

Well, not exactly:

one may be clogged while

the other breathes, and

still the nose,

the single nose,

is said to be stuffed

up or clear, one or

the other, smelling

roasting garlic

or not a thing.

The nose is a fraud

of sorts, unlike the

honest dog of a mouth,

guarding the pairs

all by itself: the eyes, the ears.

The nose shows us

one but keeps

two, just in case it needs

to blame a thing or two

on the other nostril. 

                             

                                      2002

Credits: First published in The View From Here.

About the poet

Russian-born Baltimorean Ellen Orner, by way of mastering the art of losing -continents, profession - violinist, bits of health - has found unexpected pleasure and some success in writing and translating poetry. Her work has been published in Barnwood International Poetry Mag, The View From Here, Little Patuxent Review, MiCrow and Danse Macabre.

Ellen loves being an amateur - as in loving the skin she is in. Her only ambition now is creating a garden for "garden bathing", akin to forest bathing practiced in Japan, for herself and for any friend who needs a breather.