Sewer Statue
Like a cast bronze statue
of an American allegator
emerging from the depths
of a metropolitan sewer,
my spirit materializes
from dank storm drains
committed to memory
and mischief, seeking
a response to absurd
allegiances, ridiculous norms
and would-be leaders’
relentless self-service
and childish rants.
Come rise, come rise,
come rise we all now
step beyond fields
of square marble tiles
that reaffirm conformity
and inspire superstition
amongst people who
dare to step on cracks
established, break molds,
and create human flocks
as devoted to tomfoolery as
they are to tucking sheets
without questions.
*****************************************
Murmuration
Coal black plumage on sabbatical
between spiritual and living worlds
ordinary yet mystical blackbirds
guided me away from gravesides
where I’d grown accustomed to tossing
handfuls of dirt onto coffins lowered
into burial holes, endeavoring to maintain
a stout face, warm heart, and reverent mind
as I paid last respects for people I’d lost
and those with dance cards to death’s final waltz.
Ebon speckled clouds lit up the skies
as the blackbirds moved between worlds
like holy ravens imparting omens,
plucking seeds from towering sunflowers,
spreading feathery imas—divine inspiration—
from the tips of their wings and naked beaks;
their melodious harmonies masked oracles
yet delighted my ears which eagerly absorbed
each mystical note, yet avoided eye contact
as tricksters’ shared sacred songs and healed.
*****************************************
Recycling
Like a frustrated mongoose
my USB-C iPhone plug cries out
refusing to recharge as waste paper
burst into flames and plastic endures.
Recycling chewing gum
by crafting teeth-marked chaws—
green, pink, yellow, blue, red,
orange, and purple lumps–
has changed; those days
of sticking it beneath chairs
came and went creative minds
into spearmint ashtrays,
cinnamon door stops,
and licorice paperweights.
I weigh my limited options
in a throwaway culture given to comfort.
seduced by streaming influencers.
mesmerized by celebrity.
*****************************************
Sin Salida Real
Dude ranch entrance signs promise
magical gateways—city slicker portals—
old west access to fatigued quarter horses
or docile mares along hoof hardened trails
each path an exit from the familiar
to an exotic, rugged thoroughfare
showcasing alien pastoral images
teasing one’s sight with kodak color
as the overwhelming scent of sapphire
orchards, blue moon wisteria,
dry eucalyptus, and lavender bundles
fill starved lungs with an ineffable
fragrance distilled in nature’s garden.
True, yes true! Ranch guests exercised
their olfactory senses in big city bellies
breathing in smog, choaking on smoke
inhaling car exhaust like unrefined narcotics
provided means and ends for many metropolitans
working where glass and steel structures
solemnly shaded select sidewalks
at the whim of municipal planners,
free parking spots existed in memory,
as angry voices merged with the sound
of car horns, street minstrels and traffic.
Back at the dude ranch, city dwellers
reveled in roleplay, scraping horse shit
off of highly polished cowboy boots
shouting like fools as they attempt
to rope calves in small wooden corrals
answerable to no one but themselves
until country trysts and make believe
scenarios confuse dissembling with escape
exits beget entrances, portals lead to prisons.
*****************************************
Manatee Musings
For Anne Waldman
I
heard
Anne Waldman, called
Ginsburg’s spiritual wife,
her Angel Hair Anthology—
The Howl’s first cousin,
restlessly tranquil,
Buddha’s loins
issue a bold lineage,
a priceless odyssey
through light and shadow,
Outriders rocking on edges
of “The Jack Kerouac School
of Disembodied Poetics,”
meditation’s soft underbelly,
a manatee reminder.
Waldman’s soul revisits humanity,
encourages disparate voices:
unchecked,
uncensored,
unimpeded,
unconstrained,
responds to diaspora’s
social signals,
communities under siege,
Rupert Murdock’s minions
mind-numbing brainwash
of twisted truths, invented factoids,
political assignations.
Sing on like the manatee,
Anne, sing on.
A Washington-based author, poet, educator, and Pushcart Nominee, Sterling Warner’s works have appeared in such literary magazines, journals, and anthologies The Raven’s Perch, Lothlórien Poetry Journal, Ekphrastic Journal Review, Bewildering Stories, and Verse-Virtual. Warner has written over a dozen volumes of poetry/fiction including Without Wheels, ShadowCat, Edges, Memento Mori, Serpent’s Tooth, Flytraps: Poems, Cracks of Light: Pandemic Poetry & Fiction, Halcyon Days: Collected Fibonacci, Abraxas, Gunills’s, Garden: Poetry, Seaboard Magic (2026)—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.
