Wednesday, July 11, 2012

The demon in stripes

The demon in stripes
has run amok, flashing teeth
and slashing tail, rending flesh
and mounting screams
with full abandon.

In his wake, a girl cries,
wrist stitched and arm gored
for she was not
his intended victim.

The demon only strikes 
in mischief or revenge,
but sometimes,
his teeth slip.

Now he returns, sated,
to a purring, nestled ball
in a warm and sacred enclose
of dappled sunshine.

Rachel Westfall
July 11, 2012

Monday, July 9, 2012


The clutter of a decade in a torrent of  rain, 
'Free Stuff' sign scratched in purple marker
on the back of an old worksheet, pinned 
to the dog-eared loveseat with scratchy
tartan cushions, the sign
weeping mascara tears
into the crease between
red and brown checkered wings

Rachel Westfall
July 9, 2012

Friday, July 6, 2012


Wait for it

The pounding, screaming of the ship's wake
through cavities of stone, sinuses riven
into bone
clefts of granite
pores of marrow shrieking
under pressure of the song.

Wait for it

Through the hush
through the silence that lies, 
lies agonized over its truthlessness at the crippled, seething
heart of the storm.

Rachel Westfall
July 6, 2012

Thursday, July 5, 2012


I'm so mad there's a dog
barking and slavering inside me.

Mad as a hatter
Mad as a lunatic
Roaring mad as Smaug after someone stole his pots.

I'm so mad the kids have run and hid
the cats are all wary
and even the Jehova's Witnesses
are staying away.

But they might have marked my door.

In the honour of all
who I've chased away,

Let me name this tantrum.

I think I shall call her
Tropical storm Jezebel.

And all shall tremble in her wake.

Rachel Westfall
July 5, 2012

Wednesday, July 4, 2012


With a sailboat inked on his skin
he sat straddled over a pylon, 
old wood reeking of creosote and summer heat
face drawn and weather-beaten as an old peach.

This ship was made for sailing
or so the song goes, when one's life adventure
is summarized so neatly by a three-mile trip
into town on a noisy bus, passengers
so numbed by the heat the flies reign over all.

A cough and a hork, a crust for the lurking gulls
and a kick to send a ground-out butt on its way
for here comes the ride

Rachel Westfall
July 3, 2012

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Ode to a squirrel

Why do your tailbones shiver,
your teeth rumble
a bitter staccato
with a rap, rap, tap
on rough bark
with nails sharp, movement
a spiral inversion
swaying with vertigo
to tease this curmudgeon
of an old dog?

Sing a song of squirrel
and with a jolt
the canine brain jerks loose,
unmoored and shaken
free out the left ear
to roll away and land worthlessly
in a stack of cast-off seed cones
already stripped of their 
proteinaceous worth.

Rachel Westfall
July 3, 2012