Counting Coup
Satan thinks he owns my soul
but with each foto I take of myself
I retake a small slice,
and I’ve taken thousands
stealing my soul back
one sin at a time.
I have touched the Devil’s hoof,
fed his horse balderberries,
and dulled his tempting knife,
so wear the eagle feather in my hair
and paint red his wife.
I won’t count coup on you though
because we burn same blood,
walk same rain,
so your loss would not be my gain,
just extra pain.
— Smith, 12.31.2013
(explanation of the phrase counting coup = en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Counting_coup)
Again, tomorrow’s poem today, for a poem-a-day since October 1. I work a day ahead to give myself a creative safety net, so that’s 92 poems written and posted in 91 days. Did not think I could do this. Trying for at least 8 more for 100.
Odd what comes out when you HAVE to write a poem. Things I’ve not liked I had to go with because of time spent in day’s went, so I kept chipping away the ugly to make them as real as possible.
Extremely satisfying process. Thanks to John Burroughs and his Crisis Chronicles Press for getting me on this path when he asked 8 of us to write 31 poems for October (Lady, Shelley Chernin, Mary E. Weems, Steve Brightman, John Swain, John Burroughs . . . the 8th poet dropped out). Told him I doubted I could do it. Go figure.
restealing my soul, a slice at a time – fotosmith