Shark Bait

Before I wrote songs I wrote poems.  Here's another one from the vaults.

Shark Bait

Sharks close their eyes
the moment before they strike.
They sense the electrical signal
of the heart, they know where to bite,
they can find it blind. The heart
will betray you every time.

It's been a year I've chosen
to be alone. My life is full
of work and talk and the occasional fling
where no one falls for anyone—it's best
to become heartless. No one holds me
back; I don't get that attached.

I say heartless but this is a lie. It beats
red and bloody underneath it all, I am ripe
for slaughter. It keeps getting harder
to hide the signal: the heart wants
to be discovered. Or devoured,
if that's what it takes.

The sharks' own hearts must crackle with charge
as they glide silently through the leaden water—
do they sense each other's presence
as they sense prey?
Do their hearts call out to each other 
in the darkness beneath the waves?

I want someone to draw my passion
like a magnet, a target, I long for it.
So the heart sends out its signal: I'm a beacon.
Nothing will protect me from the danger.
I'm just waiting to feel
the teeth sink in.
 
Ellia Bisker, 2004

Love Poem to Lady L.

Before I wrote songs, I wrote poems.  On Lady Liberty's 125th anniversary, I thought it seemed appropriate to drag this one from the vaults. 

Love Poem to Lady L.

Longing for her thighs
As long as city blocks
For her hammered skin
Once the color of a new sun
One of her knees is slightly bent
The sandaled foot upraised
And balanced on the toe
As if she's waiting to be kissed.

Overproud, alone
She is remote and guarded
Stately in her exile
Silent, stranded
A giantess
In a land of tiny people.
The closer I get to her
The less of her I see:
She is too great
For the naked eye to handle.

She says:
Give me your tired, your poor
And I am drawn
To her battered island
To the vaulting heights
Of bolted metal girders
To the sculpted features
Of her graven visage
To the framework of her
Thin-worn copper structures.

I stand before her
In the wind that makes her
Resonate like a bell.
Everything smells of salt
And ancient pennies:
Metal, sea.
Lady, I swear this to you
By the birds that wheel above:

I am yours. 
I am like you. 
I am yearning to breathe free.

Ellia Bisker, 1999