Locked out, I've returned with hopes of homecoming, but have found I've been erased, blocked out. Empty spaces where once I played have been transformed by frocked business people with stern, gray faces which seem to ridicule and mock those childhood dreams. These are the same friends from my youth, their hearts have hardened in the cruelest rock formations. Days of strife and distrust have locked their innocence away.
Hitting a wall with this but trying to unblock
Just going to rhyme. Think of some rhymes as well? Add them . . . .
From there, I’m going to try to figure out a poem. I seem to be writing more prose poems, and the lists aren’t coming today, either.
Locked out Blocked out Knocked out Rocked out
Tocked Stocked Frocked Smocked Mocked Crocked (?) Flocked Rocked Shocked
You left me here closed from the world from my family from any sort of a friend. My world grows small smaller smallest each passing hour each passing minute into moment as I feel my head grow small around my brain tight, tighter, tightest as I struggle to breathe while my chest clenches my heart harsh, harsher, harshest. You left me here closed from the world from my family any hope for a friend. You have grown cruel, crueler, cruelest.
. . . and I look down to realize I am rowing a boat. My arms create waves that loop white on blue-purple water. With each stroke, I come closer to the shore where the castle stands. Three more heaves, two more, and this final one come before I step onto the crag. Doors immediately open to me, and I look up high as I enter this castle. Treading upon the floor of a chess board, I note billowing clouds through the windows above opening to the sky. One step speeds into hundreds, and I stand in the center of hallways, but which to walk? Down one hallway I come upon self-portraits: two years old, then fifteen, then twenty, thirty five, fifty into ages beyond me now. Am I seeing my future? I wonder, for on the wall opposite I find the memories for those years. Memories yes - but I don't recall until just now, this walk, this moment. The hallway ends, and I stand on yet another crag, this a mountain with a path back down the hill to where I've been or a new boat with billowing sails, positioned towards the now setting sun. The day has passed. Which choice do I make?
Pure and lovely like the little rosebuds peeking through the dark red roses of gratitude next to pink ones of grace, he stood ready for his wedding. The zinnias of yellow, magenta, and white reminded him of those many who had died over the years. "First generation" who had passed before the cure came, who should have been celebrating today, yet they were somehow. White violets flirted with blue violets, reminding him to keep a sense of romantic fun in coming days. The resplendent passion-flower? Well, that spoke for itself, and he blushed and buried his face in the tulips for a moment. Today, this hour, each moment, he had longed for and imagined and replayed. His wedding, his beaming groom, his bridal bouquet.
Each star shines its way to Earth only to learn it has died. In this magical corner of our World, they slide down the fall instead, becoming one with the waters that reflect them.
Patiently we wait and watch you Jan, as you step over your papers and books, piled neatly until they fall over. We are by the windows where you promised hours of meditation, windows opened after new summer rain has made way for sunshine. Candles with floral scents, soft purses with crayons and pens, greeting cards for faraway friends: We wait and watch you move through each day. Up so early yet wanting more sleep, you ignore your inviting pillow. We watch you worry and tumble into task after task. The phone rings even now, and you take on the new responsibility.
A Muse of Childhood
*Nestled in Downtown Kansas City, Arthur Kraft’s mosaic greeted all who visited the old library. The mosaic still remains even though this children’s library has long since closed. It continues to inspire many who loved it when growing up. I know, I am among those people. Every time I walk by the mosaic, my favorite moments are when the sun glances upon the tiles and they shimmer with glints of silver or gold.
A Muse of Childhood
Majestically, patiently, the Muse endures the storm’s fury,
guarding the children, animals, and performers of the mosaic
who hold gentle, lilting, laughing music within,
waiting to sing out in the bright sunshine.
Tan Ta Rah! Boom! Laughing bells ring in time to the drums!
Our Muse beckons the elephant to promenade first with a small, triumphant boy atop.
Her right arm sweeps up with the sun to welcome gleeful penguins and
hungry little chicks pecking and hatching in the grass.
The dust and mud on the tiles can’t hold them back.
Little girls skip in the brightness and dance with swaying flowers
while their brother scales higher, higher, and higher in crescendos
to the highest treetops, a balcony to see all the circus.
With each glint and glisten, a melody forms and sails on the morning breeze.
The Muse nods and bows and summons the clown sailing backwards on
a white horse who gallops in time to the dog’s staccato barks while
a kangaroo coos lullabies to her little joey.
Skyscrapers, smog, honks, and headaches can’t hold them captive.
A seal honks and bounces while the ostrich struts and stretches to the blue sky.
Atop this magnificent bird, a child sits as a queen and
shares her triumphant hymn with the Muse.
The Muse of our childhood
watches, remembers, reminds, nudges, teases,
entreats, encourages, waits, and sighs.
She knows the lion is there to frighten us
yet remains safely away in a cage in this parade of life.
Her heart hums the elegies of loss and pain and
the requiems we compose with age, fear, and cruelty.
Even the monkey’s jabbering ditty warns of growing up and old.
Its rhymes cackle and crack, like the concrete tears in this neglected picture.
Once restless in youth, taking on the world in brave freedom and bold joy,
I am peaceful now in watching, guarding, guiding, and loving.
Morning’s raindrops fall softly,
music lilts through my five rooms,
bird chirps sail to the silver-gray clouds,
and I am at home.
Tea’s rosebuds and lavender linger on my tongue
while scents of mowed summer grass sneak through window shades,
this first morning after the first night after summer’s solstice
I am calmed and waiting.
I quiet myself as I wait and wonder.
Am I ready for this next journey in life?
Am I prepared to gracefully let go of who I once was?
I am still the dancer within these wobbling strides now.
Grown wiser, I am searching for a lesson to teach.
Like a horse galloping in wild abandon in red, gold, bronze fields then,
I am now a sea horse floating and flying among coral, blue, green reeds.
Stretching my mind, reaching up up up to the top shelf for the dictionary, diving into pillows and blankets for the last nap because I’m too anxious already. . . . Getting my workout before the Marathon begins.