Hour 6 – Hyena Haiku with my Therapist
The pack before Self
Hyenas track the grassland
Predators who Love
Hour Eleven
Nature or Love?
I never see the forest for the trees
I always find myself longing to be in nature
and yet, I never know what to do when I get there
The first time I went to a state park
the forest ranger told me I needed to be
careful “This isn’t the city,” He said with a smile
What I always found funny is that
I was born out in the middle of nowhere
I have never even seen a skyscraper before
When I go outside, I always
try to look up at the clouds in the sky
everyone else can turn them into shapes I can’t see
Nature makes me feel different
It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack,
I don’t belong in nature, just like a needle doesn’t belong in hay
Looking out at the vast
spread of trees within a park
makes me feel so alone in this large world
It’s actually quite ironic
nature almost makes me feel
like you used to before you took my heart and left
21~10
Once upon a time
I was so excited
By all my presents
For Christmas.
Though I could not open them
Because I had snuck into the closet
They were hidden in.
I held them with glee
Then put them back carefully
And that Christmas
Was the worst one ever.
There weren’t any surprises
And there wasn’t any joy
The lesson was learned
The hard way.
I never cheated Christmas again.
Thread
Caught upon the sewing
A thread is found as I stitch together
My heart-
Not knowing I had pieced away
As you hurried off
Soap bubble of rainbow illusion
Popped
Leaving behind only traces
As it dampens my skin
a circular film of what it was
All this time-
Banking on a ‘what if’
How I pulled at that string
Unraveling myself
Trying to uncover what it was
That repelled you so-
My love is simple-
It just wants to be loved back
Is it really that difficult
Or so much to want?
I hold tight to that thread
I feel it twirl between my fingertips
And wonder if it was all worth it-
If all these years spent loving you
Meant anything at all
Or were you just the sponge that soaked it up
and then watered it down
While I clung forever to ‘what if’
But all of me is too much for you-
Of this now I know…
I had followed sodden breadcrumbs
That dried upon my lips
wondering had you kept it up
and just where I would be.
I keep pulling that thread at the hem
Tugging like a child, for attention
Anything-
To keep this soul running-
To keep the illusion going.
The dynamic has changed but
I can’t let go, no matter how hard I’ve tried
Thus I braid the thread into my hair
Admire the watercolors as it blends
Hiding, within those blues
I suffocate myself from lack of breath
as you had taken it with you when you left
But I pour my water over
The fires to extinguish
Ribbons of black soot rising
From my heart’s eruption
Splitting the earth-
Falling into the crevice
And spiraling down until I hit another world
Where you’re not so afraid
To feel. Anything.
Until then, I weave the thread and tuck it in
Beside the orchid behind my ear
And show the world that maybe
Someday
There might be
A what-if
And I would hear.
Hour 11: Coffee
Dreams culminate
as the sun kisses the eyes,
rising up to hug
the vast azure above.
Fresh as a morning dew
on a bright new day,
the swirling aromas
of the coffee flavors
sailing in the air,
capture the senses to
awaken the beautiful ideas.
Poem 11: To Look at Flowers That Are Blue
To Look at Flowers That Are Blue,
and not pink or red, is one of the only ways
to peer into sky’s own eye. To breathe song
into lungs, skip the forecast and the night
show, skip the fear of memory, and why not?
Don’t pet the old man to death
by thinking only of mercy and balm
on the answering machine, and
if you do anyway, think about what the nurse told you
about death: that’s a long song he holds in his mouth.
2021: Hour 11 – Word prompt ©️
Your periwinkle eyes,
were focused like a needle
on the storefront window.
So,
in that Summer gleam,
we made memories that seem
impossible to beat
When we ate sourdough,
And danced;
light as a cloud,
as we spread our joy
down that street.
Hour 11: Big City Adventure
The forest ranger went to the big city
Wearing his gumboots on his feet.
Not a cloud was adrift in the periwinkle sky
He smiled and did not miss a beat.
As he looked high above him
He spread his arms out wide
The distant top of a skyscraper
Gave him secret places he could hide.
He passed right by a storefront
Which served fresh made sourdough bread
He went in and bought a hot slice
And on his way his went.
He stumbled on the sidewalk
Losing a button from his shirt
He shook his head in amusement
At least he wasn’t hurt.
He found another storefront
Where a needle and thread he bought.
He sewed his button back on his shirt
Tied the thread in a knot.
10 A rap through the ages
Obsolete are watches, clocks ,cameras and phones designed by Alex Graham Bell.
All these replaced by a hand held cell.
We, the aged yuppie
make way for mellinials and Gen Zee.
Remember when we had boom boxes blasting,
Now it’s singing by tick toking
and talking by musical rapping.
On demand channels, by You Tube, Netflix and Spotify.
Previously TV programs were on less supply.
Social media, a virtual means of communication.
Whatsapp, we chat and texting, now the preferred means of conversation.
What next, I dare to question ,
from the protégés of our next generation
Perhaps time travel through the portals, reminiscent of ” beam me up , Scottty”
Or even better, a regenerated, ageless me!