Forgotten (Hour Two, A Nonet Poem)

 

A brilliant mind is a terrible

sight as it slowly fades away.

This man who once knew it all,

who taught me ev’rything

about love and life,

can no longer

remember

his name…

DAD.

 

(A nonet is composed of nine lines. The first line has nine syllables, the next eight, and so on. The final line consists of a single syllable. This gives the overall appearance that the poem is disappearing as it progresses. This one is very close to my heart, and while I started writing it with my late Uncle David in mind, it became a lot closer to home than I intended, as my father has been struggling with memory loss issues the past year or so as well.)

O’ Tousle

The same tousle burnt-sugar hairs

The symmetrical face, the same pair of shoes

Wide shoulders,the slouchy look of his mouth  that always seems to say yeah,

This is how he looks when he wakes up.

Dizzy and all.

The lasting time he’ll drink a glass of wine

Sobling with tears from his eyes no more.

We shock our heads. O’ Its gonna be gone in  minutes that I sing this song—” but before

He could finished, the drink

He felt to the ground.

Lost thy self in the song.

No way that we can or will scoop it all up again

The song I sing will be prolonging tears

That falls from my eyes

Leaving it for only his righteousness right hand to wash

And when he breath upon her.

The sun breeze.

Dries the eyes.

For another,

Round.

Of

A

Make

Over again

We Are Water

We Are
Tip.Tap.Tip
The world has drowned
Tip.Tap.Tip
Trees are swimming
Tip.Tap.Tip
Rain on my body
Tip.Tap.Tip
Water has finally
Win

21~3

~my boys

~my boys

~my boys

were three until they were four

~my girls

~my girls

~my girls 

are three until they are two

~my kids

~my kids

~my kids

always are some ~often are more

Those who have Gone~

~Leave me room to Explore

My heart always Full~

~Of sweet purrrrrs Galore

 

 

When I think of Paris – hour 3

When I think of Paris

mostly in my dreams

but thrice in reality,

I see my heart fly.

 

Just the drizzle of chocolate

on warm and cold profiteroles

or inside a croissant;

when I think of Paris

I glow like a sunrise.

 

All those tiny pixels

in Seurat’s Sunday park

Rodin’s dainty ballerinas

hanging greens at Monet’s bridge

make my eyes pop wide

and I melt

with happiness.

 

Oh, the music!

When I think of Paris

a lone guitar, violins

strings jumping, fingers thumping

makes a subway ride

more like a dance hall.

My soul is bouncing.

 

The markets!

I like to say “marches”

when I think of Paris

juicy fruits and crunchy breads

jeweled tarts and creamy pâté

make my tongue quiver.

 

And the Eiffel …

oh, it stops my breath

all the city beneath my feet

what bright jewels to behold.

When I think of Paris

it refreshes my mind.

 

There, in Paris,

a friend, of twenty years now, 9-11;

I think of your calm and comfort

when those towers crumbled,

and the world trembled,

in my mind

never forgotten.

 

– Sandra Johnson, 6/26/21

Hour 3: Seven Pictures

Seven pictures hang
On my grandmother’s bedroom walls:

1 My Grandfather, whom I did not know
2 The gaudy guardian angel hovering behind kids crossing that bridge
3 Me
4 Teddy Roosevelt, no one seems to know why

These on the west wall above her hope chest.

Seven pictures hang
On my grandmother’s bedroom walls:

The east wall displays

5 A framed newspaper article, now brown and undoubtedly fragile, Charles Lindbergh landing in Paris
6 Her high school diploma

And above her bed

7 A dreamy oil painting;

of a Polynesian beach,
a place she’d longed to visit,
but, what with working for pennies
and raising my father alone,
fretting and wrestling his demons,
alternately offering Dad
tough love and soft,
he largely accepting
responsibility for her reddened eyes,
cobweb thin hair, leathery outlook,
time ran short
for making it to Maui.

One picture does not hang
In my grandmother’s bedroom:

o Regret

I hand each of these to Dad
One at a time.
He stacks them
In a box
Destined for
His attic.
In a few years I’ll
Have to unpack them again
And wonder what Teddy Roosevelt
Is doing there.

Repeat (prompt 3) 2021

Repeat

Waves curling through thick hair
Grasping releasing into despair
It’s dark in here, I don’t want to go out

Swelling raising choking
Momentary frenzy looming
It’s dark in here, I don’t want to go out

Crumbling edge gulf appears
Teetering swaying no landing gears
It’s dark in here, I don’t want to go out

Confining groves plowed and worn
All caught up, resistant to mourn
It’s light out there, I don’t think I can go out

3 shh

Embrace the silence
Her dream
To be allowed
To listen
Not forced
To pry her jaw open
Pouring forth thoughts
Of Grapes of Wrath
While actually
Daydreaming

Of a drippy, cheese pizza slice
Done curly fries

How much space is there for both
Half formed spits
Fully formed desires
And quiet.

Embrace the silent
She repeated, mantra style
While quietly slurping
Spoons of soups
A stranger
Crunched
Over toasted bread.

Questions?
She had no questions.

Job
Favorite movie
hobbies all asked
Answered by stranger in 2 words.

He didn’t ask her.
She didn’t answer.

Embrace the silence.
Baby asleep
1 hour straight
Screaming.

Colic? Overtired?
But now her silence wraps her head
Like a cooling blanket
Calming that Vagus nerve.
Quiet tickles her outer ear
And thoughts release
About work projects
And warm baths.
The sheets touching her skin
Registers.
She feels the fabric
Touching the seam.

Hold the quiet.

Illusory Truth

It’s a sort of truth itself that
repeating something often enough
gives it the illusion of truth.

Advertisers know this.

How many of us can go a day
without applying deodorant
or moisturizer?
Who told you the smell of sweat
was something to be feared?
Or wrinkles?

Advertising is mostly harmless,
but not so much preachers and politicians.

Who made you believe that you were going to hell
just for being you?

Who told you democracy had failed, when, in fact,
it worked as it was intended?

So you wasted money on those vitamins
that were supposed to make your hair shiny,
but didn’t.

Advertising is mostly harmless,
but not so much preachers and politicians.

Who told families that the polio vaccine
was a plot by western countries
to sterilize their young men?

How many children will suffer
for that lie?
How many healthcare workers have to die?

Who tells you that this candidate or that
is a socialist
without telling you what socialism really is?

Hey, if your government doesn’t even tax corporations,
much less seize control of them for the people,
yeah, even that for the people shit is a lie,
this isn’t a socialist country.

Who makes you fear refugees
who are only looking for a safe place
to live and love and work?

You may have bought that latest kitchen gadget
that takes up space on the counter.
Advertising may make you waste dollars,

but preachers and politicians,
both the true believers and the liars,
will use their words to make you believe
that bondage is freedom,
that your neighbor is your enemy,
that earth doesn’t belong to us all,

and their words, repeated often enough,
can cost you your freedom or your life.