No. 2
letters to words
words to sentences
sentences to paragraphs
paragraphs to stories
stories to publishers
publishers to rejections
rejections to keep
keep on submitting
again again again
Your Smile
It’s very quiet,
But it’s not quiet enough.
Everyone whispers, at funerals.
But no one ever shuts up.
There is a collage near the front,
With pictures of you.
When you were small,
When you were young,
And then some from near the end.
You smile in all of them.
So many people come up
and talk about your smile.
I don’t remember your smile when I think of you.
I remember humid afternoons,
And games I was too young to play,
And strained voices
traveling through the vents.
I miss you, still.
But I don’t think of your smile.
1st Hour – Line Vines
Line Vines
Up from the deep
Lines start to seep
Why do they creep
At time for sleep?
Ignore them not
For lines unsought
Will be forgot
If left to rot
I like to rhyme
Most any time
It’s so easy
Swift and breezy
But now, my friend
These lines I end
home
home
over and over these days
I hear page edges curling in upon themselves
so words fold upon words
until nothing seems the same.
maybe this is how we return to words
telling stories of destruction
of ideas
of places
of people
nothing means what you though it did
any more
and this “home” equals death
again.
the real question is:
what are you going to do about it?
(c) r. l. elke
Aspirations
Aspirations
I wake to a caramel macchiato day
sun broadcasting a gorgeous June morning
and I am ready to face what it gifts me.
I avoid naysayers who convince themselves
they can’t do anything they want, can’t try
to accomplish something sweet and special.
Their vibes are toxic trash, contagious as
a cold in kindergarten, and I’m not one
to bring myself or anyone else down.
I can. I will. I often do, and sometimes
I fail and though it stings like a needle
of reality, I am needful of the lessons.
Get back up, try again, remember what
it was that didn’t work, and right it; most
of the time, I succeed and I am grateful.
Today, I will accomplish something
I am proud of; today I will do something
for someone else to help lift them up.
Join me. Make this Saturday a day
burgeoning with glimmering hope
and sparkling possibilities,
and if you need a good word, a hand up,
a pat on the back, call me. I’d love to
share this captivating day with you.
~ J R Turek
June 26, 2021 Hour 1
Sandburg
Sandburg
I’m Carl Sandburg, a poet.
I’m not T.S. Eliot. If you want Rhyme, I haven’t got the time. But if you want Stackers of Wheat, Players of Railroads, Brawny Shoulders or Hog Butcher for the World, I give you “Chicago.”
I’m not Bobby Frost. If you want Rhyme, I haven’t got the time. But if you want a Hunky sweeping hog blood for a dollar seventy cents a day, a three year old daughter in a cold white coffin or a family full sorrow, I give you ” The Right to Grief.”
I’m Carl Sandburg, a poet.
If you want Rhyme, I haven’t got the time.
Age is Fragile
This age is one of illusion lost within a dream
Held by unknown spirits lurking close but never seen
Hellish nightmares locked within the realms of slumber
You want to know the truth … so do we all so take a number
This is an age of innocence cruelly tainted by vengeful lust
Cotton candy secrecies no mortals can ever trust
Fly away to paradise, sail above the seventh sea
Driven by a fantasy you may never wish to leave
This age of ambiguity feigned by truth within a death
Promises of a new life after the final breath
Hold safe to the night, the sun and the waning moon
You walk these lands but briefly and are gone from here … way too soon
.
.
Graduation
Birth, then life’s journey, a term’s initiation,
followed by death, an auspicious occasion.
However celebrated, just another graduation.
Whether lived by a valedictorian
Or a lowly sinner who just keeps on sinning
Is it just the finale, or is it the beginning—
Only a life well lost or a quest worth-winning?
For in the grand scheme of things, ultimate success
Might mean it’s hard to tell the starts from the endings.
Since memory erases flaws and remembers the best.
Daffodils on desks
Cut and watered the daisy I expresses for this I’ve joy in the morning
Not far from Summer’s days the same, love song that cheers you up
The sun between the clouds of sunlight to darkness sleeps In midnights
Blindfolded she is to what covers eyes with cloths untied now
He give in and takes it off
When the morning comes, watery wet harvest times
Here and there after
You can see the passover
Should keep it up
Daffodils on desks
Earnest, falls retreats comes
The rose
Reflects you in the mirror,
Day by day
Passes
Clean air freshens
Up the bay side
#1. Home is where the heart is
Eighteen years
In one home
felt comfortable…
Easy… like a well worn path in the woods.
I knew where I was going.
Now I feel lost, because I am.
My path, my home, has ended.
One hand delivered letter from Mr Landlord
and here I am
sleeping in a room
at my friend’s house.
My cat paces this room
wondering why he is locked in.
As I drive by tents on the side of the road
I wonder.
We are Everywhere.
The lost.
Our paths may be found within
but I sure do miss
my home.