the path
the path
the path
she ponders
glimmering before her
she must step through the shadows
of doubt
clutching her fear
glimpsing, on what
could be
words on poetry
Hour 22: Poem About Pizza
Life is like a box of pizza
You never know which piece
Will burn the roof of your mouth.
Hour 20: Ritual
My life is a ritual,
Living each moment in precise, calculated strokes
to avoid veering towards a path of misguided sanity.
6 / Hipster Hiker Haiku
Hipster Hiker Haiku
Name-brand everything:
green hat pants coat bag pack &
meticulous beard
(response to image prompt)
Hour 21
Running away from that
Which no longer serves me
Is the same as turning away
From everything I know to be true
And I can never stop running.
Hour 19: Autumn
My skin is made of smoke
Floating among an abyss of stars
Falling from trees with hues of crimson and maroon,
white rays reflected in glittering
Waves, a sea of unknown tranquility.
5 / Mystery, for Dave
Mystery, for Dave
When Dave didn’t die from the aortic aneurysm
like the eighty-five percent who do
he said Nancy, what does it even mean
to be alive? What happens when we die?
Does it matter how we live
if we’re just going to die?
I said Dave, when I tore my Achilles
I drove up a mountain
because I couldn’t walk
and I lay on a picnic table all night
to watch the meteors shower.
I said Dave, when I noticed a green anemone
in a tidepool surrounded by crushed white shell
I could see the pink-red outline
of each sticky tentacle.
I said Dave, the soil around madrona
always seems blacker than anywhere
and the flank of that tree stays cool in the sun.
I said Dave, how the yellow jacket
loves the overripe plum.
I said Dave, I don’t know.
I said Dave, the bison’s strong head
new-tattooed on your shoulder.
I said Dave, your fingertips
when you feel the potatoes for moisture
then roll out and turn over each lefse.
I said Dave, your delicious square grin
each time you come toward me open armed
for an enveloping hug—your squeeze
like the sweetest warm-risen dough.
I said Dave, you didn’t die from the aortic aneurysm
like the eighty-five percent who do.
I’m glad we’re alive.
Something happens when we
live. It’s a mystery.
(response to “mystery” prompt)
Hour 15- 2023 What is love part two?
Love is delicate this is true.
Yet, it can be robust and life giving.
The best love though, iot is not a fabrige egg, gilded in gold and celuian adelusion blue.
Encrused in the finest diamonds rubies emeralds and sapphires. Whetern it be top tier or semi precious like the aquamaringes, peridots and garnets.
No the best love is not a diamond grade of paler shade of greayish blu.
It is found insted in a blue birds nest with spects of slightly broken stickand shards of green grass and moss tucked inbetwen.
That is the love that I seek.
This is the kind of love that makes me weak.
4 / Haiku Not Mentioning Marriage
Haiku Not Mentioning Marriage
Morning tea. Thank God
I dodged that bullet train. Rice,
toasted, floats in green.
Hour 4-2023: A State of the Union
A State of the Union
Adorned in shimmering stones.
Face aglow she imagines the sanctity of the union that is about to take place.
She no longer dreams of reams of crinoline and spools of satin that span the diameter of her dress, as expansive as an elaborate parasol in circumference, as she glides across the floor.
Instead, she sees a svelte silhouette and envisions baptizing his feet in rose water blessings.
Her hair is half down half up and it is clear she has a crown grown from her own head.
Three to five intricate braids are deliberately placed to frame her face as she stares into the halo of his presence, a natural glow emanates from a smile so sweet that she melts every time he smiles.
A gathering of pearls and foreign shells representing the seven seas with 57 distinct pearls from each of the smaller seas and their tributaries adorn her body, shoulders and head.
She has a veil that represent her culture and his in intricate detail. Prayers and poetry sewn into the hem of her dress hopes to step foot with him in new lands, new adventures, to rekindle an ancient calling that is hard to explain in words.
An exchange of bonds not easily broken pass their four lips, two hearts intertwined in silken blue and red rope created by two.
He like the sailor as handsome as they come and she like the mermaid cloaked in natural opulence born of the sea, both committed to service for the greater good.
A vow is but a prayer and a blessing not meant to be uttered lightly.
It is a risk we take both in love and this state of union.
To hold and to have, they day
Why are most vows and blessings so stoic in nature? Some merge sand, candles, jumping brooms, and I hope to create my own traditions that like us have room to grow.
This is my wish and prayer.
An impenetrable bond is formed from before we met. She manifested this man a dream come true.
As he was the most authentic version of himself as was she.
She knew not of his profession or his faith, she only knew is heart.