My Mom — Hour 10
She wondered at baby birds
She recognized Nature as the source
knew the value of soil
and bugs
of picnics
and pussywillows
and gloried that bright summer night
to read the newspaper outside by
the light of the moon
With a singing cat past to the moonlight
If coinditionals show posibilities,
then there will be more than
one moon, beest will rise
like locked down rebels,
robots against dehumanizing
will tire the tires of▄▄▄
talking through the hat,
some of them knot their ties
so children voices understand
the end and sick of it all,
but beasts will crackle from plants and skeleton logs
they and us will not know.
Asleep, awake, shaken dream
by no side
OUR CAT STEVENS
Hour 10 (Marathon Prompt – listen to the song Moon Shadow by Cat Stevens and start writing as soon as the song is over. Some of you know, maybe not all of you, that we have a dog that we named Cat Stevens. Second ironic twist of the day!!)
Our Cat Stevens
You came to us humbled and blessed
Rescued by Shauna and readied for your new home.
“Did it take long to find me, I asked the faithful light.”
Out of the Christmas box you popped
Greeting your new family
Unique spots, cuddly fur, and puppy breath!
Like a moon shadow, your towered over Charlie
But he would not relinquish his dominance.
You would always be second while he was around.
“But I won’t moan, and I won’t beg.”
For those who are grateful, the journey is a kinder reward. Let us learn from them.
Beware the Moonshadow
The old tales speak of the moonshadow,
following after the farmers in full moon’s light
Don’t be fooled by the reaper disguised,
as the shadow cast by the full moon’s light
There’s work to do but it can wait
Leave the plough, bring the ox to the stable
Go inside, break the bread
and take your seat at the table
Light a fire and pull up a chair,
warm your feet and rest your head.
Keep the shadow outside, you’re safe where you are,
better inside than dead.
Demons and Boogeys – hour 12, prompt 12
Terror
terror come alive
vile, scary stuff
as opposed to fiction
whatever it be
for me, is freaky
the demons and boogeys
crawling out of the shadows, trees
are Covid and death
horrors haunting our breath
crushing lungs,
killing loved ones
have people praying and preying
living in nightmares
been hanging out in my mind
began an ugly reality, unreal
some October afternoon
bubbled up on its own
in the East
brewing in November
it came to us
seething, gasping for air
like “The Stand” idea
from an 11 year old
in 1957.
– Sandra Johnson
(Reference: Stephen King’s novel, The Stand and using words in the last line of his book Danse Macabre.)
Prompt 10 Yusuf’s Song
Yusuf, your song, is our song.
Song of a shadowing moon.
Finding we’re all in the darkness.
We all know the same loss.
Eclipsed by the sleepy night.
Walking in the shade of doubt.
Made by our own ignorance
While the divine continues to seek out our face.
and tell us we all need each other.
To tell us we’ll all be alright.
#12 Hobbit Hair
No one said anything about
My Bilbo Baggins perm
Because they can’t remember
What my hair had been
I am the listener
Little attention to me
How are you? they ask
Without waiting for answers
I reach into my pocket
Searching for the Ring
Hoping for a new obsession
To make my life an adventure
Alas there is no ring
No quest to move me from
This soft sagging armchair
A volcanic Mount Doom
tabby
cupping his soft face
while he stares at me
with eyes kind as green
ears and nose blushed
he need not speak words
–he knows me.
as i leave, he mourns
as i arrive, he sprints
as i rise, he jumps
as i lay, he plops
and becomes the most beloved
Scarf i’ve ever worn.
my tiny friend
who grows heavier each day
louder by the hour
softer each night
i want to give you
the world you think of
when you gaze towards the ceiling and purr
while i kiss your little forehead.
Fireflyer (Hour 9)
Small hands dart quickly towards a vanishing yellow orb.
Reaching for the flash of an undefined spot
in the playful dark of the settling, country night,
where the firefly was perceived alight
but has already floated past, catching spark again,
a few feet ahead of the child’s searching eyes.
His little face stretches,
a strangely excited mask, in the new direction,
a small bottle close by to keep captive insects under watch.
As remnants of the day’s heat recede into cooler shadows,
a dance of light sparkles across the open pasture,
as if a carousel has dispersed itself, broken form
and flung its carnival majesty
to swim across the evening sky,
drifting down the velvet hillsides
spilling into the moonless forest
where its strobing, discotheque ambiance
flickers throughout the darkening treeline.
Winds of Change
Usually I’m a pretty happy-go-lucky guy
But lately, an anvil of dread has been tied onto me
My reservoirs of faith have been depleted and uncertainty is king here
But from the Sahara, a dust storm is on its way
Powerful winds with their mythical forces could carry my troubles away
Across the valleys and mountains to be deposited elsewhere so I can feel whole once again