11:00 AM haiku
bunny under foot
daylight yields once more to dream
cow over the moon
#5
(Picture Prompt)
Laying, gazing
through the window
in the canopy covered meadow
with you.
The woolen blanket protects our skin
from the straw mountain grass
as our shoulders and hips
press against one another
while our heads meet at the temples.
Our hands naturally find their indentations
and crevices
that have melted into the other
over time.
The aspens rustle and sing a song
with their golden painted leaves
that flit with the air
while the eyes on their white trunks
watch us with wonder and
sweetly sway back-and-forth
to the rhythm of the wind
and dance just for us.
Hour 5: Photo-ku Series
morning mountain fog brush strokes widen my appetite overnight drench sidestepping slugs around the lake trail unrequited love he throws another marshmallow into the ashes skinny dipping under the galaxy the flash of paparazzi autumn nap the murmur of tree limbs in silence
2020, poem 5, picture prompt
Sweet Spanish Chestnuts
He kept them
wrapped up in a handkerchief,
as prized as a pocket watch
against his breast.
Seas swelled and wind whipped the Armada
tossing it about until it became waterlogged, broken. Sunken
off the Irish coast, the sailor’s body was washed up
near Ballygalley, villagers swaddled him tight
as an Egyptian mummy and buried him with the locals.
Five Hundred years on
an enormous chestnut tree crouches over
the headstones, keeping watch on all the dead souls.
For Pops
We share the same name and many of the same ways
I see your features when I look at my face
You were a proud dad but with demons
Parted for portions of my childhood with you in prison
Yet away or with me I knew you cared
Always attempted to be a good father when you were there
Conversations and laughs shared while you cut my hair
Instilling a love of nice suits, jazz, and blues
Teaching me self sufficiency and how to use tools
I still remember the call saying you died from pills
13 years later it still doesn’t feel real
A day before the superbowl where Prince performed Purple Rain
The water cascading from clouds mirrored my face tear stained
I cried as Doves Cry played on the TV
No amount of weed or liquor able to relieve me
Maybe I’m just like my father two fold
At your body viewing touching your face that was too cold
I forgive you for your faults I know you did your best
A black man growing up when you did had to face so many test
You beat racism, prison, and an addiction to crack
But even at your worst you always had my back
We share a name so you are called when my name is spoken
I see you sometimes in dreams
Then remember you’re gone when I’m woken.
Lost in Media Maze
four
four written
four posted
yes!
ahhh, BUT
frick!
WRONG
this is not
miscellaneous
four poems
born from nowhere
birthed into the site
sighted
seen
but uncounted in the maze
of a web
I didn’t design
hidden
so I didn’t know
miscellaneous was not my choice
marathon was my preference
but marathon was a lost
in the maze
of this confusing web
what to do?
forget it?
keep on
keep on
keep on
what does it matter
the construct is
a conundrum
the maze has a door
I choose not to open it
but remain
entangled
in another web
of my own making.
striving to the finish
despite
setbacks
this is a commitment
made in earnest
and in earnest
I shall proceed
2020 Hour #5: A Road in Argentina
2020 Hour #5: A Road in Argentina
On an overnight drive
From Mar Del Plata to Buenos Aires
I sat awake, entranced by the night sky;
The ceiling was erupting in massive bursts of light,
Even in my wildest dreams, there weren’t this many stars.
From my seat, pushing my head against the window
And arching my neck to the edge of its capacity,
I became as still as a stone in rapture.
What are the rules of celestial life?
Perhaps there is a hierarchy involved,
In which the best and chosen shine brighter,
A class into which they are born
And thus are entitled.
But then, what of the strivers, the dreamers,
Those lit even more furiously from within
So, like those of us below
Have to try harder to burn longer
To sustain greatness over the obvious blinding arrogance
Whose light is an excuse to take up space.
From my perch so below this spectacle
They seemed to co-exist without conflict;
Or, was I seeing armies gathered on infinite battlefields
Waiting for the signals to charge
Infantries of light in constant formation
Until the daylight calls a truce.
Heal
HEAL
_________________________________
Healing and growth
Walk hand in hand
Through life’s twists and triumphs
During life’s conflicts and challenge
Fingers laced
One leads some days
Toward curiosity’s will-o’-wisp glow
Other days one pauses
Calls them to their senses
Mapping the worlds contours and creases
Together they wander
One may strain and the other bulk
One may leap and the other stumble
Yet
They only make it home
If they have the other
Hour 5: The Loop
I haven’t been out of this valley in 16 days.
There’s a loop that I walk,
it whips away from the ocean.
Two green thighs with
one way in, one way out.
You could die here.
Do you want to die here?
In this theatre of mountains and river,
eucalyptus ushers,
people and their dogs, their fruit punch, their Christmases.
Cloud descends to abate the heat of that
despicable star,
To cool me and my fire.
A leaf ballet, a red-hot fungus.
It’s all there in the creek:
A gift from the cyprus and a bird without a nest.
Coy are glinting in a dam.
It’s true, I may be out of my tree,
but I don’t want to die here.
HOW IT REALLY IS – Hour 5
HOW IT REALLY IS
A Zen Story
awakening into the twilight of the morning
I take my boat to fish among the silent mists
as the sun contemplates the course of the day
night playfully rousing daybreak with sweet kisses
light & shadow parting like a tender, long goodbye
mists dancing with every element in breathless balance
as I watch entranced
across the swirling sea-sky a shape emerges within the mist
I am halted in my dawning reverie, peering through the shadows
as the shape is delivered to me from the darkness
It is another boat.
another boat on this flowing nebula of mist and stars
obscured except its vaguest outline in the sleepy morning
another boat, right in the way of my course
I flap and squawk, shattering the sunrise harmony
“Hello!” I cry and “Turn Aside!” but from the other boat
there is no reply across the shimmering water
I’m appalled by this cretin
I raise my voice again in contempt to condemn him. Who is he
to steal my glorious dawning? Who is he to make me turn aside? and then
the curtain of fog rises in the sublime sunlight, and finally I see
The other boat is empty.