11am In My Mind
In my mind everyone is looking at me, the way my leg doesn’t lift as high, the way my hands don’t grip the mat, the way my exhale seems shallow, oh wait they can’t see my exhale. I guess it’s all in my mind, my view, of myself, I let go.
Waiting
He does not wait well
he taps and fidgets and huffs.
I write and try to hurry.
Because he does not wait well.
Then I think of all the times I waited.
For lesser reasons.
Shoot, I am writing this darn poem.
He can wait and he can learn just like I did…
to wait well.
Loud noises
Friendliness has sown in me the decrypt notion
That life figures itself, without hastle.
It is to logic that we must prey
Try to keep our noses clean
Our heads swaying in the heat.
Forbear the wonderful day, keep going till the end of night.
Withstand the rain, and not lay down your soul in the desert.
And most of all forgive yourself the quiet indiscretions, that keep you awake at night.
Shopping Day II
The 24 poem “International Gourmet Feast”
Shopping Day II
Allspice for the prunes
I know that sounds strange
with lots of Vodkoi
for no one to make strange
The avocados top off a salad
of Greek fame and fortune
with a Greek Art Merlot
artfully blended red wine, of which we are so fortune (ate)
Fresh turnip and portobello magic
for a rustic Irish stew
so easy I fear it
causing me a stew
the desert is Hawaiian
Chocolate Haupia Pie
with shreds of coconut
fit for a sweetie-pie
that pretty well does it
now I must check the wine-matches
and my draw of candles
and long-stick matches
DeaBeePea 6-27-20
Recipe for Duq de la Fascism /hr2
Recipe For Disaster
1. Put children and their well being at the bottom
of priorities rather than the top.
2. Actively create programs that actually make children
suffer harm in one way or another in mass numbers
all over the world.
3. Do not have a viable operational way of keeping close
watch on your leaders at all times, in all things.
Exist in oblivion as to what they are and are not
doing -in your name, no less.
4. Be a leader, or have a leader who does not understand that
the reportage of their activities serves to benefit them as well,
because it will stop them from being able to indulge their
most catastrophic of impulses, which means they live ,
because they weren’t allowed to kill us all, their whole
term is a big fantastic terrific success and they are every
bodys favorite. We all go on to finally do that persuit of
happiness thing.
5. Invest in death rather than in life. You will only get a return
on what you have invested in.
#3 Privilege
You won’t see me in those streets
among faces of grief, theirs, not mine
because my fear wants to quietly weep.
Every shot and shout falls like a beat
I’m learning behind closed doors, in time.
You won’t see me in those streets
to march shoulder to shoulder, feet to feet
asking questions, seeking to find
because my fear wants to quietly weep
in private sorrow, my heart, my heat
comfortable here, resting in rhyme.
You won’t see me in those streets.
I write the song that prays for new belief,
hoping for answers and a loving bind
because my fear wants to quietly weep.
I sing the terror; I shudder in our need,
crying for millions, our collective lives,
but you won’t see me in those streets
because my fear wants to quietly weep.
Under
Under this paper is a spine
under this paper is
a gift
under this paper is sanitized for your protection
under this hello is why
under the rule of virus
skeletons rejoice
Joints make themselves heard
Knuckles swell
listen for the space they are about to take up.
MORNING
Every time we chance to meet,
you look familiar, nothing new –
that plain, unremarkable face,
so I need to look in the mirror
to make sure all is still on track,
that no eyebrow has strayed,
eyebags dangling from my elbow,
knees ironed and folded,
the neck baked, waiting for lace,
hands kneading the morning,
all past sleepless lives forgiven.
Let me at least offer you tea.
Hour 3 – the pretty poet girl
Whoa.. You’re beautiful!
But I am not. My hair is curly
And all twisted and black –
And my soul – a little bit more.
No. I am perhaps not
The pretty poet girl.
My neck ain’t draped in pearl.
Caress me in your words,
And I will drape mine
All around your soul.
I may not have
That pretty poet’s ass.
But there’s no way –
I won’t caress you in my sass.