Brother – Hour 8
There are things I love:
I love my loved one,
my sister, and my work.
But there is something I hate:
My other sister, her behaviour,
and simply all she does.
… “Clean up after your work!”
Hour Ten – word prompts…
Moonbeam dancing in the night
Fog washing over
The hush of the evening
Like concrete crashing down
Canteen empty
Coffee all dried up
On the dock, I sit
Like an old forgotten novel upon a shelf
gj
Love Letter
And You Have Come,
Never To Go Away!
And We Have Met,
To Walk Forever On The Endless Way..
A Promise, Never To Give Up On Each Other,
Come What May!
prompt #13, hour 10 ~ 2 a.m.
2 a.m.
The moon so bright that moonbeams
become beacons, illuminate the dock
until an abandoned steel canteen
glitters like forgotten treasure
Beneath a looming Douglas fir
a shelf of rock the colour of weak coffee
juts over the water’s surface
Fog spirals from the hushed water
Here no damn concrete no 21st
century bling, no detritus to remind us
that we are transients. only the rock
knows time, and the water that carves it
Till Morning Comes
Moonbeams reflect off the water
Like silver shards
shining through the wispy fog.
The coffee has grown cold
but he still takes a swing
from his canteen, feels the bitter
liquid run down his throat.
All of creation has been hushed.
Nothing stirs amid
the firs and oaks surrounding the lake.
I AM
I AM
I am the greatest of all times
I am a rock, I am an island
I am your father
I am I said
I am Groot
I am happy
I am a teapot
I am woman hear me roar
I am what I am
I am no worse for wear
I am pretty, oh so pretty
I am the bread of life
Who ME???
I am daughter, sister, wife
I am momma, cousin, aunt
I am Grandma Noodle too.
I am an employee, care giver
I am council woman, pet owner
I am a friend, a mentor
I am a poet, sort of.
I am also what you find in the mystery of the clouds
And the bounty at the end of a rainbow
I am everything and sometimes nothing at all
And yes, I am a teapot!
Running from concrete
The sparkle of the moonbeams danced in the reflection of this morning’s coffee
The hush of the owls palpable in the air hanging like fog on the misty lake
One more sip of fresh water left in the canteen
Damn I don’t know if I’ve got it in me to stay here any longer
The alternative— the heat of piss steaming off the Manhattan concrete
lLght the Douglas Fir candle half burned at Christmas and give thanks for the family cabin
Uncle Larey’s book shelf holds books he clearly never meant to read and nobody else will either
Eying that boat tied securely to the dock…
there’s only one way out of here
You know
false stats
he knows them well
time and again he tweets
time now to know what’s false data
and think
The man with the golden gun
Everywhere you go, the man stares at you from afar. The man is indicative of nothing and everything under
the sun. He challenges your perceptions and
warrants complete objectivity. He is well aware of the current state
of affairs and will never hesitate to flaunt it. You could try and interact with him although your mileage may vary as one existence seeps into the next.
The origins of the man are relatively esoteric and obscure but we all know where
he’ll end. I just wish he didn’t bring that firearm with him wherever he goes. His insecurities are apparent all over his skin and yet we know how important he is to our essence.
In Which He Forgot Where the Ocean Was
concrete cracks
children of the night hush
silence fogs the street
a ship on land approaches and
docks near the sidewalk
the moonbeam from above
frames the old sailor, drinking from
his canteen. Damn,
he mutters under his breath
Where can I get some coffee around here?