Beauty in Normal
Spirit left
ghost trapped in stone
mirrors lifted
windows open
All that is left is a memory
Broken glasses yet to be fixed
A new book left unread
Every day is fleeting
Hour #11: “Sun-born Tool-Weilder”
Vibrant, sun-born tool-weilder,
muscle and oil and hair in full,
Stride stepper, woundless love maker,
Light and vine climbing out of shadow,
Heaven Seeker, reaches, sky chasing beast of the earth, granted wings of selfwilled evolution.
Love-drunk day thinker, boring holes inside your wounds, fleshing out bloody walls, digging under skin.
Each sensation a series of tremors, burning as they seize the arm, the fingers, blossomed palms with electric stamen.
Prompt Eleven – The Handkerchief
Prompt eleven – Text Prompt
“Extraordinary in Ordinary”- pick an ordinary object and make it extraordinary. You can do it by giving it some special attributes or a different background and story.
The Handkerchief
Almost redundant these days
This humble square of cotton
Had many uses and ways
To give its user superpowers.
I remember my mother lay one out daily.
Along with his watch and wallet,
Washed, ironed, folded neatly
It nestled in her husband’s pocket all day.
Unlike its more modern cousin, the tissue
It was never disposed of.
Retired and repurposed as cheese cloths
Then a third life as dusters for dressing tables.
It was brought out multiple times.
To wipe our tears, to banish our fears
To mop up blood from skinned knees
To wave at school matches while the crowd cheers.
My sister’s dollies wore hanky sarees
And were tucked in at night under hanky sheets
Our fevers were frightened away by
Hankies soaked in ice and Old Spice
In temples he covered his own head with it,
Wiped wet foreheads in the searing heat
Shoes were polished with this trusted square
Belts, caps, and his Vespa seat.
The park bench got dusted before Ma sat down
Her lipstick and kajal stains on it
They went to posh parties and
Smuggled sandwiches back in them as treats
Bring back this old hero I say,
Let the modern man be King for a day.
Poem 11: I Know I’m Not Alone
I often think of you. I’m sure I’m like many women
who’ve lost their moms — wish we could have
one last talk. There’s so much I want to run by you –
your thoughts on Trump and what he’s done
to your GOP, how I could always see how smart
you were, you would have excelled in anything
you wanted to study at college, your one regret
not going, losing Matt by his own hand.
For other
deeper things, I know how you think
and what you’d tell me. It’s the things
I’ve come to see since you died
that I wish for one last chat. I don’t want
to become a story you forget. I hope
you think of me too, that the afterlife
is all that you’d hoped, even if it’s
different than what you were told.
I’d love to sit by you holding our similar hands
one more time, our fingers laced and strong.
Hour Eleven
A single red flower held at arm’s length
against the cerulean sky
sings of my love for chocolate and music
and banjos. (Maybe not banjos)
Left on a gravestone it symbolizes lost
on the keyboard of your spouse
love and romance
On an empty front step a sense of longing
regret perhaps.
A single green stemmed red flower
on a soldier’s jacket courage,
in the barrel of a rifle peace.
Courage, romance, longing, peace.
A Haiku on Grits Hour 10, 9/2/2023
Everyone knows that
garlic, cheese, pepper and shrimp
are what goes in grits
Poem for Hour Eleven (11/24)
Easily spot a common buzzard, hover above stretches of farmland,
Under the chin of a bluethroat glints complimentary stripes,
Red-backed shrikes,
Overcoat of snow on the landscape makes ravens contrast like ink blots,
Peachy strokes flashing about the trees, fieldfare, mute swan and great crested grebe float with
Ease.
XI- Warning
Snow falls onto a castle spire
and a princess sits, near burned by the fire
Peasant children play in the grounds below but it’s not a pleasure the princess knows
Her hands are gentle, soothed by fragrance and oil
Bathed in milk and honey, she dons the jewels of a royal
Her skin is untouched by the Pauper’s sun,
She longs to pick flowers, if only just one
Bells from the church break blasphemous thought
though a feeling nags, her status is for naught
She finds her warmest cloak, ties its strings beneath her throat
slips past the guard and treks to the yard
The jester she finds drunken and merry
as if he’d just eaten bush-berry
She pulls her hood tight, her presence he’d make light
She tries to sneak past, but the his will outlasts
yet instead of his rousing frolick and play,
he inches in to say:
“Dear Heiress, I am glad you are here
There is deception from those who are near
Though she feigns quite demure,
our queen is impure
Yes, there is another who desires your riches,
and the queen will do as she wishes
Because for those who seek power,
There is no shame in stomping a flower
The soothsayer waits in the wood past town
but you must halt until the sun goes down
Do as you please, but I felt you should know,
as we all have times in which we must go-
But heed this, princess, whatever you choose
the hearts of your people, you shall never lose
Return to the castle at once, my liege,
your citizens ensure you will travel with ease”
The princess pulls back the hood of her cloak
to find she is surrounded by solemn townsfolk
Deeply they bow as she treks through the snow
Burdened with thoughts of family turned foe
She enters her chambers to find a lady in wait,
with worry in her face and panic in her gait
“The queen seeks your ear, your counsel she desires
She waits in the hall in her seat by the fire
but there is a man of whom I’ve never seen
The look in his eyes is of a frightful dream
Forgive me, princess, if I speak out of turn
I may be a fool, but my stomach, it churns”
The princess nods, embraces her lady in wait
grazes her cheek and wipes the tear from her face
She looks to the sun hanging low in the sky,
thinks of the Fool and his knowledge of lies
“If it is truly counsel my queen desires,
then I shall meet her in hell, in her seat by the fire”
Hour 11: There Are No Poems About Mushrooms, So Here is a List of Facts About Them
Mushrooms evolved to decompose trees.
Mushrooms grow by flooding their cells with water.
Mushrooms are alien organisms genetically
closer to humans than plants which live on food,
Water, and oxygen. Mushrooms are the largest life source on earth;
Their roots expand for miles in search of food.
There are no poems about mushrooms.
Mushrooms help trees talk to each other
Across a network of webs passing signals to other plants,
especially during an attack. Mushrooms create airflows
which shoot spores up to 4 inches into the air.
There are eighty different species of mushrooms
Which glow in the dark. Lightning boosts mushroom growth.
It is theoretically possible that mushrooms came
from an alien planet. There is a suicidal mushroom.
Mushrooms are absolutely badass.
There are over 14,000 different types of mushrooms.
All mushrooms are edible, but some are only edible once.
Poisonous mushrooms are called toadstools.
Fifty types of mushrooms can digest plastic;
Mushrooms are literally saving the planet.
The Death Cap mushroom is one of the deadliest
organisms on earth. More than 350 million years ago,
mushrooms were over 24 feet tall. Ancient Egyptians
reserved mushrooms for royalty,
Because they are a gift from the God Osiris.
Many cultures view mushrooms as gods, spiritual
and medicinal tools, and portals to magical realms.
There are 26 Mushroom Houses built in America;
Mushrooms make an incredible design.
Mushrooms are the definition of cottage core
And hygge aesthetic, a safe little umbrella as a home
Under which nothing bad can ever happen.
Mushrooms almost always grow in groups.
Mushrooms stay together for protection
Without even knowing it. Mushrooms are gateways
To greater things, natural metaphors that there is more
To the Universe than meets the eye beyond the oceans
And sun and stars and moon and that which is known and that
Which is not. Mushrooms are literally going to take over the world
So lets just spend this time in our little mushroom home,
toads living in our own little world
Where nothing bad can ever happen.
arthritis lurking in the shadows
Arthritis is trespassing today. I’m still writing on paper – probably won’t get them posted to my computer for another day or so. I’m probably stopping at 12 hours, 9PM for me. I love this community and all the support each time we do this.