#16 midnight
Is it late
or is it early?
the clock shows 12
midnight or noon?
I call it late
cause it’s dark
midnight
The mystery of a frog in my jar
August monsoon rain.flooding my garden, that stormy evening and
I heard a loud cry of frogs in a festive mood of lovemaking
In a pool of water cascading towards a small stream.
My raincoats and boots are dripping, when I tried to check my garden flooded up to my waist
Thinking my vegetable garden was badly damage from the flood.
i hang my raincoat and left my wet boots outside
And went back to my kitchen to get hot water from my teapot.
The steam from the pot touched my elbow and left a red mark.
it warms my shivering body from cold after a cup of coffee.
iI returned upstairs to get a warm blanket and noticed my children are intact in bed.
I laid down to get some sleep but, it kept me awake all night,
Worrying about the tomatoes I have in my garden and are ready for harvesting.
At the break of dawn, I went out to check my garden and
Lo and behold, some tomatoes survive the floods area, while the rest are left rotten.
Picking ripe tomatoes are easy and it filled up my basket easily.
I heard a slurpy munching sound from the back of a tree,
A squirrel peculate and munching on my sweet tomatoes.
After preparing a canner, a jar and a lid to preserve my tomatoes,
I noticed a green speckled frog inside one of my jar,
mysteriously jumped inside the basket full of red and green tomatoes.
.
Eternally Trapped
There she lay,
Still today;
Trapped inside a body,
In a bay.
They bury her there,
Hoping no one would say,
‘Who is the girl in the bay??’
There was no girl,
No girl in that bay.
Only a demon that lay,
Lay asleep.
Waiting for her prey.
She preys on the weak,
She preys on the caring.
So, if you see her be sure,
Be sure to leave her laying…
Laying in the dirty swamp,
Where demons like her belong.
tempest
“When women were birds, we knew otherwise. We knew our greatest freedom was in taking flight at night, when we could steal the heavenly darkness for ourselves, navigating through the intelligence of stars and the constellations of our own making in the delight and terror of our uncertainty.” – Terry Tempest Williams
i roared for the first time when
i was ready and i was never told by other women
to adjust my volume or tone, brazen though they were
i felt as though i was singing operettas with the birds
roar we
would / will / did for we knew
that it was death otherwise
survival depended on the we
the us the tribe we knew
the joy bravery fire of our
soul was knowing the greatest
winged freedom
was letting go of what was
and taking in
what was new taking
on the fight earning the flight
after being stared at
groped in the night
stolen from ourselves when
forced into a yes position we
screamed no as loud as we could
don’t you steal
me from me the
heartbeat in our ears heavenly
proof that we were alive in the darkness
being told to smile for
you not for ourselves
the maps torn from us while navigating
the stormy seas through
fog saltwater grief the
lighthouse of our intelligence
was lit by the fires of
those stars
who came before us and
commanded that we roar the
battle cry of our hearts to the constellations
touching our fingertips to the dust of
stars that burned out long before our
lives bloomed forth our own
phoenix sparking from ashes free making
filth dirt soot rise in
the throats of the
patriarchy to our delight
our womanly delight and
never again to kneel under the weight of terror
that is born of
ignorance fear silence our
voices will not be choked by uncertainty
Mom
When i look into your eyes
Last hours of your life
I knew ‘God was taking you home
Your hand was so strong then it got soft
I knew my Mom was gone
Know matter how old i am i wish you were here
So we could talk like we use to do
Miss you my beautiful ‘Mom
Hour 16:The Way of Lao Tzu
I am to you the teacher of the way.
The beguiler of truth.
See how beauty falls from grace.
There is always a profound mystery to be solved—
An unfound truth to be obtained.
Follow me into the West.
I ride backward on the end of impertinence.
Leave too, your ignorance in the shadows of the setting sun.
Then, for you, a newer East will become.
Haven
Go and find it.
That one place where you can hide from the world.
A secure bunker in a world full of straw houses.
Not forever, of course. Just until the world is
Ready to embrace you once more.
#15
Walls surround me
floors support me
and a roof over my head.
This is a house of love
love for you
love for me
and love for anyone in need.
Flirtations
without the poetry
I create only chaos
my veins rise like a
lover to the thought
of pain the panic takes
hold in quiet moments of
conversation I
am in love with the
slow and steady gaze
of a person confessing
their deepest secrets because when
people are hurting they want to
feel understood and
I am always hurting
and without the poetry
I create only chaos
Prompt for Hour Seventeen
Each year I write one prompt devoted to a cliché topic, previously these prompts have been focused on love, death, and angst.
This year the challenge is to write a poem about loss that is not cliché.