Hour 11-Extraordinary in Ordinary (Haiku)
The lead digs into
the paper, magnificent
words are then made there
Landscaper’s Lament (Hour 4)
Forever hold my peace?
Or forever hold my piece?
I object with yells and cries,
Im throwing knives instead of rice.
No, im not here for communion,
Im here to intervene this union.
No, sir i am not embarrased,
Ive freed the horses from their carriage.
I am here to set this straight,
To prevent this huge mistake.
She is not a righteous partner,
Shes been sleeping with the gardner.
All the yardwork done for free,
And that gardener is me.
Priest, dont interrupt me please,
I will never hold my peace.
Me and this woman have a past,
ive done more than mow her grass.
Trimmed the hedges, raked the leaves,
Then made love under the trees,
Everyday after Steve leaves,
Its been 1 year and 3 weeks.
So im here, on bended knee,
As enthrolled as i can be,
God is witness, all can see,
No one loves you more than me.
(Empathy comes from the crowd,
Even heard a clapping sound.
For the gardner spoke profound,
Even steven fell astound).
So, i hate to intefere,
But thats the reason why im here,
To prevent this ceremony,
And this union thats unholy,
Now we finally meet face to face, seems that fate has paved its course,
And from man-to-man i say this: steve, the baby isnt yours.
As he grabbed his lover’s hand, and the gardner turned to leave,
A man’s voice, calm and composed exclaimed, “Who the fuck is Steve?”.
As the gardner now confused turned and saw in ghostly fright,
He had never seen this woman before in his whole entire life.
This is not Saint Thomas the Appostle Church?
And the gardner filled with shame cursed his maps and google search.
silently apologetic, in a quiet tone he said, “my friend-
-could you imagine, i have to give that same speech again”.
Then he reached into his pocket, and he handed him a card,
“Call me if you ever need a gardner to mow your yard”.
Secret path
There is a light guiding me
on and on
and I see you and me
our silent destiny
and forward we go
together
Prompt 11: all of it
all of it
tilt your head
view this place with soft eyes.
see it?
it’s the place we began:
the womb of our Mother,
soft and warm like a sweat lodge door.
are we arriving (ni-maaja*)?
or departing (dgoshin)?
or returning (bskaabi)?
many say it’s all of them
and none of them.
(c)r. l. elke
*these words are in the language of my Ancestors: Nishnaabemowin
Our Destination
On my own
There was darkness everywhere
I looked around
I saw your eyes
But I shut my own
Gather round
There’s a place we’re headed
Do you see the stars?
They’re heaven’s stones
That place we must go
But It Is Not Reality
cw: none
When the canary dreams,
its wings are whole.
It flies, and it sings,
and it is surrounded by others,
just like it.
And the dream
is beautiful.
Hour 11 – My Best Friend
My Best Friend
My best friend always bites me,
She’s happy drawing blood
Though I know she loves me,
She’d kill me if she could.
She eats me out of house and home
And makes me take her crap
And though she lives inside my home
I’ve only seen her nap
She never works, she’ll never help,
Just lays around all day
But even if I could get help,
she’d never go away.
In the end I love her like I love nobody else
Because even when she hurts me, it’s just a minor flog
And as something else,
My landlord won’t let me have a dog.
What is Love (2023 Poem Ten)
What is Love
Shelter from any storm
Courage to forever be true
Strength against all odds
Will to always protect you
Pain when I am not injured
Sadness on my best day
Joy when nothing goes right
Worry when all goes my way
Listening to the words I don’t say
Sharing a solid embrace
Four am calls without hesitation
Being my rock, my safe space
(Prompt: The first three words of your title should be “what is love”. That can be your whole title, in and of itself, probably followed by a question mark, or you can add more context onto the title before proceeding to the poem itself.)
Door – Hour 11
It’s my barrier between worlds
between introvert and extrovert
between safety and anxiety
I’m open to the idea
of using it
but for the most part
it’s closed
Only a few inches thick
blocking out all noise
keeping my thoughts inside
for no one else to hear
It’s the last thing
I close before embarking
on my daily journey
but it’s the first thing
greeting me
upon my return
I welcome it
with a turn of a key
and a slight push
it’s rather symbolic.
Hour Eight Poem Image “Lamp Lit by Fire”
I come with my battery-powered lamp to sit by your fire,
my tired feet warmed by the flames of your heart,
drawing energy not from a’s or c’s or even d’s but from solar flares.
I sit in sunshine even in the dark of night
reflecting the source that you are.
Your fire needs to claim a log.
It needs to crackle and crisp the edges of whatever draws near.
Take this wood, take this word, and burn me, baby, bring it on!
We are lit from within with that destructive, creative energy of love
where every wood chip splinters and sparks
demanding yet more fuel for the fire.
Willingly, I turn my face toward your inner sun
and recharge my batteries to be a light in the night,
sitting in the splendor of your flame,
my beacon humbly holding vigil.