The Poetry Marathon

Hour 23: A Stinging Kiss

You might have been my best friend
I was toxic from the start
You could not stomach me
Now I’m your worst enemy

You coiled too tightly in the end
Spitting bile all the while
So I bit you and you’re poison now
You’re poison just like me

You may have been a good man
Now I’m evil in your eyes
A serpent’s hiss, a stinging kiss
You let your guard down and I ran

You want to wreck me like I wrecked you
But I’m immune to my disease
I stuck my fangs into your heart
And now you’re poison just like me

Now you twist the others who try
To suck my venom from your veins
They touch your lips and die
Unwitting Juliettes drawn to your pain

I bit you and you’re poison now
You’re poison just like me

Dear America

Dear America,

You are still beautiful.
Never forget your beauty
Or the glory that once was
in the days when leadership led.

And though we are under seige
By criminals who would fleece us
Of our shirts and our shores,
We can toss out their stupidity.

Let us not be divided,
And thus conquered by their memes.
Let us be as one people
Recalling delinquents in our halls.

Rally, America!
Behind the poor and mediocre
So they, too, can live under roofs
And eat the vegetables.

Together, we can all live.
Love,
Love

Coffee

Coffee’s my friend it makes me feel happy, it visits me morning, noon and night.

I can’t live without it, it keeps me going, it helps me take flight.

Best Cook Ever

A shadow stands by

As she crushes potatoes

Saying precaution about burns

As she flicks on stove

Hand guiding her

To make round parathas

Holding their breath

As she flips it on pan

Nodding at the colour

At the way she presses it

Taking it from her hand

As she grumbles about hunger

Laughing at the eager look

On the face of his daughter

Her Dad flipped it again

As she screamed ‘The Best Cook Ever’

 

For you Dad, you make the most delicious food ever. (Better than Mum)

happy birthday to my mother

what a way to celebrate your

birthday across the globe from

me, I wish I could be there

for cake and company

I wish I could take you to

the spa and out to lunch

I wish we could spend some

time and maybe the next day, brunch

I wish I could buy you diamonds

and house on a hill

maybe even retire you from working

so you could netflix and chill, for real.

I wish you could do whatever you wanted

and not have to worry about a thing

I wish you would have answered

the phone, so to you, I could sing

I know it’s far too early

and I can’t behave like a brat

after all it’s your birthday not mine

and you can sleep as long as you want

there’s nothing wrong with that

but when you awake in a couple of hours

without a card, breakfast or some flowers

know I’m coming over soon to love on you

and to make some of your birthday

wishes come true.

 

Happy 58th birthday mommy.  I love you

 

FJ original 2016

 

E moe malie me ka ‘ala o napua ‘awapuhi

E moe malie me ka ‘ala o napua ‘awapuhi

Walking across the carpet, feet sink into heavenly clouds

Fragrances of ginger and plumeria kiss the air

Sliding open the glass door, the linai reveals the ocean landscape

Palm trees sway gently in the trade winds

As day eases into night, tired souls retire into feathery comfort

But only after reading the Aloha greeting:

E moe malie me ka ‘ala o napua ‘awapuhi

Sleep soundly with the sweet scent of ginger blossoms.

Holiday

Warm glowing crackles from the stone hearth

as the circle begins to grow.

Murmuring voices gather into lilting laughter and stories of growing old.

The davenport is getting seedy from generations of hands and bodies.

Oils that have left behind their traces; ghosts of friends and family.

The walls have been many colors,

once even a fake wood.

The chip in the corner from children’s scuffling

tells a rainbow story of passing time.

There is a sturdy deep red rocker sitting where

the enfolding over-stuffed recliner used to be.

It finally reached its end,

when Granma could feel the springs.

Its twin is losing the floral skirt,

but still carries enough fluff for Grandpa’s bones.

On the table, in the middle,

sits the perpetual monopoly game

that has entertained so many rainy days.

In the air, the smell of dinner wafting through

the house making everyone’s mouth water

with thoughts of roast turkey,

mashed potatoes

and pumpkin pie.

 

 

 

Holiday

Lue

August 14, 2016

Hour 23-The Studio above my Grandparents House

I watched the world

Out bold tall windows

A window box below

Bookcases on either side

Filled with Reader’s Digest Condensed Books

And odd books by authors

long forgotten

The window box overlooked the railroad tracks

My favorite place

To read or watch the endless streams of trains

 

The ceiling bowed with the roof

Making the room look more octagonal

than square

I can smell the must

The dust even now

I can see the pine trees and the neighbors walk

Their heads jumping above the hedge

 

The deck was too public

Reaching beyond the tiny apartment

Too many people said hello

But I could sit

On the window box

Unnoticed.

It was sanctuary

Long gone after Grandma’s death

I would dream of the room often

The bed that slid into the wall

The pull down desk that hung by gold chains

Filled with cubbie holes to rifle through

 

The angled closets throughout

Odd containers of a life lived inside

Memories and keepsakes

The small black and white TV that barely had reception

The couch, scratchy and pinkish

That folded magically into a bed

A small two top table

And a kitchen, overlooking the deck

My first bachelor pad at 12

When I spent the summer alone with them

My first apartment

My first dream of independence

A field trip into adulthood

Under the careful eyes of my grandparents below

 

Poem 23

see the setting sun;
as the full moon rises high
arising and passing
sun setting is no less beautiful than sun rising.

one more poem

i’m as lucid as a lunatic

playfully insane

over the moon like a loony tune

tiddly winking the day away

over the edge as if unhinged

flapping in the wind

being led by voices in my head

as they speak up once again

my elevator quickly passes

every other floor

but in my mind i still can find

the light of one more poem