Remind Me, Please
It is so narrow here.
Chairs embedded in ice.
Noise only underlines the loneliness.
Routines dull uniqueness.
Minds return to primal sameness.
No past, no future –
Only deadening now.
Remind me –
Why am I in prison?
Q&A
How many more objects, concepts, species,
histories that once had happy associations
will we have to let go of because
industrial capitalism is based on
ignorance of the natural order
of ecological interdependence?
I saw a photo of a wooden swing–
unoccupied–surrounded by a field
of sunflowers and, of course, all I could
think about was Ukraine, with its famous
fields of upturned faces and the absence of so
many of its children–emigrated, unschooled,
wounded, killed in a brutal strongman’s war.
This Magic Moment (Hour Five, A Haiku)
This Magic Moment
Is that a quarter
I see behind your right ear?
“SHOW ME THE MONEY!”
(A haiku is a three line poem with a syllabic count of 5/7/5. Traditional Japanese haiku typically has a central theme of nature.)
A Day at Sea (hour 8)
should be calming
reflective
restorative
soul enriching
body nourishing
peaceful
BUT we have cardio at 8
breakfast buffet
adobe photoshop class
team trivia
line dancing
scattergories
napkin folding
and table tennis.
All take place in bars where ever smiling crew will solicit drinks:
Then: ballroom dance
or amber seminar
or shopping advice for Curacao
sushi demo
ice sculpting
facial & massage
bingo
art auction and
afternoon tea.
I’ll pull myself away to rest in my cabin before formal night and Captain’s party,
set my clock to have time to shower and put on gown for pictures:
Then off to:
steak and lobster
baked Alaska-flaming in the dark
a procession of waiters on parade
a few more drinks
and I am full and fat.
PLEASE ROLL ME OFF NOW!
Away (Hour Eight, Photo Prompt)
Away from the cars, the trucks, the airplanes overhead,
The lights, the noise, the electronics keeping us fueled with dread.
Deep breath in and exhale out, turning gaze up to the sky.
A small piece of the galaxy am I.
Hour 8-The Grief
This island has felt many griefs
Blood flowing in generations past
The sacred valley of Iao
The battle of Olawalu
Blood red Wai
sacred bones buried deep in the hillsides
But this grief is new
Modern
Instead it is ash
Homes leveled
Businesses gone
Artwork lost
Human remains unclaimed
Human remains not found
Burned out cars
The smell of smoke and despair
The loss as big as the Pacific
Tears and chants
Songs and sorrow
Blistering memories of what is lost
Lahaina burns in our memory
Forever
It too will become sacred ground
Just like Iao and Haleakala
The West Maui Mountains
stand in reverence
The story will be told in hula
The sadness will be generational
encoded in DNA
Life goes on
As the dead are buried
mourned and celebrated
One step forward
Rebuilding what was lost
An island grieving
Within the volcanic rock
and the honeycreepers song
The ocean breaks
Hopelessness will dissipate
But the change
as palpable as when the Islands
were stolen
And land sacrificed
This grief is internal
This grief belongs to Hawaii
This grief will not go away.
This grief is Maui
reading dystopia in a time of dystopia
Recently I read another
book about dystopia
not in the future
but now
Trying to wrap
my brain around
book bannings
book burnings
bounty hunters
climate deniers
forced birthing
illegal ideas
illegal treatments
invented histories
slow moving putsch
versions of fugitive slave laws
voting restrictions
I will stop
reading dystopia novels
as our nonfiction world
is dystopian enough
Hour 8 – Solar Impact
Solar Impact
Morning light creeps between the slats of blinds
It tumbles over the window sill
It puddles on the floor
Morning light seeks the dusty corners
Illuminating unswept recesses
Pointing its shameful finger
Morning light shimmers off surfaces
Blooms like algae
Occupies all the space
Morning light pries at my eyelids
Insistently buffets my face
Screams at me – Get Up!
Morning light, go feed the plants
Go warm the earth
Let me sleep
Funeral Singers Prompt #8 Poem #8 by Ingrid
We are…
brief little sparks searching for the light
We are…
friends and family joined together in the same plight.
We are…
Funeral Singers singing our way home.