Moonshadow

 

 

Moonshadow

Poem 10

 

Is it different from the sixties?

Are we really changed?

What do we want in life?

 

There is always a lot:

to be thankful for or

to complain about

 

and in this country

if you’re white and privileged– to have.

 

Moon shadows follow us:

reflections of who we

might be

can be

wish to be.

 

Why are we here?

Is it to learn something?

Is it as random as leaves falling in the breeze?

Or is this time and place perfect for us?

 

As if a pandemic and a pathological liar president

ganging up on us isn’t enough…maybe there’s a lesson here.

 

If we learn it, maybe it won’t be so hard next time.

Or maybe just the opposite…it’ll be a real challenge.

 

None of us know for sure.

 

So what do we have?

 

Love, hope and

a shadow we’re

not able to hug.

 

 

 

Pandemic

 

 

Pandemic

 

 

Mask who you have become.

 

You cannot let lethargy

stalk you around every corner.

 

Make the most of pandemic.

Zoom like you mean it.

 

Tinkerbelle will lead a strange brigade

of lonely fireflies above the treeline

past the cohousing cottages

into the sky and then to the stars.

 

Don’t bottle up this strange energy.

Eat it like porridge.

Feel its heat.

 

Because who you

thought you were

no longer exists.

 

 

 

 

Emoji Poem

 

 

Emoji Poem

(based on my current favorite emoji’s)

 

Wave to us Tinkerbelle!

 

look at the rabbit

who looks at time

with two open eyes

 

loves to wave

rides the waves

 

but like a bumble bee sans flowers

can’t help but be unhappy

with such horror on the earth.

 

His inner eagle

needs to fish around to

find an angel with brains.

 

His starry-eyed smiley face will

then give a thumbs up to

the doctor who is a diamond

in this time of crying.

 

Don’t be a nerd,

give a shamrock

thank you to those

who wear masks.

 

 

 

Season of the Reckoning

 

 

Season of the Reckoning

 

 

Everything’s off rhyme

stuck in syncopated time

 

this season of the reckoning

is echoing the sickening,

sanity’s trembling is worsening

 

adrenalin is assembling

both sides told they’re trespassing

but disenchanting is awakening.

 

Threatening editing slides by

some who are unquestioning,

but to me it is unsettling.

 

Deadening, deafening lies are enveloping

our lives, but we just keep on messaging

while what they’re peddling feels like sentencing.

 

We’ve gotten used to crazy menacing

but like a loaf of bread with leavening

we’ll rise up to not feel second string.

 

His skeleton of embezzling

hypnotizing but we’re awakening

 

adding strength to what’s developing

together we’ll soon be reveling.

 

 

 

 

 

The Ideal Day

 

 

 

The Ideal Day…

 

I smell orange peels

past their prime

desiccated in sun…

 

cheers cascade down

on me like waterfalls

from everywhere…

 

I can’t get enough.

 

I’m not prone to pinch myself

but this warrants a pain

born of pleasure…

 

I finally get to scream goodbye

to the worst side of myself

manifest as President Agent Orange…

 

Reality TV had featured a peacock

strutting and fanning his wings

to the adoration of less and less…

 

until crooked politics

and internet circumvent

weren’t enough to keep him on our screens…

 

smell has a strong memory

but his septic tank of vision

fades like a sunset bright from pollution…

 

and I bite into a crisp Gala apple

to relish the taste

of something sweet

and finally… a twang of hope

 

 

 

The Lake

 

 

The Lake

 

shimmers like the dream it represents

distant lights of Coeur d’Alene

a beacon of trust – we’re not in this alone.

 

Like many things

it’s not always what it seems.

we bathe in calm waters

fed by rivers from the hills.

 

Mines made money for a few

provided hard working jobs

buried deep within the earth.

 

Trickle down waste

washed to streams

 

flowed to pristine lake

but is hidden from view

way down on the bottom

 

like trickle-down economics

as the gap widens between

rich and poor

healthy and sick

haves and have-nots

 

invisible as a virus

politicized until those at the top

realize they can’t imagine it away,

 

that reality is more than what they think.

 

The rest of us dive down to the bottom

and wonder why the water seems

a lot murkier than you’d expect.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Anonymous American

 

 

 

Dear Anonymous American

 

I know it’s not your fault.

You caught it by default.

 

He wants us to exalt

all his double talk.

 

From the top we get assault.

Our wounds are rubbed with salt.

 

You’re in a burial vault

of his askew surreal pole vault.

 

His mind flexible as cobalt

while your life was lost.

 

I’m sorry this thunderbolt

somersaulted your life to halt.

 

And if I say I’m sorry

it’s from one deep in worry

 

that you’re one of the many

his lack of caring had to bury.

 

 

Bunny Love

 

Bunny Love

(A Bop)

 

A hawk stares down on me

from high above, I see a dove.

Naïve bunny that I am

I bop along sunny bunny trail

grass beaten down just enough

to show me where to go.

 

Bunny love is funny love

but can also be a boxing glove.

 

Can I love myself?

Does it matter if I swing and miss?

Does it matter if I fall down flat?

Doesn’t the team depend on me?

My ancestors and descendants

stare down from the stands.

Pelt me in an indecipherable sound that

may be cheers, boos or indifferent chatting.

 

Bunny love is funny love

but can also be a boxing glove.

 

I need to figure out what to do

but there is nothing to figure out.

I need to be in this moment

as if the stands aren’t there

as if everything and nothing are the same

as if the answer is a little further down this bunny trail.

 

Bunny love is funny love

but can also be a boxing glove.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Recipe for Sanity

Recipe For Sanity

 

This cookbook won’t put up with none of your self-centered archaic antics.

Its recipes have a zesty tang to remind you that nothing exists but here and now.

 

After all, haven’t you spent enough time doing what was expected?

Why not add a spoonful of cayenne even though you don’t like heat?

 

Life would be boring if it all worked out exactly as planned.

Why not stand on the edge of a cliff and twirl as fast as you can, eyes closed.

Then take a step forward.

 

Well – you’re still here – so I guess it worked out.

 

Your reward is to be Michael Jordan about to shoot your biggest shot ever.

Millions are watching. You are in the ocean with waves lapping at your knees.

All you have to do is throw this big ol’ basketball and hit the water that is all around you. Can’t miss.

 

But what if a hurricane rages into your face just as you let go and blows that ball onto shore so you lose the game and dejectedly walk away amidst a medley of boos that drift into your marrow.

 

Can you realize that there are things bigger than you?

 

Can you accept that everything doesn’t always work out the way you planned?

 

Well… if you can… then you are ready to bake this cake.

 

It will only taste right if it is infused with love.

The kind of love not meant to make you feel good about yourself.

 

A love that is a form of art nonexistent until right now.

That’s right…something new.

 

And you are not creating it.

It is creating you.

 

Trashing all my poems

Dear Caitlin, Jacob and the amazing bunch of spirited writers at the table,

I am deleting all my poetry posts from the poetry full marathon 2020. i hovered over the trash button indecisively for three days, till i had the confidence of letting my poems go beyond the secured sanctuary of this blog. While Caitlin and Jacob birthed another poetry marathon, Annie and Amanda nurtured it for half of the time and now Shloka is here to immortalize it in an anthology. fellow travellers in this journey always gave a shoulder to rest tired thoughts. more fellow travellers of poetry shared their ubiquitous experiences of reading others’ poems. i have been enriched in more ways than one. but now i must walk alone, with a dream of publishing this set of poems, written in remembrance of my maternal grandmother who died of self-immolation and whom i knew so little; this set of poems celebrating three generations of women, my grandmother, my mother and me, who stand tall together, irrespective of their personal her-stories.

i take each one of you together in this journey, for the poems were born in your company, under one grand chandelier of purpose- to create poetry.

with warm regards and hope that you all continue to thrive in poetry

greetings from Austria

Susmita

 

p.s. there could have been a “CONCLUSION” in the Categories section. Just thinking out loud, you see.