11:00 AM – Homegoings (Hour 3)
The way we move
from body to body
shifting the names from
grief to grief
has to weigh heavily on
our souls
~ d², 09.02.23, 11:52 AM
Copyright D Squared Poetry, 2023.
© All Rights Reserved.
Hour 3 -The Storm
- The ocean is a giant pond.
- It is laughing at me.
- The salty taste permeates my dry mouth. Debris settles between my toes. The calm waves crash quietly against the air. Deep, blue streaks dart here and there. The stench of what did not survive fills my nostrils.
- The joyous sound of the lonely birds tasted like jam on my buttery toast.
- Teddy Swims melodic voice can be heard in room 6-107 at John Hopkins Middle School.
- I hate to hear birds chirping.
- The continuous noise in my classroom slowly drives me crazy.
- No, that’s not cap.
- Because I can’t walk my life is over.
- Rain, rain go away, come again another day.
- The shiny sun of the sad sky is my hope.
- The dull knife cut me heart when you left.
- The ocean wrapped its arms around me.
- Skinny used her caring nature to make it through.
- My love for life will be rewarded in the end.
- I found all that I needed in my journal book jacket.
- My heart will forever keep beating.
- Ta grace suffit a mon ame (It is well with my soul).
- My soul still cries out.
- In the sea of confusion, the ocean keeps me safe.
prompt 3: this burning mess
The 20 little poetry projects
this burning mess
breath is life
small red berries see in the dark
the white-hot light of these end-of-days summers
filling my mouth with ash.
now all I smell is burning
when I worry about the future
and I long to run to the water to cool my raging skin
or taste the silence of all those screaming trees Bezos and Musk can’t hear
in California
or the Cayman Islands
or Mars.
our breath is killing us in our sleep
while we wait for someone else to fix the problems we’ve created.
Skodene!
these companies are all going green to save the planet
because, they say,
liquid natural gas does not come out of the ground…
the exquisite pile of lies
making me shove my thumbs in my eyes so deep
I am now deaf,
the silence slicing through me.
“she’s mojo,” they said,
“the one who brings water to fire in
rippling, glass buckets.
this madness will end in the squishing of mud between our toes!
maajtaadaa!
the trees are calling while they run around screaming
with their hands on fire.
(C) r. l. elke
Come Friday, Jimmy (An odd tribute to Jimmy Buffett)
Life is like a bowl of cherries
There goes a cow down the road
I smell it
I see it
I hear it
I touch it
Might be my dinner
The stars shout in exultation
Jimmy Buffet in Margaritaville
I do not touch it
If I had to guess, I’d say purple
Oh my cow!
The rooster crowed three times and now I am doomed
Je ne parle pas l’espagnol
The greyest stone of dawn
Like looking through the glass darkly
Jimmy could not find the clock with the 5:00 p.m. alarm
Skipper found the time
She’ll be in Margaritaville by midnight
Humongous marbles
If you follow my example, you will have no success
Je ne sais quoi
The clock rolled its eyes
The margaritas did what the rooster had been unable to do
Hour 3: Stories
Her voice was a cry through the chambers of a full heart
Pumping rhythmically its 8 pints of blood
The sound smooth, soft, gossamer
Scraping the ears of all those who would listen
Releasing a tale from the mouths of those she trusted
A tale many had heard
Those who heard, all thought they understood
An epic saga of good versus evil
Where all that was good was stripped from her
A tale where she was left the villain
A thundering scream, ripped from her heaving chest
An unanswered question, “Why?”
Starting over…
Her voice was an echo through the chambers of an empty heart
Devoid of its 8 pints of blood
The sound sharp, cutting, angular
Caressing the ears of those who cared to listen
Unfolding a story trapped within the depths of her soul
A story few had heard
Those who heard, few understood
A story with no hero, only villains
No epic tale of good versus evil
For only evil had left its mark on her
A soundless scream racking her heaving chest
An unanswered question, “Why?”
Hour 3- Cows, Ducks, and Starshine
- You are pulling my leg, I might have a cow. I’d get bent out of shape, If I only knew how.
- I think my mind is heading towards the moon with the cow! Oh no! I have reached the stars.
- Looking around, I see the milky way, I hear the whoosh of a meteor fly by. I nibble the silky strands of starshine, tasting the lingering sweetness of dreams. Closing my eyes, I breathe in deep, the scent of space so clean. Peeking once more, I grin, as the man in the moon smiles at me and I feel his glee so I tickle him.
- The sounds of the universe send blue waves trickling through, tasting of the ocean, the colours true.
- Coming back to the Earth, I revel in the blessing that Mother Nature provides.
- You know, maybe I won’t have a cow….I think it will be a duck. Ducks are more fun and they waddle.
- Now that I think about it, ducks do not waddle…they paddle as they swim in the water so maybe I will just be a mermaid.
- To be honest, I know diddlysquat about mermaids, but I can learn!
- As the mermaid swims, they stir up the currents in the water and create hurricanes! I learned something new, but….is it true?
- Behind me, I hear a four year old screaming “Poo poo! Poo poo!” A six year old replies, and I can hear his eye roll, “That’s a bad word! What the hell!?”
- The logic of children befuddles me.
- I shake my head, and my thoughts scatter through the world like random sparks.
- I giggle and the moon changes colours like a rainbow.
- Dee was amused by it all.
- I shuffle my feet, walking towards the dawn, knowing my words will reach many eyes.
- The gregarious clouds whiffle across the sky, flowing like rice in a bowl.
- With a gentle demeanor I strike out at a rock, kicking it and rolling it with my nose.
- Je t’aime!
- The rock replies that it loves me too.
- The cow and the duck frolic through the milky way, swinging on stars and teasing the moon. I acknowledge my words might be from a mermaids mouth, but I’ll get a reaction real soon.
24 Hour Marathon Hour 3: A Tribute to Langston Hughes “The Lesson of Night”
I will carry my dreams
wherever they take me
for I know not where they go
in my desire for an unplanned flee
My dreams seem immortal
as they taunt and scold
Yet laughter’s breath is not far away
as I shiver in the sunless cold
All those tragic heroes
rendered useless by fate
send to me a message
that opens heaven’s gate
Life seems futile
I, like a finless salmon
swimming hopelessly upstream
leading to famine
The fields of dreams so dreary
like the shadowy moors
and spine-chilling shriek of wolves
that only fantasy endures
They keep coming back
as if I will never hold there say
but now I join them
with the woolgathers of the day
hour 3 image prompt: swirling
Swirling
Concentric circles, I look down
upon my contemplative self
lonely? – never
serial scripts, scenarios, sequential senses,
syntagmatic semantics, seriously slither sideways,
sister singer sirens, siting in shared silence
sustaining splendent sanctity, strength and love.
Dinner with Death
His chewing was the sound of tires on gravel
Shattering the crystal on the table
Speaking through the chewing,
Sending shards of breadcrumbs
And spittle like shrapnel on his guests
The choked sounds of mumbling
Through the sucking of the oysters
Gluttony spilled down his chin
And onto his suit
The arrogant James Bond villain sits
In the open air dining hall
Overlooking The Riviera
Demanding respect through the demonstration
Of elegance and grace
Not to be ignored
A demonstration of violence with food
Scaring them into submission
A blatant display of vulgar passion
For the macabre
He leads Susan to her doom
Perhaps to be the next course
Poking the Bear
She rests
supported by a wooden chair
unable to leave the circle
Knowing full well
The lie that lured her
to this spot
Reading the note tapped to the chair
Congratulations you’re still alive