When you’re done
And i heard you
When you said you were done
You can think and say what you like
Its okay, for you to be done
Because I’m not done
And since i’m not done
We both can’t be done
II. Somewhere Between
In the lasting shadows
of fallen towers
and bombs blasting holes
in our global souls
but yet quite before
the plague
came to our door,
while we waxed patriotic,
swathed in red and in blue,
star-spangled fervor,
and voted our leaders
as if nothing new
had changed in the background,
had detoured our tomorrows,
saw no hint of the deaths
the vaccines, and the sorrows,
and there in that lull,
between explosive bouts,
SeJohnson, 9.23
the horizon unseen
our tomorrows planned out,
in that valley–you know,
the one shadowed with death–
was a decade-deep chasm
of blood, funerals, and fears,
where we interred our innocence,
on viral, terrorist biers.
Hour 2 Image Prompt – Art Installation
I went to the gallery for a change of pace
Tired of mundanity I came to this vestigial place
Left over from a time where all who came
Came verklempt
And all the same they changed within
Thanks to a small notion
Perhaps the issue of the day
Is I feel more emotion
Watching you dance away
Through this gallery maladicta
Serving as a guide at times
The sails in a solemn sea
Unseen by outside
Untouched by the reveries
And somehow more enthralled
Yet enthralling me
Obits & Laundry Lists
Summer legs march past my living room window,
nonchalance with leashed dogs,
inattentive to beast while studying phones.
Interrupted only by my envy,
I nestle with consternation of
an extended deadline
and wishing my recorded voice
didn’t annoy the hell out of me.
The washer and the ceiling fan
and the waning morningsong
lull me into thinking
this day might be mine to kill more efficiently.
I cross self-tanner for my own limbs
off the list
and wait for the spin cycle
to motivate me to stand.
Ron stopped wearing his Hawaiian shirts
to work, but the straw hat
I can see on the backseat.
Nothing’s out of reach.
Yet.
We can still scratch our futures
like a lottery ticket one of us bought
at the grocery store
with the eggs and coffee.
Voice of Two Worlds
The scent of pine and autumn lay softly in the cool crisp air.
“Come with me”, his soft whisper mixes with the calls of nature like a love song only I can hear.
He has a calming sense about him, making me feel at peace in his presence.
I take a step forward and the air turns stale and frigid.
“No. Stay here, with me.”
His voice is deep and raspy, sending a shudder through my spine.
I turn and look to see cold darkness.
No longer is the scent of pine and autumn.
No longer is the love song.
No longer am I at peace.
‘He is right’, I start to think, taking a step back.
“Come with me”, the love song breaks through.
I look forward, to the calm openness.
I take a deep breath and a sigh of relief,
As I take his hand and step forward into the open field of hope and dreams.
“Welsh Word” A Ninette
“Welsh Word” A Ninnette
Cwtch
what we
as people
need, for our growth
Sustain our Spirits
in order to
protect our
divine
Love
Hour 2, Poem 3
To the dumb, impulsive, impressionable me
From 10 years ago..
Get it together, girl!
You gotta go, keep moving on
The world won’t give you time to breathe
Nor does it do that favour to anyone else
So get it together girl!
Make your own impression
And learn to hide your impulsiveness behind words of reason
The world doesn’t forgive
But, you can
And start with yourself
With the fact that even 10 years later—
You are still your dumb self.
hour 2 – back to school
it won’t be anything you say, or your off brand jeans,
this place is a certain kind of killer and,
intentions not withstanding, you look like chum.
your slick hay colt legs will not avoid
carefully placed stones of unimaginable consequence,
and there will be no way to predict
which balloons start brush fires, or
what doors the loose keys in your apartment
have sacrificed
without consulting you.
if i were you i’d revisit
everything you’ve ever done
each night, between the hours of 2 and 4
while he sleeps beside you.
accept the dark side inimical to your house of learning,
adopt a posture that feels comfortable
crouched beneath a table, breath inflating a paper bag.
A Baffling Concept
HOUR 2
Coming from a country
with no time changes –
a strange notion,
I always forgot.
Until –
The choir was strict,
about timeliness.
A Sunday in April,
I rushed in.
Proudly stood in front
of a full church,
wondering why
the choir hid smiles
The director whispered,
the time changed.
You are an hour late.