Here
Shadows of my past and future play tug of war with me now
I see the light and don’t understand how
The Real Monsters-Hour 17
The real monsters
are the ones in suits
who bellow about Jesus and immigration.
They spew fiery lies
Inciting, dividing
The real monsters are the ones
Who think they have a God-given right
to make decisions for people
who don’t need their help.
These monster in suits says whites
are discriminated against,
gay people are hated by Jesus.
and women know nothing about their own health.
The real monsters carry guns
Into Subway and Starbucks
They want to arm teachers,
defund education, and carry their AR-15 into Congress
The real monsters wave their flag
as if it means something to them.
The real monsters worship trump, the NRA and white supremacy.
They bow at the feet of Hannity and Carlson
The real monsters use the blood of others
To score their political points
They don’t care about children dying
They will do anything to win a donation
and steal a vote.
Text Prompt Hour 11: Notes to a Supreme Comedy (with apologies to Wallace Stevens)
(inspired by Steven’s poem “Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction”)
Introduction
And for who, except for you, is there mirth?
Do I inquire of saints, sinners (or jokers)?
Who can define it? Who can disclose it?
Meanwhile in deliberate shadow
A caper nudges towards a dark exit
With a mind of transcendence.
It Must Be Paradoxical
Where is the line where farce ends and I begin?
No one can reason it out
The space is vague, undefined, and anxious
Until a flash of unknowing
Splits our inner sky
Revealing us unique and together
A fraternity of fools
It Must Surprise
All depends on what should not be
Expectation subverted
Meanings transgressed
Caught up in tides from astonished seas
And inspirited western winds
Who could reason it out?
It Must Take Your Breath Away
It takes a friend to truly mock us
Can we see it clearly
Through tears streaming
Breath convulsing
Brain flooded with endorphins and oxygen
And the staccato howls of pranksters
Who just got away with it.
It’s a Zombie Land
Staggering around the city
looking for a bite
taking life away from humans
it’s quite the fright.
Brian, John, Betty
they were once named
now nameless on their graves.
Feasting on brains
without fear
they attack
you never know when they’re near.
Grumblings and gurglings,
their only signs of life
A sad state of affairs,
it’s not much of a nightlife.
There’s no humanity with a zombie,
they’re just trying to survive.
We’re all one and the same,
just trying to thrive.
Part-Time
Kaleidoscope glasses
arm flapping and
shouting random words
at nothing
customers gawked at you
but they still signed up for memberships
even looking into the fractals on your face.
Hour 16
A lifetime of love
For my child that will never be born,
for my heart that I have never known.
I would give up a lifetime of love for myself,
if that meant for the children of tomorrow
to live life freely.
Without fearing an attack where they should be learning,
without fearing cyberespionage when they should be growing.
I would give up all the luxuries I see myself hunkering,
for a world where bodies are no longer controlled.
Gone with that extrapolar gaze,
no more oppressive laws,
I will with all my joy wave goodbye to wartimes
of hunger, thirst and fighting.
How much would you give up
for your child to grow up
in a world that was really pro-life?
16. Coffee
Eyes burning,
limbs tired,
head throbbing,
the world went grimmer,
darker and sad.
What do I need
to go on
forward?
Reunion of the Repentant: Hour 12/Prompt 12, 2022
40 years later
we met again
wearing uniform
monochrome tuxedo
some were crying
some were playing dead
Hour 17: Threads
I weave
day in, day out
stars
galaxies
humans
whatever comes to mind
I weave
with help of morning dew threads
light as snow above
sturdy as boulders below
threads are good
threads understand
I only create
the rest is up to them
if they stitch, heal or ensnare
what’s that to me
when I just weave?
Baby Factory (hour 17)
Osun, the river goddess
is believed to bless
barren women and not men
with babies.