Flaming Go!
Really? Look me in the eye and say that.
I don’t bite. I just nibble.
Shrimp! I love shrimp. No, really. I. Love. Shrimp.
All crustaceans, in fact.
Exotic fruits of the sea! But, I digress.
What’s the intention here?
Hour 11: Football is king
Harshib doesn’t need air but only foot ball to breathe
But alas his physique and intentions don’t match
His team has christened him as ‘the stick’
And everyday, he comes home badly bruised, mauled and fouled
That night as he wiped silent tears and went to sleep
He saw a vision in his dreams
A kind goddess bestowed magical powers upon his football
He woke up that day, all excited and eager
To find out if it was really a vision or a waking dream
He waltzed his way into the football field
At the end of practice, a triumphant Harshib walked out
Gloating at the star players of him team
Lying injured, their pride hurt more than their bodies
This happened every day; Harshib scored goal after goal
He was unstoppable until his captain detected foul play
And changed his ball for another; the little hero froze
He was called out but a little voice spoke in his ears
“The power lies within you; unlock!
A sharp breeze blew, he saw his magical football dancing in the air
Empowering him, encouraging him, ” You go mate!”
Harshib closed his eyes and gave it all he had
“Goal! And what a goal, Ronaldo will be proud!
Screamed their coach, his team mates patted his back
Harshib found his eyes watering, he realised
The power lies in you, you just have to have faith
Work hard and then the magic begins…!
18 Sisters
We made puppets with our hands and feet
We had a Christian cemetery for dead birds
We wrote plays to be performed in the basement
We had The Apple Lovers Club without apples
We believed in Santa despite being Jewish
We traveled by bicycle to meet up with friends
We had a backyard army tent no parents allowed
We wore ponytails pedal pushers and Keds
We smoked Marlboros down by the brook
We watched Vincent Price scary movies
We never had a telephone in our bedroom
We went to the little green store for Yoo-hoos
We understood that we were on the same team
2023 Poem Nine
Weekly Gender
Monday: The smell of WD40 and salty sand in December
Tuesday: Ocean spray on your face and the sound of an old park swing
Wednesday: A broken squeaky toy that only squeaks when you squeeze just right
Thursday: Piles of fresh cut grass and the rattle of pill bottles
Friday: The smell of McDonald’s nuggets in a brand new backpack and losing an earring down the drain
Saturday: A shower at the perfect temperature and the versatility of potato
Sunday: A smoothie because no matter how you mix it, I’m a fruit
Love of Cheese
Hour 10
What is the use of being a mouse?
If you can’t smell the cheese out?
Just before the sunset
Rick saw a big chunk of cheese on the kitchen table
Now the kitchen is locked
Keys tucked in the pocket of the Chef
Rick is known for digging big
But today he was confused
Not a whiff of cheese for a clue
He almost started doubting his sense of smell
Can only trust his gut feeling
Without ado he started digging
He was sure, he was under the kitchen
Started digging to enter
He knew he has hit the jackpot
Not the kitchen but the larder, full of cheese
Wild Woman
WILD WOMAN
She who stands tall
When others are buried by fear
She who is brutally honest
Pushing through constant lies of her own mind
She who falls time and time again
Only to get back when others give up on her
She who is guided by love, joy, and compassion
Amongst those lost in hate
She who sets her own rules
Amongst the chaos of life
Hour Twenty-two: The Witching Hour
Tragedy meets with it.
Taking the fifth, sealed lips, loose lips,
the ones that sink ships,
and mute zoom calls and disorders.
Soundless words,
wordless sounds,
Simon and Garfunkel sang them.
When the ringing of church bells cease,
the last vibration dies,
what’s left but the absence,
a gaping hole, cilia stiff and unperturbed.
The musical score’s rest,
the monk’s vow,
and the moment’s bowed head,
respecting the dead,
say it, without speaking, sighing, singing,
snoreless sleep,
a canine’s thoughts,
dreams and visions,
sound off,
mimes
silence.
Grace, Hour Twenty-Two
Grace
One of the most graceful things I have ever
seen, began with a slice of pizza.
When I was young, I would watch old movies
after coming home and before my parents
arrived from work, losing myself in black
and white cinematic wonder.
In one such movie, Sophia Loren was a noble
woman, pretending to be a peasant,
hungry and alone.
She met a child eating pizza,
scattering toppings everywhere
and scolded them for the waste they displayed.
She demonstrated the proper manner
in which to eat a slice, first folding it over
upon itself, in essence a pizza sandwich.
The lesson could not be imparted
so easily, and so naturally she had
to demonstrate again.
I was fascinated with her hands,
the easy movement she displayed
in such a simple act,
practicing the way she held them for weeks
afterward, intensely aware and ashamed
of my own awkwardness in the face of such grace.