Hour 22 – Divorce (Limerick)
Divorce
There once was a man from Houston
With a wife and a home to roost in
He called her a whore
She called him a bore
And he now begs for change in a loose tin
Running Water
Running water
Running rivers
Rivulets chasing through the bog grass
Through the slate and through the loam
Off the road and through the heather
The blackthorn bites my arms.
Running water
Running rivers
Rivulets dried up after a drought
Tripping on tufts of moss
That come away at my feet.
There are hooves behind me.
Running water.
Running rivers.
For god’s sake where are the rivers.
I forge over the uplands
On the hilltop, there the rowans,
Lonely distant sanctuary.
Running water.
Running rivers.
All their little laughs are missing.
Is this the summer luck or some cruel game
The hooves are getting louder.
My legs begin to shake.
Running water.
Running rivers.
The ground dips down ahead.
I can smell the healthy bushes
And the sheep waste, and the wet.
And breath over my neck.
Running river.
Running water.
With splintered hands I clear the gate
And twist my ankle on the bank
And leap across the running water.
Never cross the same stream twice.
Hold your breath across the crossing.
Don’t agree to pay a price.
Don’t eat the food, don’t give your name.
Leave the horse with pond weed mane,
And when you’ve reached a safer shore
Don’t stop running.
Hour 22: Into the Wild
On a rainy night
I cracked the spine
Of the book that would change me
Shaping my mind and filling my thoughts
With prophecies and battles
And cats made of flame
The smell of those pages
Is one I have yet to encounter again
So the memory is clear and pristine
Bits and pieces of my life
Between those well-worn papers
Their names remain fresh on my tongue
No matter how long it’s been since I’ve heard their voices
Echoing in my head
I honor them in my own way
Years on
Silencio hour/prompt #22
Silencio (haiku)
long night of writing
silence finally fills the mind
the cup is empty
Hour 21: Midas
I am Aphrodite
I will draw you in
You won’t be able to help yourself
Every piece of you will want to love me
But I am also Medusa
Even if I love you
I will turn your heart to stone
I will be the last thing you ever love
I am Prometheus
I will give you more fire than you’ve known in a lifetime
But I am Icarus
Being with me means flying too close to the sun
I am Apollo
My way with words will drown you
But I am also Midas
Except I turn everything I touch to pain
12 midnight. Poem 22. Bisquik Pizza
12 midnight. Poem 22.
Bisquik Pizza
With her Bisquik box
Mom made white lady pizza.
Dad went nuts for it.
Ground beef sausage cookie sheet
Pizza. So L.A. suburbs…
Angel
Her eyes, like stars, shine in the night,
And make my world a place of light.
Her touch is soft as gentle breeze,
A feeling that brings me to my knees.
I love this girl with all my heart,
And pray that we will never part.
She’s the one I want by my side,
In her love, I will always abide.
So, my dear, know this is true,
My love for you will always renew.
With every breath, I’ll cherish thee,
POET VS. PIZZA (hour xxii)
My friend, in New Jersey, spoke into a parcel
that was delivered to me in Lagos
Her words screamed out of the parcel
“You can’t please everyone
You are not pizza.’
I will sustain my silence on pizza
for I am still not pleased by it
23~13
my job
it seems
is cleaning
cleaning up
shit
literally
from my
furry sick babies
figuratively
cleaning up
shit from others
the people around me
leaving
all their shit
for me to clean
always filthy
forcing smiles
i scoop
i scour
poop
Hour 21 – A Polyamory Handbook Invites Me to Imagine A New Front Yard
A Polyamory Handbook Invites Me to Imagine A New Front Yard
“Even in my own fantasy I cannot see how to love the way the world begs me to. Like a weed, but what we’ve named a weed is just soil surrendering” – Joshua Elbaum
Did you know grass can grow 24 inches tall? Become its own jungle for the crawling? We have been cutting down their redwoods and calling it neighborly. We’ve been wasting water– their water and ours– for the utterance of “lush” or “tidy”.
I have dreamed a yard that does not honor green at its core, nor a shrowd of white to protect it. One that taunts the lawnmower, lets it rust or run in another sphere of living. I have dreamed a yard that is observed with mouths agape– aghast in horror or in wanting.
I will plant mandrake and alder, cinnamon and rosemary, yarrow and mugwort, belladonna, basil, lavender, even rue. All the herbs to protect each extension of my love. Have an itch in your throat? A stomach that rumbles? The Earth will have its remedy here.
I will honor the growth through teas, salves, and tinctures. Take only what I need, resist guilt as it gives me more than I expected. The plants expand and breathe and perhaps grow toward me. Can phototropism be redirected to a new source? Can someone grow toward nature, too?
I will name each seedling for a different love, planted by four steady hands. Nurture, feed, water, pray at the altar of their roots for a blooming. I will not blame the wilting on the flowers, nor give credit only to the stigmas and styles.
We will tend this landscape together. All of us. Gardeners filtering through revolving doors of kisses and caring, softened conflict that mutates into understanding. We will build a word together for all the little things and think ourselves among the bees and butterflies that thrive.