Hour #8–Haiku
Writhing and climbing
Spiraling around itself
Wisteria blooms
Wondering Woman
Wonder Woman, I wonder why
You fly that plane up in the sky
It’s invisible but not you
Unless you make yourself sky blue
The more you know, the more confused
You find yourself not so amused
DIY celestial: slow bloomer (prompt 5)
she blooms on the summer solstice
soles of her feet bare and blackened
she carefully steps across the dried grass
runs her fingers along the top of the half-broken iron gate
as she talks about Carl Jung, Alan Watts, Lao Tzu
through a sharp and straightened smile she says
“everything happens for a reason”
a ring of golden petals encircle her pupils
each iris, a fluctuating sunflower, shrinking and expanding
wind chime laughter accompanied by the actual clinking
of bells hung throughout the yard
her marred knuckles and knees make her look strong
she cradles a wine glass with chipped nail polish
“it’s all exactly as it’s meant to be”
she scans her garden with subdued intensity
warm shoulders glistening with sweat
the heat has never bothered her – she prefers it
refills the hummingbird feeder and finishes her drink
sits back under the gazebo breathing deeply in and out
a queen in this kingdom, this heaven that she’s created
“there’s no such thing as coincidence”
I stay careful not to interrupt or fidget or pace
flop messily down on the concrete pavement
for I am scared that I’ll crush something beautiful if I’m not still
I want to belong to a space like this or have faith that someday I will
exist in a place with a more tender climate
she regards me as any other flower with it’s own timing
warmly reminding
“magic is real, you just have to find it”
When We’re Older – Hour Seven
Here is what I hope for us:
We’re 70 years old, sitting
On a park bench that overlooks
Where you first proposed to me.
Reflecting.
We’ve made it through so much
Pain and strife, struggled and
Fought through demons and grief.
We faced battles so fierce, we
Sit there and laugh looking back,
Because how did we do it?
But we did make it.
The kids, the house, the careers.
All of it together, and here
We sit after all this time,
In love as we’ve ever been.
We’re happy. Lives full to the brim.
We made it through, and we won.
a love letter to the man in the moon, hour eight
Perhaps ‘love letter’ is a bit too strong-
a letter of admiration, perhaps?
An isolation song to hum to,
floating alone in your little time capsule,
waiting for a channel change.
How’s the view? Does the dust swirl,
long-dead lava tubes echoing sussurations
of your breathing in the thinnest stratosphere?
Do you look back and think it was worth it?
At the footprints in moon dust, like Crusoe,
admiring the anthropology of it all, the need to look further.
Do you look at Mars in envy, a low red neighbor,
and think that I could be there, waving at you?
Man of the moon, do you ever dream,
was there a time life could have thrived around you,
does the thin oxygen pop in your brain
and do you dream of green, and blue, and grey?
Man in the moon, I am sailing soon,
on a ship of forged stardust and human hope,
I am sailing soon to reach you,
to breathe as you do, and wave to an earth that waits
for our landing once again.
i wonder sometimes – Half Marathon Poem #7
i wonder sometimes
if there is that one True Love
for each of us, the one person
that is perfect and right,
if i should devote myself
to that search, and if so,
how on earth would I know them?
no, i think, on the whole,
the odds tell me that if that
person, the perfect one,
did or does or will exist,
they could have been born
and died long ago, or be yet
unborn, or be where i will
never be able to go.
so i will content myself
with what I have, which
is good, good enough,
and wander no more
Poetry Marathon Hour 8:
For this one, a friend of mine specifically requested a poem about ramen – so here we go, but since I just wrote a recipe poem for 7 – I’ll have to do something different for 8.
Poem 8: An ode to Ramen:
This is my ode to Ramen – fancified:
Whenever the grey clouds begin to
settle in within my heart and somehow
won’t actually reach the skies around –
I watch howl’s moving castle and
eat ramen. Fancified by laziness
with diced vegetables, fresh cheese,
heavily spiced chicken, and cracked eggs
soaked in water hot enough to create a
broth out of anything – be it mustard or
honey or more seasoning than the chicken.
I curl up in fuzzy socks two sizes too big
and sweatshirts with way too much history
for any inanimate object to deserve in full.
I stare out the window at the real world and
everything else that happens without me.
This is my ode to Ramen and all the people
I’ve ever shared it or the cloudy days with.
-M. Rene’
Sincerelybluejay Poetry
2022 #8 – Known
To be known…
Living life as
no one.
So lonely…
To die as
a nobody.
A prisoner of
mistakes.
Mistakes long lost.
Never to be remembered.
Claimed by no one.
Visited by many.
Known only as
Unknown…
Hour 7
I remember my young days,
Picturing how it would be,
In my mind,
It was all planned out,
And I knew it would come to be,
This is the formula,
Stick to it; don’t you falter,
Yet, the formula changed,
I guess there were things I didn’t factor,
Or did it really change,
Or did it stay the same?
We’re there more pertinent things that mattered?
I doubt it-
I guess I am trying to put a reason to the matter,
Because in my young days,
Visualizing it made it so real,
Yet, in my older days,
It seems so far away.
Weather Hour 8
Here on Maui
The weather hasn’t made up its mind yet
Some rain, some wind,
Some stillness
Clouds hang low
With breaks of sky
The ocean is flat
The forecast is mildly hot
The day says be ready for anything
There will be surprises
The change will flow minute to minute
The palms sweep at the air
Latching on to what they can
The sun ascends
But hasn’t reached its zenith
We are tended to here
This day lives in inspiration