Little Does She Know (Hour 4)

It’s 1922, she stands youthful, proud
Staring modernity in the face
A new era, one of hope
The end of a pandemic, and a war
New dresses, new music, new parties, new wealth
But most importantly, the right to vote
Her voice, no longer confined to her home
Heard clearly in the world beyond
Guaranteeing, a better future for her daughters and granddaughters
She thinks of how it’ll be in a century
And the thought brings a smile to her face
Little does she know….

Hour 4: The Old Piano

The old, dusty piano
Sits in the corner
Tucked away amidst
Spirits and vines
Its keys are lackluster
The sound off tune
Yet it only needs
A slight brush of fingers
To hum back to life
It’s resilient
With age, it grew more so
Refusing to give up
Even in face of modern keyboard
The old broken piano
The old bent piano
The old nostalgic piano
The old friend… piano.

Motor Escapist, Hour Four

Silver flash in low light,

darting between trees in a dull roar,

faster, louder, a bright red gleam

as I perch on a high seat, speeding down

a dusty road, throttling a cool 50 miles per hour,

and I am a goddess of speed,

Artemis, Apollo, race me, it’s 1922

and I’m still vibrant with fear and grief

but full of life. No second war has worn me down,

the terror of that Great War is beneath poppy fields

and I’m streaking by, fleeing fear

and dressed in red, triumphant and terrified and mad

with the want to outrun everything once again.

One Percent

content warning: discussion of transphobia and issues facing intersex individuals such as nonconsensual surgery as infants, discussion of wealth inequality and ‘eat the rich’ sentiment

about one percent of the population is trans.
the number is slightly higher in younger generations,
and slightly lower in older ones.
it is called a ‘fad’, a temporary,
if it is even seen that they exist.

about one percent of the population has red hair
but you don’t see people arguing
that they should be outlawed,
denied essential medical care,
given incorrect treatment.

about one percent of the population is intersex
and they are considered aberrations,
flaws that should not exist,
babies given surgery that isn’t considered
genital mutilation
when it should be.

about one percent of the population is 77,530,000 –
more than live in germany
less than live in france –
and you don’t see people saying
french people don’t exist
or that german people don’t deserve rights

about one percent of the population is wealthy,
and one percent of those people have so much money
they can’t spend it faster than it appears in their bank account.
somehow this is admirable,
to just exist and have money appear,
to buy everything you desire,
and to do nothing with it,
to watch people suffer.

about one percent of the population is enough
to be deserving of the same rights as everyone else,
to be considered ‘people’.
and yet, somehow,
we’re still fighting a battle
that shouldn’t have ever existed.

Planetfall Oubliette

Space-farer
Explorer
Hero of a thousand new skies!
Marooned.
Cast into the evernight in a plummeting bead
Tearing the firmament with valiant speed
And vast wings to catch him that he cannot bleed.

And nobody watches his fall.

Star-dancer
Sun-sailor
Rooted to the red dust below
Festooned
With crystalline grass that sparkles in the breeze,
Mountains scorched in red heather frieze,
Gold storms scudding over monument trees

And no one to tell.

High-flier
War crier
Architect of deep scarlet days
Ruined
Upon a hillside, silence long-turning in
Bronze-burning suns, sky never changing
And one day a lifetime, the air ever thin

And no one remembers his name.

Hour 3 (2022)

I cut my sandwich
diagonally today.
It reminded me
of when I was younger.
When I thought
the direction of
the slices mattered.

(Off prompt/free write)

Hour 3: Lonely Star

Lonely Star

 

Way back when

you played that song for me

your strong fingertips

doing a box step

between the frets

a dance routine in miniature

I watched the swell

of the muscles in your forearm

at the effort and the art

of vibrating air

 

You didn’t speak

you didn’t have to

 

I was eavesdropping—

listening in

on the truth of you

in the pitching of your weight

as you played

like a seabird teetering

in a strong wind

in the fold of your brow

as you summoned

a daydream

distant and shining

 

You didn’t speak—

I wish you would

 

Show me yours

hold your light up to mine

I could snack on these crumbs

and eat your stolen secrets

but I’d rather be fed

at the table of your dreaming

and the night sky is best viewed

through the eye

of some dove-hearted dreamer

 

Lonely star,

drop the act

Damn, Man

Oh roadrunner

never able to stay in one place

traveling seeing the tiredness

on your face.

you cooked. You wrote. And were

always hungry for more.

no reservations. The layover.
All the parts unknown.
Roadrunner, you taught me to

go where the tourists don’t.
not afraid to try the things most won’t.
I packed my bags and went abroad, too.
O Anthony, I’ll forever miss you!

We sit in the cafe – Half Marathon Poem #3

We sit in the cafe

She takes a delicate bite
of the pastry, white teeth
tearing the croissant,
red tongue darts across
pink lips, chews and
swallows.

“I don’t believe in
love at first sight,”
she proclaims, and
I nod in agreement.

After all, it took
me seeing her twice.

Free Peoples

 

Mood music is not illegal.

But why not?

Can free peoples be trusted to feel,

as they are want to feel,

under the influence of lyric free music?

Can whole sentences be formed with sounds other than words?

This sounds dangerous. Dissonant.

These are Supreme questions!