23~2
decade ahead of me
more misery
little joy
~flip~flopping~
changing me
into my own stranger
What is Love But? Hour 10
What is love but a baby’s first breath,
first smile, first word, first step.
A new life brought forth
by a coupling of two in love, in lust.
What is love but a child
holding a fallen chick in her
small hands. Asking her mother
to please fix the tiny creatures wings.
What is love but a simple dog
in service to her master, struggling
to her feet when wracked in pain
herself to aid the one she serves.
What is love but the picking
of a wildflower by the child now
grown to lay atop the soil
covering her mother and loyal dog.
GORDON – #18
Cross barred Gordon reminded by the stroke of eleven
Sweet briar Mary was waiting at the Ceilidh
But graves dug deep and marked rest in peace
Prevent the dead from keeping their promises
Rooting for Routine (Hour 20)
I’ve a routine
which consists of
Avoiding routine.
Rerouting.
Never exit and enter
through the same door,
You never know who is waiting
in the corridor.
A pissed off orator, or ex.
My son, every morning
Our routine was eggs,
But no more routie tootie fresh and fruity
truly groovy cooky routine
Rulette de russ
Rooting for Rudy
There’s ruby’s
in boobies
I lick em and
blew each,
WITH BLUE JAZZ,
A BLUE BEACH
BLUE balls in uhauls,
With brujos in New clothes
The emperors new hos
Are covered in glucose.
You are what you do most.
I do poems so . . .
What do you do.
a routine.
Hour Nineteen: Writing poetry in black pajamas while out of my mind with exhaustion and trying (unsuccessfully) not to fall asleep
Reclining in my nest
Surrounded by my loves –
Past, present, future—
Beckoning me towards
Dreams and desires but
The screen atop my lap
Umbilicaled to the lightening
Holds me down
Keeps me in place
As I drift away with the night
Rituals
Rituals
I count my days ~
free from one
of lifes
worst addictions
documenting each day lived
through pictures and words
handmade
I will always
be an addict
I just choose
other outlets
I count my steps
as my consistency
reminds me of how far
I’ve come
I count my words
prompting, planting
propagating, and perpetuating
making them multiply
MY DAILY CRUISE (hour xx)
My first phone call of the day is to him
My first lauding of the day is to him
My first thought of the day is of him
My first dance of the day is for him
My first dialogue of the day is with him
My first babble of the day is with him
All these fixes onto the wheels of my day
He takes the driver’s seat and steps on the gas
*Inspired by the text prompt
Hour Eighteen: Blackbirds as Omens
I’m confused
Which one is you:
The wide-eyed bird
Perched on wire
Like a soldier
Guarding his territory?
The bird taking off
In terror
Turning his back on
Possibility and commitment?
Which one is me:
The petrified bird
Clinging to certainty
The steady and solid
The unchanged?
The bird in flight
Venturing away
Gleefully
Seeking the uncharted
The infinite?
Flow like a river (Hour 20)
Not part of the sea yet,
she flows until her soulmate embraces her.
She dances through the path,
blessing everyone in her way,
nourishing those who are good,
punishing those who try to change her.
The man may grow advance techs,
thinking of themselves as perfect,
one thing they must never forget,
its the nature which demands respect.
No matter how many species come and go,
the river never stops to flow,
If you want to feel her glow,
then keep your walk slow.
Dip your feet in the river,
thank her for all , she is a giver,
She blesses when you love her,
do not disturb the river.
23~1
“This is how she found us/the past draped about us like a cloak”
Selkie Weaning Young (Redux)
~by Diana Khoi Nguyen
she did not know
her past was our future
she ran through us
we all fall down
passion interrupted
faces of shame and fear
confused face rushing away
to something of timed importance
she sat in a daze
changed
realizing her new past
and old future
altered
she had been blind
to the love she gave
so lovingly to us
but no more