Last hour! :)
Fireworks reflect in the water’s mirror,
adding beauty and grace to the wedding.
People are enchanted and full of joy,
but also eager to dance the last waltz!
There’s something special about weddings!
BECAUSE YOU CLAPPED AND I HEARD IT – Hour Twenty-Four (2021)
BECAUSE YOU CLAPPED AND I HEARD IT
longing for firework flares at the lost boys’ campsite
except I forgot all the directions before straight on til morning
and it’s not exactly something you can pop into google maps
so I’m an adult outcast like robin in hook
grown up in a world never made for a soul like mine
ground up like molars on right-angle words
like mortals on coils never-never ageless
or morals on money or even only the idea of money
who herself is an idea, if not some modern deity
bitten back a thought better embittered
since seeding we have our plants so closely scrutinized
like knowing the time but not the quartz inside it, or like
believing in 401K widget stonks but not the power to fly
so if in seeing you
and making another world with our words, I seem free
like talking to a passionate child about any mystic nightlight
know that you are the star where I finally made a correct turn
know that here in new neverlandia I’m home to my true self
Kukri
Kukri
Once again, another weird eastern blade thing
yeah but at least this one is useful for more than
bad guys who may try to steal her away from me
though it could totally be used for that also
In RECOIL OFFGRID magazine
I learned that I could use one
to cut trees and limbs
if this isn’t peak efficiency, I don’t know what is
Some Gurkha used one recently
to cut the head off of a bad guy
in like Afghanistan
and she thinks that’s horrible and savage, but I remind her about 911, which was truly savage
Here we are on our third date, roughing it
I was hoping we would hump in the woods but I didn’t bring a mattress pad
what did she think I meant by roughing it, she’s so bummed slapping the swarming leg mosquitoes
So now I’m clearing brush with my Cold Steel Kukri
18 inches slashes through even little trees
I imagine they’re the limbs of various murder-rapists, it’s not sexist if she hits back some before I run in
I turn and give her a smile every now and again to say I’m not psycho
I’m covered in sweat and nature debris, forcing a smile, 18 inch blade in my hand that I know an uncomfortable amount about
I’m scary.
First and Evening Light
Prompts for Hour Twenty-Four
I am home inside myself,
In the early sky.
When the glory of the sun
Peaks o’re mountains high.
Glowing light upon the grass.
Turning every surface gold.
On my porch, the mornings pass.
Joyfully behold!
I am home inside myself.
In the evening sky.
When the sun takes a descent,
Waving its goodbye.
When the shadows lengthen out,
Vibrant life explodes.
I am home inside myself
Walking gilded roads.
Text Prompt
Write about the place you feel most at home in.
Tired Professor Syndrome
Tired Professor Syndrome
Professor Pela used to be good, old students said
But we are yet to see him perform
He’s in almost every committee
He doesn’t mentor any one much, not anymore
Looks like he’s counting the days to retirement
But he has a while to go, I think
Is he burned out? Is he?
Don’t know
He has time to gossip
He has time to give some student the fear of God –
And these are students who already fear the Almighty.
Well, he still knows the stuff if he cares to dust up his notes
But he can’t be bothered, he has turned to a historian, a hundred percent
In our engineering design class
I once heard him say he can’t stand undergraduates
He doesn’t do much research anymore
His graduate students have no shepherd
They know they’re on their own
But his name still brings grants
Only that another does the work
And he stamps his name on the product
Faster than any other could spell “Fast”
What has happened to him, Professor Pela?
“What has happened” you ask?
I hear he has TPS
Who? What? Enh? TP who?
TPS –Tired Professor Syndrome
That’s the Syndrome of Tired Professors,
Professors who are tired but not retired.
Hmm, TPS –Tired Professor Syndrome
Hour 21 – To My Partner
I need the type of person who
Can understand me even when I’m silent.
Maybe especially then. When my
Voice has been arrested by
Seemingly endless despair,
I need you to remind me
That there is still something
In this life to look forward to.
Something that gives me more
Comfort than ending this pain.
This life has beaten me down.
Kindness has hidden away from me
For years, and maybe that is why I
Cannot find it in myself to even
Establish boundaries. Boundaries
Are just lines on a map I do not possess
Because I am too busy justifying –
Too busy telling myself about the
Trauma of others to care about
What I am putting myself through.
Cheese
G. K. Chesterton: “Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.”
It’s no mystery
Cheese speaks for itself
Its dizzying variety
Their names a poem alone
The unending possibilities
Either eaten in slices
Placed on pieces of bread
Melted
Scorched
Toasted
Covering pasta
Smoothing over bagels
Resting on crackers
And soothing the tired soul
Cheese is not worthy of poetry
Cheese IS poetry
Hour 20 – Tell Your Story
I want my skin to show
That I have lived.
Give me your stretch marks,
Sunspots and tattoos, your
Scars and all your stories.
Tell me about that time
At the beach where you
Got so lost in conversation
You forgot to redo the sunscreen.
I want to hear why this
Design jumped out at you
When you were choosing
What to ink your body with.
Tell me about the dark moments,
The skinned knees, the
Embarrassing injuries and the
Bruises you thought wouldn’t heal.
I do not want to go to the grave
Unblemished and pristine.
Each mark is a story.
Keep telling them.
Hour 24 – Home
I thought I was a nomad drifting along
with the sands of time
pitching makeshift tents
where I rested awhile.
I had one in my mother’s arms
and my brother’s side
one lost forever
another across oceans wide.
One lies in my partner’s smile
and my daughter’s embrace
late night conversations
with friends, endless cups of chai.
But one day I realized
my tents had taken roots
and created an Eden
filled with fragrant hues.
I thought I was a nomad
but I was a honeybee
for I now have gardens
that always welcome me.