HOUR 17 Haiku 2 Ownership
Unlit impulses collide
Delightful devastation arrived
A possession fully contrived
Everyday Life
It’s full of tribulations you never see coming
but it’s nothing you can’t handle.
from the moment you come into existence, you see it.
the oppressors in school, the constant struggle to pass tests
or even muster.
sometimes, even just making it home in one piece can be a challenge.
but you grow, evolve, adapt to the point where nothing fazes you.
before long, you’ve become solid a rock,
ready to take on the world and whatever it throws at you
and then it all gets taken away as the well-nigh impossible
task of obtaining steady work comes into play.
from there, it’s all about planning for the future.
iras, 401ks, it’s all there to confuse the hell out of you.
but you make it, maybe find the right girl and make an
honest woman out of her.
she provides you beautiful offspring and you’d sooner tap
dance in a mine field before you let anything happen to them. before
long, their cuteness evolves into a screaming match but you
always reconcile in the end, knowing they only scare because they care .
eventually, they start their own families and the nest is just you & her
enjoying the golden years at some facility in boca. you sit there, soak
in the true reality of existence and remember, at the end of the day, it was
all worth it.
because it had to be.
Mid-Marathon Still Life
i’d rather fruit under flowers
at these wee hours
with coffee for the change that we need
but a beggar can’t be choosy
even when i’m feeling woozy
because after all i previously agreed
The Sunflowers
Van Gogh painted the sunflowers
Harsh in their brightness
Thick was the paint on the canvas
Standing out from the flat surface
Every color shone
Van Gogh drank the sunflowers
He absorbed every image around him
Took it in and consumed it
Drank it down like the finest of wines
And it overwhelmed him
Van Gogh became the sunflowers
Shrank himself down into their colors
Twisted his body
To better accommodate their shape
Disappearing into himself
Van Gogh died in the sunflowers
Gave his very last breath
To their life on the walls
Awed by many
But so few realizing what they see
Hour 16 – Accent
Tongues taste their languages
with flavors and currents
each unique to itself.
Some words are chewed on,
carefully held in cheek pouches.
Other mouths push the syllables
rapid and crisp through the teeth.
Some lips move loose and open,
widening range and depth.
Certain vocal folds are held tight,
rasping and scraping out the sounds.
To each it feels natural, the norm,
to taste only with your own tongue
your own dialect and verbal shortcuts.
The rest are mere accents on the original.
Hour 16- Bare Skinned Antenna
Tunde left me for good
Good riddance to bad rubbish
I thought he meant well
I guess he never did
And so to the dark corners of my room I crept
Crying my eyes out in pain
And heartbreaking sorrow
I took liberty on a thought
Though unnecessary and unthinkable
For a sign, I wanted for closure
And so, cropped up my hair in fragment and batches
Till it became skins bare
Afterward, my head began to act like a detector
What it detects I don’t know
Just a little quarter at the back of the left side
The hair there stands on end
As if waiting to be counted
Goosebumps crops out of my skin
As if I have a crocodile cold skin
What is happening to me?
Why am I feeling this way?
However,
Gone were the heartache and heartbreak
It was like they were never there
But I got something else to think about now
It’s the antenna flickering at the back of my bearskin head.
Meditations
Hour 8, Prompt 16, Year 2021
Ding dong!
“The next stop is Embarcadero.”
The cry of a child
Clatter of skin against train
The squeak of the sliding doors
A flood of voices exiting the train
Noise
The rushed chatter of passengers
The call of vendors selling their wares
An announcement: “Blue line is running late.”
And the throbbing of my head
Absolute cacophony
The thud of the house door
A sigh of relief
Heels clattering on the apartment floor
Clatter clatter clatter clatter
Big clatter and they’re off
The sunken cushion sound as I sit and close my eyes
A slight moan
Inhale exhale inhale exhale inhale exhale
Inhale exhale Inhale exhale
Inhale
Exhale
Inhale
Exhale
Inhale
Exhale
The ticking of the clock
The snores of my puppy
The cawing of the crows on the balcony
The rustle of the fan
The dripping of the leaky tap
The evening bells at the nearby church
The sighs of my mind
Of my body
Of my soul
Tiredness turning into relaxation
Prompt Hour 4 My Grandchildren
My Grandchildren
Prompt 4
My Grandchildren
Last line from These Unlucky Stars by Gillian McDunn
I love my grandchildren.
They are smart, clever, kind, generous and thoughtful.
I love my grandchildren.
They are growing into the people they will be.
I love my grandchildren.
They are themselves, they are their best selves.
And they are perfect within themselves.
And I wouldn’t change a thing.
drumming
there is a drumming,
you are near it
little drummer,
can you hear it?
a crack crack craking
marking seasons and days
a march march marching
noting movement and growing ways
a thrum thrum thruming
crescendoing in passions, love and war
a pound pound poudning
wanting you to open up your door
a beat beat beating
keeping pace with the arc of justice
a thump thump thumping
weighing the space between scarcity and surplus
do you hear the drum, it’s drumming
the gentle time keeper, nothing new
do you hear the drum, it’s thrumming
like a hallowed guitar with melody too
do you hear the drum, it’s beating
in the center of your chest
do you hear the drum, retreating
inviting you to join a parade with all the rest
Across the Sea – Hour Sixteen
I took a trip across the sea to find a treasure, new to me
A gift of hope from years long gone, whose beauty smiles just like a song
I walked awhile, I rode some more, then found my way upon the door
Of those that took me in and stood for everything I know is good
A foreign lad, a foreign land, with hopes and dreams, parked where I stand
Would they come true for me, at last? Or would a bitter stone be cast?
Hard work is what it takes, they say, then things would surely go my way
So working hard is what I tried, each day and night, faith as my guide
A shining city on a hill, a beacon that left me fulfilled
As time went forth I gained more ground than in any place I had found
The people here were kind and wise; I was no different in their eyes
Just someone looking for their way, like other souls at end of day
Now years have passed, I am here still. I guess, perhaps, I always will
I’ve found my hope, my worth, my path, far from a wartime’s aftermath
This country has become my home; a place where I feel same to roam
Whose beauty does smile like a song and where I feel I most belong