INCUBATION (hour xiv)
Back against the world
Facing a towering wall
Resurgence alive
*Inspired by the image prompt
Meeting
We saw each other.
Warm feelings.
Hobbied excitement.
Going places.
Hang out with plans that never happen.
Enjoying each other with the presence.
Mortar and Pestle
Hour Eighteen 3993
Sun-stroked gardens
season stained carpets
of variegated color-
the clean scent of greenery
and herbs a pleasant arousal
to the senses.
The Chickweeds gather in droves
clucking away with banter
cleaving to the Cleavers
until Evening Primrose.
Goats Rue the interruption
while nursing their young
as Honeysuckles at their teat.
Jack the preacher In The Pulpit
wears a Scullcap complimenting
an Old Man’s Beard and
bearing Solomon’s Seal
from St. John’s Wort
chastising the Lyre Leaf Sage
for the Sassafras to their Motherwort
who then threatens to wash
their mouths with Soapwort,
a custom in Sweet Ciscily.
The Trillium trinity
a blessed purity
and Speedwell
the ailments to healing.
Her Dad is a Diesel Mechanic, or Annoying My Girlfriend and Her Mom (19)
He sewed his thumb back on in the woods
with some fishing line
I have broken my arm twice
and each time I sucked in a lot of air and teared up
waiting in a clean hospital ER for a bed
going like this:
oooh-ahhhh-ooooh-ahhhh
and been a bitch otherwise my entire life
when he tells me about them boys at work
running the machines into the ground
I go along with him
and say, you can’t find anybody worth a durn
and he agrees with a grunt
then tells me about being shot at by union men
that wanted the job he and his father took
because it was their state
and his father almost ran them over with a truck
and he tells me that he once went
to a martial arts gym and the black belt instructor
couldn’t do anything to keep him down
one time a guy picked him up in the air
with a lift and shook it so he might fall
much to the laughs of the other men
and he put vice grips around this man’s chest
and squeezed on them until ribs were broken
after he finally let him down
and I nodded and grunted and yessir’d my way
up until my girlfriend’s mom asked me
what tool he’s referring to when he talks about
fixing this thing on the cherry pickers they broke
I stutter for a second and then turn to look at her
now joined by my girlfriend
grinning like hungry wolves.
Kaleidoscope (Poem 17)
One view
Many perspectives
The Kaleidoscope besides its beauty
Also teaches us
That looking in one direction
Not only offers different perspectives to different people
But also provides varied views
To a single person
Text prompt number 16: Write a poem either titled or centred around a ‘Kaleidoscope’.
3 am hour/prompt #19
3am
light rain descends as night moves toward morning’s light.
poetry’s passion sits on my chest reminding me, like Robert Frost’s little horse,
I still have hours to go before I sleep. Sweet sleeping hounds keep me company,
poetry family check’s in on by email and marathon comrades keep posting.
the night is very still, while loud and irritating electric hissing sounds fill the air. I chose
this journey and revel in its labyrinth of complexity as the clock ticks. the hour that seemed not long enough to complete the task at hand, now stretches languidly onward. I beseech
the next prompt, the next hour, please claim me before sleep over-rides the body!
poetic justice, recompense for my confident commitment to word and time
O’ foolish poet, like mystics and seekers throughout millennium, I drink the elixir
of intoxicating phrases seeking solace in their rhyme and comfort from their mystery.
I close my eyes, a brief respite, to begin the journey again into it’s final hours.
My Surroundings
I had a condensed fear
when the wind howled
at night in my surroundings.
Every soul would be dearly missed.
The Death has loved us since
we were still alive.
A pain in the chest touched my heart
in agony, for the four foes
that begged for my absence in my present. If the night loses its lamp,
the day will surely reach its day.
Poem 19
Playful predator begs for attention.
Whiny and responsive, he demands
for his creature comforts. Like a fly
begging for escape through that damn
window. He demands for any kind of
stimulation he can get.
The thinker indulges the predator’s impulses,
Leading with a great red frown. His finger
Guides him atop wood tables for writing and
amongst teal plush for lovers to be loving.
Appeased, the predator lays beside me,
breathing his slow fiery breaths.
Recuperating with eyes so bright and
focused. That the thinker rushes to
Take time to think once more.
Before the predator begs for attention
again.
Perspective
She’s always talking to people,
strangers in the street,
in the shops,
or at the station,
on her runs.
She meets them with a smile
and says good morning – every damn time.
A lovely day!
Good day!
Hello!
Who does she think she is?
WHAT IS WORK (hour xiii)
Work is not about the midnight calls
It’s not about the late evening client parties
It’s not about the pillar-to-post dashes on public holidays
It’s not about stealing worship presence on Sunday mornings
Work is not about the nightclub rendezvous
It’s not about killing effort and exalting results
It’s not about grave-bound multitasking that defiles time principles
It’s not about being a parent by proxy
Work is bliss as play is
It is to create and see creation flourish
It is to write and see words in command
Work is a smile, like a fruitful journey and not an avoidable end
*Inspired by the text prompt