Hour 14 – Always
You were taken
before you took your first breath,
but you will be loved
till my very last.
imagination graduation
the younger generation
Z or X or millennials
are coupling without children,
begets now terminated at begot
we can only imagine our grandchildren now
their births and birthdays
holiday presents and road trips
I’m making a cake for my granddaughter
shes’ named after me, you know
and I drew hopscotch on the sidewalk in chalk for her to play
yesterday I built a blanket fort
under the ping pong table
for my grandson,
I named him Jack
I slept in that fort last night
until my hips hurt from the floor
and I had to go to the bathroom;
at least imaginary grandchildren aren’t disturbed by my midnight rumblings
perhaps if we had taken things
like climate change and school shootings
more seriously
our children would want children
instead, we use our imagination
that pretended the problem wasn’t ours
to pretend to have grandchildren that are
figments too young to go mad,
too soon to go sad
Ghost (nonet) – hour 12
Stretchy sunken skeletal feet, grey
scratch the carpet where now she lay
dripping, drooping fingers down
touched the gun without sound
it grasped the bullet
from deep inside
now she wakes
not dead
live.
– Sandra Johnson, 6/26/21
Imaginary Children Prompt (Hour 14)
Laughing mountains, sunset walkers, ocean singers. Chasing firefly memories, birds of the moon, Poets, warriors, philosopher kings. Children of the earth, always at home Wherever their feet may touch. Minds that question, Seek patterns, connect purpose and beauty, Reason and enchantment. Caterpillars in the desert, caverns that traverse galaxies, Captains of sailing vessels that rise into the sky Horizon-touchers, new heroes of unfolding mythology. All the blessings of the cosmos in their throats, star-drinkers, With palaces on their fingers, Dream writers, thought bleeders, crazed lovers Of ancient horse language, children of instinct and words beyond death.
Hour 14 – Ruins
Deserts are remnants of oceans.
Bat wings and whale fins
Vestiges of the same feet
Which tie my shoestrings.
Time distorts and warps
Leaving no survivors.
What ashes of us will remain
As the sun releases its final
Devastating exhale
And sinks into its own ruins?
Tale of Two Stubbles–Hour 14
My boy is four
He has a five o’clock shadow
at 11 AM
I stand him on the sink
and we shave together
Of course his beard is made of pudding
(yes, like father like son)
so it comes off easily after a decent soak
He likes the shaving cream though
so i give him my butter knife to use
Well, hell, I let him shave me too
gotta earn that four-year-old allowance
somehow
Hour 14: The Stone Buddha
A painting with blue hues
Portrays a stone buddha in all his glory
Serenity, tranquility, contentment
The expression not unknown
A show of benevolence
And it’s me, who looks at this visage
Reaching for, wishing for
Who knows what?
Maybe the peace reflected
Maybe it’s the thought of mercy?
Praying, without words
Asking, without opening arms
Thinking, is it possible
To have something without paying for it
In this world…
Of Gods, made of stone
Of people, made of greed
Of my own soul, made of avarice
And a heart, full of blood and life
Whose price was the death of a star.
to my Vivi ~ Nanny Loves you
As I sit here contemplating
Completing the down hill slip
Of the annual event I wait for
Like a child at Christmas
As We sit here waiting
For your blessed arrival
I’m on call
As we walk along each day, closer
We ponder who you’ll be
We wonder, what will ignite your passion.
For we each have our own
Music, Art, Words, Magic
Our imaginations not limited by our intelligence
We dare grow beyond.
Never forget, Nanny loves you
“Babbles”
“Babbles”
I often feel like I babble about absolutely nothing and what I say holds no weight because no one’s listening anyway but if they did, they may just find that within my babbles are my state of mind, always wandering, always spinning, always changing in direction, so much that I sometimes wonder if I’ve lost my mind for where would my mind go, does one ever really know, for a mind is a mind of its own and it’s free to roam here, there, and everywhere, never staying for very long.