Posts for June 7, 2017 (page 6)

On the day
                   One day a whole damn song fell into place in my head.                                Billie Holliday

       I hate it when you grab a pen
       an’ there’s no ink to be
       You scribble it on everything
       in hopes something to see

       Then you grab another pen
       and do the same damn thing
       Until you come upon one
       that lets you write your name

       Then what is it that you do
       with all those inkless pens?
       Put them right back where they were
       till time to write again

Do you like to practice yoga?
at a conference in Dakota?
on a goat farm in a toga?

You do not like yoga, so you say.
Try it! Try it! And you may.

Would you like it here or there?
Could you, would you at the Y
at the Livery
at the Horse Park
at Raven Run
at McConnell Springs
at Woodland Park
at Henry Clay
at Whitaker Bank Ballpark
on Shaker Pond?

I do not like it here or there.
I do not like it anywhere.

Would you, could you on the green
in a gazebo
on a paddleboard
in a beer garden
on the field
by a graveyard?

Would you like it
at the solstice
in the moonlight
at the sunrise?

If you will let me be,
I will try it. You will see.

I’ll be the base,
you be the flyer.
I’ll do the down dog,
you do the high wire.

you try to negotiate
my request you sit
at kitchen counter  

until because I said so
becomes non-negotiable  

then, demand salsa
opening plastic bag
as assault. Pull  

chips, dip, crunch
audibly. Until hunger 
satiated enough to  

comment, this salsa
is really good 
as apology.

I found a poem

with his shoes on the wrong feet

a backward cap

blue eyes like stars on the

dirty face of summer

We hear them
before we see them.
A low motor murmur
that teases we throngs
of tourists quickly lining
the street, then tosses out
speculation when
the first motorcyclists burst
into view
in full-throttle splendour.
One after the other after the other,
flags flying, leather vests declaring
club names, conspicuous
tatoos, dead serious intent.
This is flashy, loud defiance.
One after the other after the other
for a full fifteen minutes.  This is
a show of force, of solidarity;
a circling of wagons, Harley-style.
A grand gesture that summons
something primitive in me.
I chant with the crowd:
USA, USA, USA

So beautiful 
     and quiet–
like it
     never is;
clematis 
more purple 
than it
ever was.

I adore you 
     forever–
like I 
     never did;
I  withdraw–
     cause love kills,
like it
     always does.

We are all seeing fireflies for the first time
when we listen to the way a stranger’s voice
turns to song when they speak. Think about 
how we all have a favorite pair of pants 
we buy more than one of and re-wear
before washing to avoid the others that 
don’t make our butt look as good. Watch 
for the part of the movie that isn’t really 
all that funny but makes joy run from 
their eyes. Plant flowers the rain won’t promise 
to water with your little sister. Notice how 
she braids her hair over and over again 
when she gets bored or the way the girl 
at the bar loves telling people the meaning 
behind her tattoo when they ask. 

Watching Junior uncoil 
On a chest high 2 seamer
Launching the ball into 
The Ohio valley summer night
Made me wonder out loud
Is perfection attainable?