Posts for June 30, 2017 (page 2)

Category
Poem

Dear LexPoMo

Thank you for letting me grind
my days into strange, fragmented
shapes who really wish to be fractals.
Maybe they are. Maybe all of them
are as we merge back into our lives
from this space, this Rainbow Road,
this sweet allusion warming us
like the smell of a memory: a voice,
a moment of connection, a synchronized
miracle of understanding, a dumped-out hamper.
I thank you all for having me.

We are why we aren’t alone.


Category
Poem

My Dear Poets

The long promised generation,
waiting in the wings, 
with their glassback roofline 
and map pocket, is shimmering 
a rainbow metallic,
such an unusual palette. 
A mere thimbleful, never.
Their fascia embedded with grief, 
or loneliness, joy or startle, 
enthusiasm or convex sauciness
cannot silence the guns, or the 
voices of the unheard, for they are 
THE POETS OF THE WORLD! 

(C) Edelweiss Meadows-Millstone

Dear Poets, One and All, 
Thank you for an extraordinary experience of poetry, words, phrases, ideas, community and growth. I was blessed to be here with you. I wish this could be a bi-annual practice, at the very least. This was so fun and enlightening! Thank you to all of you!  Have a great holiday, and rest of the year!  
Poetry Feeds, 
Edelweiss


Category
Poem

Never going to give you up

As we write to each other, 
I feel the needle dig even further. 

Getting clean of you,
is impossible, 
im an addict for your name-
what it represents:
ecstasy, freedom, desire-
my fix.  

I whisper it into the night
I look at the stars and loll it around on my tongue-
saying your name,
knowing this is not how to be sober. 

I start counting the stars,
trying to forget your name
and the way you look at me
with a side smile-
or is it smirk?

I lose count-
only to flick the next vein.


Category
Poem

Get Ready, Open Wide, Here We Come

I let the poetry climb
the heavy metal ladder,
sit at the top and watch her feet dangle.
She looks to the tops of trees,
the hazy blue gray sky and the clouds
then lowers her eyes to the earth, the sand
pit at the bottom, the brown sered grass,
the barely babbling, almost dry creek
below the field of dead soy beans
on the neighbor’s farm. She loosens her grip
on the railing, extends and stretches her chubby
arthritic fingers as flabby arms reach
for her sight’s ceiling.  All of a sudden a-rat-a-tap-tap
on the tin sounding steel dances
out from under her pedal extremeties
and she lets words jump, like my little brown
and white dog when she chases thunder,
before my hazel eyes. The faster words fly
from her to my brain to my fingers to keys to the page
on the computer the more united we become.
We inch forward, closer, closer, closer, get ready,
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE,
escapes from our wide open mouth
as we plummet down the slippery slide
to the bottom where our Bertha butt
hits the soft landing pad of LexPoMo’s
final few glory hours for 2017.
tha-tha-that’s all folks  

Good night all. Everyone poems have been great, the conversations excellent, the open mic and free books a so sad you missed or great to be among peers event. Thank you Rabbit Catastrophe Press, Workhorse, Katerina Stoyklova, Bronson O’Quinn, Robin LeMer Rahija, Christopher McCurry and everyone who has a hand in keeping poetry alive and thriving in Lexington, KY. 
Until next time be well and prosper. 


Category
Poem

Maudlin Moments

Maudlin moments, birthed
from celluloid frames, hinted
at pure intentions
 
We knew the story
it was contained from within
etched into our hearts
 
Carefully crafted,
this memento mori, gives 
a fitting ending
 
To a short story
in which, we all played a part,
actors and authors

Photograph taken with FujiFilm XPro2


Category
Poem

Maybe poetry

I like voice texting,
but it isn’t flawless.  

I said fewer pictures
It heard  if you were pictures  

I said to search poems by category
It relayed to search homes by category  

But maybe that is right.
How many poems have sheltered me?
In how many lines have I hidden
my cold frame? How many
have welcomed me—a seeker
on unknown relentless roads—to their hearth?  

Maybe poetry is my real
estate, inviting and move-in ready.


Category
Poem

Every April

He sat at the end of the maple kitchen table
younger brother’s spot,
extra leaf yanked out and sprung up for more space
now that we had company.

Fork in left hand, knife in right,
talking, eating eggs and country ham,
—the North Carolina of him—
biscuits and butter and strawberry preserves.

He smelled like tobacco smoke
and pomade, hair smoothed straight back.
I waited, smelling him in, listening.
Tidewater Os and disappeared Rs.

It took a minute of chewing for the dime-sized circle
on his right cheek, and no other skin,
to start sweating. My yearly thrill.
Because I knew, I knew. I knew it would.


Category
Poem

the end

until the fat lady sings
until the last dog is dead
until we all go home
until lightning strikes
until I say so
until it’s over

it ain’t over


Category
Poem

kimono exhibit chicago japanese cultural center 2017

for irene & stephen 

they were ghost 
made of silk.


Category
Poem

Farewell

Dust and words
Words and dust 
Swirling

We are no longer in a
Civilised world.
One suffers
And says nothing.

Semen spit 
It out; who didn’t
Stand for anything.

Heathen claiming sainthood –
God is breathing hot
Anger molten 
Deterioration.

We drank farewell
To civilsation
With an air of finality
While performing
On an upright
Piano.

Because that’s what you do.
You don’t ask forgiveness
Or change tack.
You just 
Have a good time
Before you die.

We all became 
Confidential 
And almost emotional.

Almost 

Says nothing.