Posts for June 2, 2018 (page 3)

I dip my pen in the fountains of new beginnings. 
Unknown stories filled with whispers of days gone by and gifts for the future eyes. 
Of countless worlds, some we’ve seen, some still untouched. 

Black and white brought forth from the Source.
Created to bring us to our knees once more.
I hear the nib mark the page taking my heart with it.
I hold nothing back. 

Building the world I see, but also one I hope, no believe, believe in. Words bring me to the road less traveled, the map used by the past.
Being one’s teacher, giving faded hints to all who will seek. 

My pen has been laid down but the new worlds call to me once more.
A new beginning.
I grab the page which brings eyes to the light before me.
A journey, a chapter, a mark to help me see again. 

I sought counsel from my husband’s best friend,
a blind-drunk soothsayer slumped
on a stool, scar-stippled arms
heavy on the bar.  

Where was he last night?  

Illuminated by sick citrine sheen of
bare bulbs and cheap vodka,
he gazed deep into his crystal highball.  

You’re a smart girl, he slurred.
You’ll be fine.  

Last call, I heard, and my ears burned.  

He drained his glass with a snap.
Ice cubes clicked with clarity,
vicious and sharp.

Potato salad is predictable 
and common
for a picnic

though

the tarp shelters
from sun and rain—
stationary yet mobile
toughness

taken for granted
while cubed potatoes are
devoured

Fort Dad is quiet predictability
uncommon valor
for all occasions.

your love resides here
within my heart forever.
I taste the mountains
purchased from your country lips-
sweet as hummingbird nectar.

my residency
with you is sustained each day,
our mountains now one.
I remember that sweetness
passing between us, humming.

i want 
something

or i want somewhere

can almost feel it
    almost sense it

     almost
          know
                 it

grew a foot taller with no warning
works 12-hour shifts at Bestway Pizza
drives our sister to school
helps our grandfather sell dog biscuits at farmer’s market

The river is alive.
Pregnant, strangled, suffocated
by human indifference.
It yawns and stretches its girth.
A silent reminder of its
underestimated strength.

If you are reading this 
Go to the cupboard , 
 get a small sharp knife
The kind you use for carving 
An apple or pear 
Close your eyes 
Have a friend cut the skin
Between your thumb and finger 
And say,” Thank you. Thanks. ” 

skeptical sky looks down
with furrowed clouds
sees      
        fires making patchwork of ancient forests  
        planting hands dropping seeds by rows
        bullet blasts
        moms wiping muddied cheeks  
        marching feet in fierce formation   
        sycamore roots spreading past state lines
        spoils-laden convoys heading home
        skaters slicing frozen pond with perfect 8s
        strafing planes
        irises rising beside oxeye daisies    
        schools battened down
        phoebes frantic to feed young
        hungry arms stretched thin from begging   
        cacti blooming magenta haloes
wind tsks a “seen it all before”
then heaven weeps