Posts for June 3, 2018 (page 2)

avoided, untouched.

There will be complaints from the neighbors. 
They are so quick to confuse appearance with effortlessness.
Someone must move, then:
I work
in the light. Ask for forgiveness
from the insects and dandelions. 
Press my palms forward. Prepare my feet.
And begin.

It’s been said
the Colorado River etched the Grand Canyon
not so much by might
but perseverance 
eroding and exposing hard earned beauty
in the colorful walls. 
Well preserved rocks record the ages
layer by authentic layer
telling its unique story. 

My wrinkles?
Chiseled in similar fashion
shaped by the river of life. 

Costly
Dear
No amount too high.
She aimed for love
Sometimes even begged
She’d missed so much by having
A here but not here father
That when given the chance
There were no bounds
They wanted her until they realized
That the sex came with the price
Of complexity 

Pup on one side.
Pillow on the other.
Feet propped up,
head thrown back.
People speaking softly
on the screen.
And the hum of a settled house.
Too tired for words today,
come again tomorrow.

Faded memories
Whirlwind of screams
Hide away closet
Come back, don’t leave
Safety of shadow company

Red, white and blue is waving weightless
no sun to circle, no terra that’s firma
nothing exerting the pull of gravity
but an orange-haired Hitler making reality a show.  

Or, perhaps we are in an elevator car
winding drum stripped, ropes snapped
on frictionless rails in a damned hoistway
riding to the bottom of the shaft.  

An Experiment with Poetry

I’m planting myself 

everyday

at the same table—

a 1950’s formica with  

tough aluminum legs—

a dreamy place for the muse 

to find me gazing out the kitchen window

at my neighbor’s red roses 

and white clover.  With

a stub point pen, black (never 

red, I hate a red pen), with

the same pad of paper, and

my bottom in the same chair. 

Whether or not the muse shows,

I’ll be cracking poetry books, 

for good measure, and having

myself a think; but now I’m about it,

isn’t all living like poetry?

Aren’t all life’s tasks about showing up?

Just being there?  The routine, 

a semblance of peace in an otherwise

wild-unpredictable-hostile world?

     Melva Sue Priddy

Something is missing
I can’t quite place it
Je ne sais quoi if you will
But you won’t
You find it pretentious
Which is fair, but still
What am I to do
With all my ridiculous vocabulary?
I could deploy all of it here
Leave it all on the floor
And still not get to the core
Of what goes on between us
And what doesn’t

I dropped the initial declaration
Much too soon
Under a symphony of explosions
The balmy summer heat
And the blades of grass between my toes
Made for a pleasant waiting room
As you pondered whether or not
To return the sentiment
Oh my god…
What are we doing?

for a long time afterwards,
you think you are sick

you are sure he has
left you
with something contagious 

you see so many doctors

they draw so much blood
thick bruises layer your
inner arms
like second skin

you tell them
you can’t breathe
your heart beats too slow
you can feel the earth 
move beneath your feet

they tell you 
everything is okay
they tell you
you’re fine
you’re safe

but you know they are wrong

for a long time afterwards,
you won’t let anyone
touch you

always worried
what might happen
if they got too close

The bloom wasn’t for me
but in the blaze of 
sunset sun
I sat and enjoyed it
anyway.