Posts for June 1, 2019 (page 2)

I have this dream where I pick up the phone, it’s always a weird regular phone, and call you. I look in the phone book for your folks and it’s never hard because they have the same first  names as my folks. I call you and we pick up right where we left off. 

 I should’ve reached out after your brother died, but I  was too much of a coward. I know you loved your brother and sister more than anyone in the world and that you’d rather be with them than anyone.  I know exactly how hard you took it and I didn’t say a word. 
I should’ve stopped that morning.  I was driving home early Christmas morning. The streets were totally empty and all at once you pulled up on my left hand side at a red light. You were right there and I just drove away. What kind of horrible blind chance was that ? Why didn’t I stop ? Because someone was waiting for me ?  
 That poetry contest we were in, y ou should’ve won instead of me.  When Young read those poems in class I had to leave the room.  I never , ever would’ve picked you out as the one .It ran all over me.  I should’ve done a lot of things.
I sat behind you all year and watched your cluster ring.   I didn’t know it was your Dad’s. I didn’t know then your Dad was Charlie. I didn’t know you were you. When I heard you’d gone to AA I lost it. I was a dinner and I just walked out.  Did you stop drinking. I know you went to AA, but that’s not the same thing.  I hope you never find out where I ended up. I hope you never ask.

Words, rhyme
deep meaning sublime
Poem crafters emerge near and far

Noting detail
Telling spikes with a nail
Witnessing dust from a star

The LexPoMo Show
poets grab their bow
to dance on heart strings and soul

Thirty days ablaze
grand ideas amaze
Infinite scores of genius our goal

the living heart of the true
things that ignite life—
blue tenderness, yellow love
murmur of a stream’s wave in your hand
a full moon, the lip of dreams
the inheritance you carry

You’ll get lost on the way
in the regrettable condition of the world
separated by another wall
the accumulated poison of so much wealth
and so much poverty
one depends on the other
it’s incredibly cruel
a terrible inflammation
pitch black like a wolf’s mouth

But please be a little patient
This process is a doorway
the blissful border
to the entrails of the earth
the enormous spine, the deep roots
of the tree of hope
blooming in the joy
of the exact language for understanding

What secret are you looking for?
We are heading toward ourselves
This is the moment
Break the bark
Let new blossoms come out

~ Cento of lines/phrases found in Frida Kahlo’s diary and her letters.

Generations
layer secrets
like leaves across
the forest floor;
holding hands and
passing whispers
down the family tree
like mycelium
transporting
warnings
along the roots
of the trees.

my hands
          let go of
                    the wheel
          for Jesus to
take it

he
didn’t

not
even
a
swerve

I can’t be good 
all the time

there are days 
I don’t recycle

people I don’t
care about

and times I eat
the last cookie

I masturbate 
and call it exercise

I’d rather look pretty 
than be clean 

I’m not as smart
as I used to be 

I can’t tell if I’m 
depressed or lazy

I’ve got a lot of
quit in me

I spoke

              some names onto the wind
watched them

                                               halfed and quartered
                           into notes, rhythms.

when you left your name

                                               went with you

                and although there was pain
                            I breathed.

at least I could summon to me
                                                       all those old forces
                which allowed me to go on living

                                       if only for a while.

She sat over there
By herself
Alone
Away from
Them
Those who didn’t see
She sat over there
Watching
Thinking
Learning
Seeing the things that you didn’t
She sat over there
Listening
Hearing
music laughter and tears
Her sweet smile,
Her bright eyes and Her funny ways
She sat over there 
waiting 
waiting 
waiting 
for things to change
♥️

lots tangled up like an owl pellet, barbed-wire ball.
               wrangle up news reports; pelt us with today’s dire maw.
               over Mom’s shoulder, don’t think i’ll mention the crawl.

and don’t remember what we talk about instead.

but
we drip fry grease,
heart drips fry grease,
sky drips heat, this grease-splatter sky.

June ’56
over the wheel, the blue sun-sucking sky, Mom says,
               “For the first time, I think I’m going to write.”
owl pellet feelings, bones and mangle.
               “Lawmaker.”
               “Another one.”
               “And they’re talking about abortion!?”
360 angles and 63 years.
all i know is, “You can call if you want, too.”

Mom says, “It’s so hot today.”

and there’s no answer,
just more gusts of tired-cough clouds, greasing up the sky.