Posts for June 13, 2019 (page 7)

New, brick, fancy doesn’t fit.
There it sits in a field sold
When times were lean, stark
Reminder when hail shredded crop .  

Folks live there, keep to themself,
Not handy when troubles strike
And every soul is needed to help
Fight back whatever foe attacks.

The lost field laid with a gentle rise
Covered with daisies, clover, rye
In season. Trickle of a stream sang by
On its way to the earthen blocking dam.  

Driving by house four, my eyes blur,
A kindness that spares the sight
And lets the day be undisturbed by
Thought of the storm cost loss.  

The road folks do not have years
Enough to let the house join us.
Stubborn, proud ever clanned
By a past that is slipping into dust.  

Fences make good neighbors? Well,
New houses don’t echo Frost.
We hug our past and wishes tell
Of yesterday and yesterday’s lost.

i ain’t one to waller. 
don’t really have the need
to tromp out a mudhole
made of filthy feelings
and flop down in it
for everyone to see. 
i have a hard time 

finding the big difference
between vulnerable and weak 
when i’m looking in the mirror. 
makes me feel plumb dirty, 
dragging out the past
and exposing all the parts of me
still soft from summer rains. 
water stands and lord knows
i ain’t sweet enough
to simply melt away. 

After paying respect to the cook, we gawk.
Tongue-tied, we lack story or joke.
Eat and enjoy, says the cook. Talk.

No one ventures a squawk.
We can’t muster a question. We can’t even croak.
After paying respect to the cook, we gawk.

Reunited, why do we balk?
Why around the table happy faces choke?
Eat and enjoy, says the cook. Talk.

Food braced with spice. Dialogue deadlock.
Finally, Fred gives the party a poke.
After paying respect to the cook, we gawk.

Of his odd feelings, he makes a mock.
We make fun of ourselves. We go for broke.
Eat and enjoy, says the cook. Talk.

A gabfest unfolds, much to our shock.
We were asleep, but now we’re woke.
We pay tribute to Fred. We no longer gawk.
We eat and enjoy. We talk.

Clandestine wishes
    whispered
in midnight madness
      wrap themselves in shadows
                  to
     travel undetected
through thick summer air

I stir in my sleep
    third eye open
keeping watch
          for disguised mayhem
 to devour it
       and sate
          the hunger
that grows 
               with each passing moment
                    when 
you
         are
                  not 
                          near

First, the hurrying
seed. Trying to open
the night with one
light. Hint of tree
sap & sawfly. Rivers
awaken. Stony
asteroid whirs through interstellar
black. Somewhere
a jawless lamprey, mottled
humpback. Primordial
time of mite & mastodon, when
you thought: I, too, want
milk. I want heft & pelt.

My teacher, you know
the facts & possibilities. I feel
you opening like the Creator’s jumbo
Hefty bag & out of you
tumbles the prehistoric
hedgehog, thumb sized & worthy
of idiom & lullaby. You always
have something for me—
thorny seahorse, soft fontanelle
of a newborn, a pleated saguaro
& the freckled elf
owl that lives inside it. Perhaps

some think of you as chaos,
abyss, black hole,
but I say
silence, craving. I say
companion.

Опитвам се да кажа на света, 
че непренциозно трябва да живее,
назад оставяйки ненужна суета 
и вниквайки във себе си да оцелее. 
Че всеки е роден звезда ,
това от ясно е по-ясно, 
но чувайки сам своята душа, 
Ще засияе в уникална Светлина , 
която ще покаже цветове,
На земната му същност дадени по право 
Ще има чувство, че порастват му криле 
и ще забрави да държи живота здраво. 
Оставяйки назад да отлетят 
илюзии и страхове несъществуващи , 
прегръщайки момента си сега 
и черпейки от своята вътрешност. 
Докрай отдавайки се в името 
на Уникалния и без застой, 
поемайки и грижите за цялото 
Ще освети с Любов той пътя свой 

There’s a trick
with a pen
I’m learning
to do—no knife,
but sword unsheathed  

—full frontal poetry,  

I wish I were
Michael Ondaatje,
handwriting of a god,
and too beautiful
to give a fuck.

Fearing planes, I
experience death’s
Exposition, the panicked
Knowing

This my last breath
This is my last sneeze
Last accidental grazing of a human hand
Last time trying to say “You’re fine” or “No problem” but saying “Your Problem”
Last pangs of persistent self-judgment
Last panic attack
Last song:

“Thought 
 I knew 
What love
was;
What did I know?”

saw you called
must’ve missed you
i ain’t tryna fall with you
we got some tall issues 
so i put on stilts for ya girl
sometimes i feel i ain’t built for this world
my mind a tornado of filth watch it swirl
out the windowsill as the script unfurl 
that shit for lovesongs and houseflies 
word to Jay Electron
i just wanna touch on what love sound like
i hope i don’t say it all wrong 
but how my luck gone that sound about right
nah i’m lucky as fuck to be alive
haze in the bong we blazin to How High
eyes red you know the method man
dopeboys on the internet method actin for the gram
but in the flesh send it back with the spam
send your blessins to the benefactors of the land
of which our ancestors been jackers 
we been lackin
i ain’t gon defend these crackers
but gettin back to whatever was the task at hand
i got that 21st century attention span 
but now it’s comin into focus
just how much i’m gonna miss you fam

they talkin bout
how we gon live again
to branch out
you gotta give a limb
i aint crazy
but i might be a synonym
alright i might be crazy but at least i ain’t a simpleton
they talkin bout
how we gon live again
wanna branch out
you gotta give a limb
i ain’t crazy 
but i might be a synonym
alright i might be crazy but at least i ain’t some simpleton

I would swear

a thirteen year old boy

lives in my head.

He’s always inserting himself

in conversations

when he is not needed,

making all things uncomfortable.

Pinball brain full of,

“That’s what she said,”

bouncing around

during lectures

where he wonders

what kind of underwear

professors even wear.