Posts for June 7, 2020

Category
Poem

Last Blood

Last blood.
Most, I know, do not receive
this knowledge ahead – a gradual surcease, then
the last time is the last but you don’t know
until months have passed….

I will not miss
waking exhausted. The vise-tight wrenching.
The involuted seeds, swollen beyond distortion
and meaning     oh pluck them please

But
today with the flow descending, finally comes a whisper
of hesitancy
– oh I am more than ready to feel hunger again –
yet this barren, engorged flesh I have been carrying
for so long, will its leaving leave me
bereft? Or grant me blest, a hollow-full
of Crone lightness?


Category
Poem

blood circulation

if i press the bruise on my thigh will it feel enough like your fingerprints?
i was cold before you, i’ll be cold after
the weight of multiple blankets isn’t always enough.


Category
Poem

Damnit, Gravity!

tried waiting for the words
to come like ants to the onion
I dropped beside the grill,
haphazardly feeling themselves towards
and away,
making contact in the dimming light
with one another in no discernable composition,
feeling curved contours, perfectly seared
to my blackened taste, and retreating,
to tell others, point the way
in hive mind harmony,
collectively conscious
of their next meal;

but nothing came


Category
Poem

Ode

                       Ode
I have not seen you for years.
I write this poem for you
and no one hears its brevity
as the words go across
the page and down.

In a dream, I found
myself attempting to cross
a fallen tree over Old Seventy
Creek to get to you
in the dark, I imagine, with tears,

streaming down your cheek,
for I hear you sobbing,
but I do not get to you,
for I fall off and down,
though I do not hit the water.


Category
Poem

All mothers were summoned

All mothers were summoned when George Floyd called out “Momma”
–BLM protest sign, June 2020

I cannot fathom
the heartache of black mothers,
and my heart breaks for them
as I stand for them
with my gut burning,
my body ready
to defend my protesting daughters
against spit and curses and threats of violence 
from armed spectator “patriots”
lining our courthouse square.
I cannot fathom
the heartache of black mothers,
but I know the fierceness with which all mothers love.

 

 


Category
Poem

thoughts while looking at flowers in the night

the ashy smell of fireworks
ignites the air
there is a friendly closeness
in their laughs
one i’ve always felt
distant from
despite its welcoming purpose
i imagine a bright future
with family friends
playing children
and joy

joy…


Category
Poem

I feel like the secretary to the morning whose only

Responsibility is to take down its bright airy dictation
For after tongue hanging humidity a cooler head prevails
And a glorious Sunday rolls out its high pressure breeze

At my writing desk I take out notes from the in-box
Nothing anybody would find interesting, like the one
About the heron spear-fishing toads out of our pond

As the nearly full moon and her companions Jupiter
And Saturn go down behind the western horizon
Just minutes before sunrise OR this grease smeared

Piece of cardboard with the words “timing belt”
To remind me that our 1997 Honda Accord
Station Wagon seems to be slipping OR this cryptic

Lavender scented post-it note that reads: “To be
With a woman who surrounds herself with birds”
Yes, an incomplete sentence but its evidence is apparent

In the avian air-force patrolling our yard while my wife
Picks asparagus in the garden.  Nothing at all
Important here, but what’s this on the back of an auto

Parts receipt? Let’s see. Oh yeah, a suggestion to myself
On how to spend the afternoon: “Hang the hammock
In the mimosa tree.”  When I look up and out the sliding

Glass door I see acres of mown fields waiting for the baler
But the farmer is in church and the quietude lends 
Itself to meditation, so for a little boost of inspiration

I hit “Spirituals” on the Bose botton, out comes “On Children”
By Sweet Honey and the Rock.  Oh my god.  Turn it on.
Listen with me.  I think of all our black and white children

Quarantined or marching in the streets; masked or
unmasked, brave or frightened. Can they make a better
world?  Though Sweet Honey sings that I cannot go there,

(For their souls dwell in the place of tomorrow
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams)
I’m up dancing on my old ugly legs, streaming tears

What have we done?  What have I done or not done?
I repeat the song a dozen times then discover
A scrap of paper stuck under the laptop:

If  we live in the clouds
We have to take earth with us

*italicized lines: Billy Collins & Ysaye Barnwell/Kahlil Gibran & Mark Jarman

 


Category
Poem

Star field

And if we could
rush across
the stars 
together,

who could stop us
but
ourselves?


Category
Poem

In Solitude

IN SOLITUDE

In solitude, I think
And write
And dream
Of days painted in blues
and reds and greens
Of years that speed-by
faster than a rondo
or slow to a crawl-like lento.

In solitude
I hear what I may not
want to hear,
Not that I am not ready for it.

And weep and cry and sigh
For places
And places long gone.

My heart aches to be
Five again.
Or even twenty.

And yet in many ways
untried, untested
Until now.


Category
Poem

Helpless

It’s so
hard
to watch
a
friend
grieve over
their 
past relationship,
their 
first love.
You
wish
you could
fix it,
fix them,
but you
know
you can’t.
I’m 
tired
of feeling
so
helpless,
I’ve felt
this
way for
so
long.

just want
their
pain to
stop.