Posts for June 7, 2020 (page 7)

Unbeknownst to I
Native Americans label all
our moons:
Strawberry 
for June as the wild ones
ripen.

Mirroring Mother Nature
We are Ripe to
 Change
against
Injustice & Racism
Delving deep 
to make the Shift.

                                                                      For Kathleen who got me thinking

Wind carried the words into June
And settled this fertile ground  

Virgin surface cultivated
Daily by dazzled blooms  

I sit back and savor
Their colorful array:  

The tow-headed notions
And smoke-smudgy nightmares  

Oxblood brainstorms
Pumpkin beliefs  

Eggshell revelations
Azure romances  

Buttery concepts
Grizzled perceptions  

Pyrethrum protests
Wine-coated prayers  

What burgundy schemes
And swarthy visions  

Saffron sorrows
Damask joys  

Scorched earth ideas
Dovish designs  

Even the hybrid honey-zaffered articulations
And glaucous terminologies humble  

This garden we’ve wild
With lyrical delights      

purple larkspur / follows gold-faced yarrow — do you miss your cousin?

the string around my finger reminds me I’m
guilty of
                whack a mole
                                         crimes committed in
dreams I can’t remember, a spree by my
Doppelganger dark side I hide      
                                                       whack a mole  

Jung said whatever I deny consciousness will
keep reappearing        
                                 whack a mole
                                                          until I
acknowledge it, which I’m willing to do I’ll even
sign a blank confession you can fill in the
details     
             whack a mole
                                      but confession is a lie told
to cover up another  
                                   whack a mole
                                                             until the arm  

suffers
muscle
failure  

Stop me if you’ve heard these before.
Just kidding, I’m not stopping.

Do blondes really have more fun?
Do Hushpuppies really make sidewalks softer?
Do some people actually outgrow their need for milk?
Did Tareyton smokers really rather fight than switch?
Was eating at Jerry’s really a family affair?  Local context, can be ignored if you ain’t from these parts.

Did Elvis ever really leave the building?
Should the government own and operate the railroads?  OK, that’s really pre-Boomer.
Finally, post-Boomer:  Will we ever be able to talk about Fight Club?
Leaving it there for now,
There’s only so much inquiring minds want to know.

when the bait

is dropped

i promise you,

i will be the first

to bite

and once your arm

is numb

from reeling me in,

i’ll wait for you

to watch me

being snagged

by your hook

but i won’t make it

to the dock

because although

the water is cold,

i can’t help but

swim away

freely,

leaving you

stunned

at the shore

I know I shouldn’t do it.
It’s become taboo, forbidden really.
Health risks, germs, all that jazz…
Still, I have aching for it. 
I can just taste it in the back of my throat-a throwback to my youth.
With no more time for contemplation
I bring my parched lips to the end of the water hose.

nice cool morning
hint of later heat
front porch coffee
bite of something sweet

two doves exchange
haunting coo coo coos
hot pink begonias
uninterrupted blue

concentrated effort
spider spins a web
scent of new-mown grass
all my senses fed

poetry in the making
LexPoMo is waiting

Our hearts are the
           strangest of clocks,
not adding time
           but subtracting it,
each beat
           closer to it’s last—