Posts for 2020 (page 105)

This
Fucking
Sucks.

I had plans.
This grown-ass-nearer-to-50yr-old-woman turns petulant child.
I stomp and cry.
Fist raised to the heavens, knees on the ground,
I try to pray but I’m so disappointed.

I.had.plans.

I try not to take it out on you and hold you responsible.
I try not to see you as everything I want to get away from.

Mask in hand, I try my damnedest to rise higher than your fear.
And I put on my fucking happy face and “pivot” and remain positive in spite of it all.

But I want to positively throat punch you.

Rain Cento

The great light cage has broken up in the air,  
The leaves lie thick upon the way 
Of memories.

I want to fall on you like rain
To let you almost taste
a pretty girl yawning
and frogs in the pools 
singing at night

There will come soft rain and the smell of the ground,
sliding down windows like notes on air
freeing, I think, about a million birds

The nights I love glisten with rain

(Lines selected from Elizabeth Bishop “Rain Towards Morning,” James Joyce, “Rain Has Fallen All the Day,” Robert Rorabeck,”A Flower in the Rain,” Kobayashi Issa, “In Spring Rain,” Sara Teasdale, “There Will Come Soft Rains,” and Phillip Shabazz “Franklin Street.”)

A viridian
patina appeared with time
enveloping eyes

Arresting beauty
acidic oxidation
chemical portrait 

A Trilogy Number Three  
Parlor Light Three   
                     
The silent darkness                        
that surrounds my sleep                        
was suddenly shattered                                    
                   by a howling wind                        
and a voice that came with it.  
                       
My eyes,                        
weary with the night                         
tared out at the darkness                                    
                searching for a light                                                          
                                       a movement                        
but no one was there. 

                        
Yet, the howling wind                        
and the voice that came with it                        
continued to pierce my soul                        
and I could not rest.                        
For some familiar memory                        
beckoned me to rise                                    
                  to wander the house                        
in search of the spirit                        
that haunted me.                        
My heart trembled                        
like shivering bones                                    
on a winter’s night.  
                       
With bare feet                                    
                on wooden floor                        
I moved from the bed                        
to the window                        
in hopes to see                                    
                    the howling wind                        
and the voice that came with it.    
                      
Outside                                    
                         limbs                                    
                         void of leaves                        
were still                        
and the sky silent                                    
                            and cloudless…                        
I wondered                        
where was this howling wind                        
and the voice that came with it.  
                       
Then I saw a flicker                        
from the parlor                                    
                      a weak faint flicker                        
from the fireplace                                    
nearly cooled from the night.
                         
I withdrew to the room                        
where wine                              
                  was once sipped                        
and books once read…                        
The room                        
where quiet lovers                        
once sat                                    
                  in the warmth of love                         
before I sent her away.                          

My eyes,                        
more focused now                        
searching for a clue                        
to the spirit that haunted me.  
                       
I searched dusty shelves                        
where her life had been                                    
                 and my heart melted away the years                        
 and it only seemed                                    
                  moments ago                        
since she was gone.  
                       
Sadness                                    
           trickled                                                
                     down                                                            
                                  my face                        
as the howling wind                        
and the voice that came with it                        
grew weaker                                    
             and weaker                        
until I was left                       
with only                                    
                    the deeds I had done.  

Tony Sexton 

Free advice, getting what you paid for:

Label each sock in a pair “right” or “left” so that you can reverse them on Backwards Day,
Read a bedtime story to your kid, then give a pop quiz three nights later to see if she or he was paying attention,
Always be ready with a Shakespeare quote, preceded by, “I don’t know if this applies, but. . .”
You can never have enough toothpicks or rubber bands,
Right before going to bed, count the number of times you only paid for what you needed,
Always use the word “certainly” so that no one thinks you are calling them Shirley–unless you’re talking to Shirley,
Do the Hokey Pokey only when other people are doing it, because someone is always watching,
Periodically remind people that you have cousins in New Jersey.

Once again, you’re welcome.

Profusion
Says the Forest to the Girl
Passing Through Humansville
Slipstream
Evolution
How Swallowtails Become Dragons

Some Glad Morning
Leave Here Knowing
The Ecstasy of Wanting
The Distance Between Blues
Hooked Through
Songs from the Shaper’s Harp
Bonfire Opera

~ Created from titles of chapbooks and collections (I own and love), in order of appearance (including title): Dorianne Laux, Taunja Thomson, Sally Rosen Kindred, Karen Craigo, Kate Fadick, Eileen Myles, Bianca Spriggs, Barbara Crooker, Elizabeth Oakes, Paula J. Lambert, Barbara Sabol, Sara Moore Wagner, Roberta Schultz, Danusha Laméris.

cupped in keep
the air in breath
the essence of heed
appearing twice in review
the beginning of evolution
the end of time

i do not  
know how to communicate
i do not understand so many things
i do not like pain
i do not like liars
i do not like deceit
i do not like hate
i do not like supremacy
i do not like scared dogs
i do not like scared cats
i do not like scared snakes 
do not like scared anything
i do not corner anything scared
i do not trust-even the hand that feeds me bites
i do not like being confused
i do not like what i do not like, so i try to avoid what i do not like
i do not like people who do not clean up after themselves
i do not like apathy, but it helps maintain sanity
i try to accept what i do not like or understand
i live in denial-partnered with amnesia
i like sunrises i like sunsets
i appreciate a good night’s sleep
i enjoy driving a tractor
i feel blessed when i see barn swallows darting about in a feeding frenzy
i stand in awe of the natural world, how imbalance creates balance
i marvel at colors i live with music i embrace the arts
i would love to love an artist-i had sex with a musician once-he made love to me
I wonder if loving is something I am able to do one more time before I die
i wonder if i should risk opening my heart- after all open-heart surgery is around the corner-that seems like more risk than i care to take
i am scared i cannot accept i do not understand
why man can’t stop man’s inhumanity to man

I thought long and hard about the cappuccino crunch
before I succumbed.
Firm paper straw between my lips
sucking sweet icy coffee
and then later the hard balls of chocolate-covered
nuts cracking  between my teeth–
decisions I’ll probably come to regret
squeezing the roll of fat around my belly.
I can pinch it, compress the flesh between thumb
and fingers.  But then again the caffeine sugar high.

Broom in hand, he glances up at her
as she saunters by the grocery store;
same time each day, on purpose,
he hopes.  This day, she sweeps her hair
off the curve of her cheek, tilts
her head towards him and claims
him with her eyes.  In that moment,
he knows he can never resist 
the magnetic pull
that weds the two of them;
she, barely out of high school,
he, a would-be musician.

Their first years together are
sultry improvisations and interlude.
Over the course of some thirty years,
their sheet music mellows;
changes from combo to choir,
and then, too early, to requiem.

He never gets the chance to kiss
the soft cheeks of his grandchildren,
to teach them old jazz standards
or how to identify instruments
by their sound.

She donates his saxophone
to the high school band; melody
and memory too intertwined.
Time for a new composition.