Posts for 2020 (page 23)

I am not with you
As I was before,
Know this:

I am not lost

You will find me in the sunlight
of the day that awakens you.

In the softness of the voice 
that means to say I love you.

I will be in the hands of your children
And your children’s children,

with lightning bugs in summer evenings

(I always wanted to call them fireflies,
did you know that?)

I will be there.

“Babe I promise to show you the world.”
He did just that.
His cheffing took us to Six states in our first six years.
Our best travels were for pleasure.
He took me to jungles in Costa Rica,
cerulean waters in the Caribbean,
skull caves in Papua New Guinea,
jazzy boat ride off St. Lucia,
snorkeling in Great Barrier Reef,
serenaded by mariachi band during private beach dinner in Cozumel,
rum factory in Punta Cana where he bought my larimar earrings and
where we were the only Americans on a German tour…oops wrong van.

He taught me to go to the edge without fear.
God’s nature at my fingertips.
Ziplining 100 feet up in the jungles of Costa Rica
 Sharing the ocean with sharks
Skulking skull caves with locals
Riding a horse up and swiftly down a Costa Rican jungle
Eating conch and lion fish in strange lands
Being hosed by locals after a mud bath in warm springs
Getting lost from group tour to do our own thing
Holding a puffer fish
Witnessing a bait ball three feet from my face
Letting  capuchins jump on my head…

You gently nudged me to grab the thrills and leave my comfort zone.

    ON THE WAY TO HAZEL GREEN
I pass through the gap
where pines and birches
blend sheer rock
chiseled to make a road
fog hangs on the hills
like mysterious smoke
Chimney rocks formed
by ancient magma
mark the skyline
leaves change color
in the celebrations of passing time
sun soaked clouds
streak the landscape.

I roll with the hills
float with the wind
and sing songs.

Tony Sexton

America is an angry drunk stumbling through
the saloon, waving a shotgun              
                                                     singing I shot
the sheriff and I’m going to shoot the deputy

I watch ID TV. These stories never end well.
Whether or not the crime is solved somebody
always dies                   
                      Oh America   
                                           how do we change you
back?           
           Do we get on our knees, pray the princess  
           will kiss the frog?     
                                            Or were we the ones          
           under a spell to ever think you a prince?  

When I stumble 
over five sets of sneakers,
navigate the closet
overflowing with framed
pictures, piles of towels, a bassoon;

when our bureau is cluttered with T-shirts,
your meds displayed
on the dining room table, the recliner arranged
to accomodate the cat, and leftovers
linger on the counter;

when our folded laundry waits
to be put away,
bills call from every surface,
and dust, surprise, stays under
the bed,

our daughter tells me to talk it out,
illustrates how she and her sweetheart
have discussed the disposition of the dishtowels
and found a middle ground
and have yet to start to look like each other.

When I say you’re my happiness,
I’m not saying you’re the only thing making me happy,
When I say you’re my happiness,
I don’t mean I’m depressed without you,
I say you’re my happiness because you make me happy,
I say it because doing what we love together makes me happy,
When I say you’re my happiness,
I’m saying I love you

Just when we thought normal life could resume,
the Virus has slapped the back of our collective head
and said,
Not so fast.
States that reopened early,
with fanfare and a smirk of arrogance,
are now teeming with new cases.
Hospital are choked with the illness,
no beds left,
triage a spreading dread.
Rewind the tape of New York City in March and April.

Newscasters call it out of control,
their expressions sobered by shock.
The side-lined Dr. Fouci bites his tongue,
but we spy it anyway:
I told you so in a cartoon balloon hovering
above his head; Science having been outshouted
by the fervent wish to believe
the Myth.

Let’s clink wine glasses and toast
to petulance,
to ignoring common sense,
to signs that boast, Selfish and proud of it!

While the rest of the world shrinks back in horror
at our numbers (and bodies) piling up,
the Virus, sporting a MAGA hat,
is laughing its ass off.

I discovered them when they were hours old

Exhausted from leaving their tiny blue shell

With their bulbous unopened eyes and naked bodies

They were a far cry from pretty

But beautiful all the same

They contain a promise of sorts

A contract that assures-life will go on

Each day I come

Take a quick peek

Coo gentle words

Snap a photo

I have gathered quite the following

I know how this will play out

Fluffy down covers them

Then feathers made to fly

The nest becomes a cramped space-too small for three

They will sense my approach

Open their mouths wide for nourishment

And perhaps feel the sting of disappointment when I do not deliver

But one day they will eye me warily

And keep their heads low

And maybe start to recognize me…

Our daily appointments continue

With short chats and reminders to stay safe

Until the day I find the nest empty

I will mourn their departure 

And wonder if they ever think of the large flightless bird who visited them in the nest.

This tide abounding sharp rocks 
was seen thinning into a puce and tawny froth,
whilst rinds must find fresh ways to be despoiled
by these soils.

The moon, sloughed-from-a-lime-light’s still staked slithering away,
as those casuist stars must strike this sky to boil,
 or mustn’t they—

Blunt taupe stalagmites pile through but a crisp winter’s day,
as the occidental songbirds chimed the canebrakes to refrain!

And nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing,
nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, 
nothing about a bald dog is tame— oh no!

These are the things that children say— oh no?
Then what about this nagging, maudlin shame— O
Woe                            is                                        me
who’s left here now to loom gravy— of this,
the entrails of a jörmungandr serpent?

i think

if your hand

lingered on my thigh

for one more second,

your fingerprints

would be singed

into my skin.