Posts for 2020 (page 41)

Threat of morbid skies

Grey beast ails

Storm swells in the irises

of forgiving eyes

marked by tired begging

and chosen letting that

another day go by

without the gift of a

scarlet swept sunrise

For not misery

but a life led

by the beat of

empyrean’s drums

Great earth beneath

his sore calloused feet

the livelihood of generations

of sky watchers and seed sewers

devout to the uplifting of live things

Scarred as the scorched earth

by high noons of midsummer

Bogged as the furrows

that pool with a years rain

in three weeks

Still his heart is light

and head is clear

free from the burden of

sullen speculation

Somewhere between

triumph and disaster

he braces for the graceful wrath

the wake of a steely beast

I am fading here before you
Words like daggers pierce my skin
They say a thousand cuts can kill you
Well they’re right, and it’s a sin.
Placate me not with lamentation,
Do not sow your bitter seed
Just go on I will not blame
You didn’t know that I could bleed.

Traditionally, this is called
“assigning a name”.

The rules used in name binding
vary between families.

The actual structure passed
will depend on the family.

The only purpose
is to cast the pointer
in order to avoid warnings.

On success,
set appropriately.

The address is protected,
and the user is not.

The given address was specified, but,
upon attempting to bind to an ephemeral port,

it was determined that the discussion
is not valid.

is already bound wrong.

Too many symbolic links were encountered

resolving does not exist.

memory was available.

—
Found poem (erasure) from the Linux Man Pages
Complete text here
https://man7.org/linux/man-pages/man2/bind.2.html

Dr. Penis to the Vagina!
Dr. Penis to the Vagina!
Stat!

Dr. Penis–you are needed in the Vagina Room.

Hey, Lois, have you seen Dr. Penis?
Many times.
I mean, lately?
Oh, no. Not since the New Year’s party.

Darn him! We’ve had this planned for weeks
and Ms. Willing is ready to go!
He’s probably checking in on his other patients.
Well, he needs to learn to follow a schedule
if he wants to have a practice this large.
I agree. He stretches himself a little thin.
Yes, but this is not the first time he’s left
this patient waiting, after all the prep work
has been completed.

I’ll try once more.

Dr. Penis–you are needed
right away, please!
Please report to the Vagina Room
immediately.

Dr. Penis?

1. Bird companions
2.The promise of a clean slate
3. A visual reminder that light, love, and beauty will always find a way.

Evil,
Life,
Brotherhood,
Blood is all these things and so much more,
Blood is a bond that can never be truly severed,
Blood is something that we need but never want to see,
Blood is a word imbued with immense power,
It’s name bringing up conjurations of evil within our heads,
Its name bringing back memories we would rather forget,
For these reasons there is nothing more powerful,
Than blood

Love like Jesus,

but wash your hands

like Pontius Pilate.

The crescent moon hung 
like October in a June sky
a sharp pair of points
hanging off the dying of the day
the moon hung there, 
a promise

A sharp edge to cut the sky
crescent lunar perfection
promises passed 
as the veil whispered its fall
one knowing wink from the purple sky

Crescent moon after sunset 
the bone white revelation
a thumbprint of divinity
it was an accent piece

Sunset in the holler, 
as night fell, moon rise
hanging off the rich darkening of the dying day
the thin skim of a crescent shape
the moon hung October-like

The day Samantha and Hugo met she was wearing a dotted scarlet scarf and handcrafted silver and turquoise earrings that drooped down three inches, tickling her neck when she moved. She was reminiscent of Frida Kahlo, though her hair was ashy blonde & she wore no flowers. Samantha had a countenance of authority & her wheelchair, too, had power, almost like an animal. Often unobtrusive and lovely like a seahorse but it could also be muscle-tough like a bobcat or lithe like a prairie dog scooting back into its home.

her arms, sinewy
summer sun brightens her face
glamorous blue fingernails

They chatted in a coffeehouse with three friends, a mid-afternoon soundtrack of Van Morrison & Annie Lennox playing on low. Hugo had just met Samantha the week before; she was new to the Eighth Avenue scene and he was intrigued by her. Samantha ordered Darjeeling tea with a slice of lime and when she squeezed the lime into the hot golden tea water much of it squirted on Hugo’s thumb. Hugo and Samantha begn a laughing fit and for 10 minutes they just couldn’t stop. That was when something rearranged itself in both of them. Just like that — at the moment of lime and Darjeeling — they fell. They sailed and tingled and now, four years later, the recurrent feelings of delirium, comfort, and wonder haven’t yet ended. 

can’t pick who you love
he guides the wheels of her chair
this is happiness

Pine Mountain Cemetery XXVI
              Little Girl Blue

There is a song that sings of two li’l girls
In blue, lad, two li’l girls in blue, mountain
Music rings sad and true so mirrors those

Hard lives, bitter disappointments and loss.
These little girls were no different, the
Prettiest one buried on this mountain.

Torn from sister by whisper, feud and greed,
Blood defied that held our clans in thrall.
Great fear it was that shut the door, one

Girl fairer than the other, red fire of
Jealousy tore at him and drug a trail of anger
From deep inside to demand a ransom.

None of hers dared come near their place,
Feared they might make him worse. Left
Alone she began to change, either that or

Face the dread of threat and pain, kids
Cried when she hurt, and so she stopped.
In time the beauty that drove him wild did

Begin to fade, her will weaker, her song
Quieter. Turned her back on all she knew
Left kin behind to save a piece of edge

Where she hid safe, with children, too. A
Hardness wiped away the last soft smile,
Grit enough to shelter and take them through.

Kids didn’t turn out too good, no surprise. Fear
Shatters roots needed for a healthy child.
Late, aunt stepped in for the little good it did.

Two little girls in blue the old refrain, no
Stone to point us to where the sister lay,
“Good, I’m free”, we can almost hear her say.