Posts for June 16, 2021 (page 3)

No quarter for 

The way the sun pours through the window

Casting a faint rainbow on old records

Hozier spins a soft melody

The one you close your eyes to

And slowly spin around like no one is near

The quiet chirp of birds in the distance

The leaves on the trees barely move

With no wind in sight

Running barefoot on the gravel

To go smell the air,

The kind of air that is only present in the nights of summer

It’s like no other

I could lay here for hours

And watch the stars as they sparkle

And the earth as it rotates

It’s these moments I feel,

I’m doing what I should be

my belly rounded.
Tiny foot kicks
independence.
‘Do-by-self, Mom’
in the making.

Somewhere on an old
weathered table
blue enameled pan
filled with red 
water washed apples 
sits in a slant of sunlight 
in the morning. 

by Kelly Waterbury 

This morning, a Verse tapped me on the shoulder.   

Aren’t you supposed to be putting me to page
And parading me around for all the world to see?
Accusing stare.  

I suppose.
Noncommittal shrug.  

You made a commitment to the word…to the world.
You promised to pen a poem per day,
Yet I’ve been waiting for over a week.
Condescending smirk.  

I’m just not feeling that inspired.
Apologetic smile.  

Inspiration is a myth made up by cowards.
Fearlessness, fortitude, discipline, and determination,
That is what it takes.
Brows raise in challenge.    

Honestly, you’re coming off as a bit pretentious
And it seems like a lot for just some stanzas.
Defiant eye roll.  

You are a pathetic excuse for a poet.
Disgusted grunt. Walks away.  

I know. I know. I know.
Head turns slowly, as I watch Verse go.

i love guns, titties and whiskey

there it was right in front of my face
bumper sticker across the back window of
shiny black, made in America, Ford truck

confederate flag decal poised to the right

i made it a point to pull up to the left side
had to get me a proper peek at the boastful driver
already had it figured out who I would find

well well well wonders never cease

eighty something year old white granny
bow in her hair with a smile on her face
blew me a kiss then loudly peeled rubber

guess she was late for happy hour

Sleep-creeping spiders fashion intricate patterns of

It’s that last year I watched Virginia Creeper

~ for Seamus Heaney

Some thing are for keeping-
the candle stub, the bent hanger,
a strip of old tire tube;
the nail, the screw, the burnt out light bulb
A wine-bottle cork, a robins’-egg shell.

Pick them up and put them away,
you’ll come across them again
tomorrow or next week or next year when
you need a nail or screw.

Open the drawer and pick one out,
no harm’s done,
no more rust
than when you found it.

But some things aren’t for keeping-
blackberries for sure,
A sun ripe tomato,
trailing arbutus, the first wild rose.

Keep the baby’s blanket
but let the baby grow
enjoy the sweet smell of milk breath
while it lasts.

A perfect June day, rare as myrrh,
is not for keeping,
for tomorrow’s rain
or wind, blows in

a new direction.
What was once sweet and fresh
is now unbearable,
even in the shade.

We thought we could keep it
but as night came on, we knew.
And the fireflies, who hold the night in sway,
Signaled the gift of another day.