Posts for June 22, 2021 (page 2)

Category
Poem

The Art of Art

Once in a while,
there comes along a piece of art
that everyone can agree on.

They don’t agree on interpretations
or how it should be appreciated,
just the fact that it should be.

It’s something that can make the world
set aside every difference
if even for a few seconds and say,
“This is something that means something
to all of us.”

This art is rare,
but it’s out there nonetheless.
To experience that togetherness,
brought about by these creations,
is an art all its own.


Category
Poem

Krakatoa in Kentucky

Find energy
to fight thoughts—
distractions hang in the air
any noose to slide my neck into
one one-way portal away
from fiery pastures
laden deep inside of me
pools of magma amassing
under duress until
subtle quakes cause
capillary tunnels to collapse
and I erupt to
bathe a three-kilometer radius
in hot, viscous blood—
and not the most energizing reverie.

Category
Poem

Mid Summer Fall

I walked outside this morning

And the air was heavy with the scent of fall

But it was mid summer.

As soon as I inhaled

The memories of you,

Of last fall,

Flooded my brain,

The way I associate memories

With smells is incredible

Things I thought I had forgotten about,

Come back in an instant

Riding around with the windows down

But wearing sweatshirts

It was cold but we were hanging onto the warm weather

And each other.

We’d eat greasy food at 12am

And talk until 3am

Every night we’d find each other

Like it was instinct

And some days I don’t remember everything

But these summer days

Where the air is colder

And smells like fall

I listen to our playlist,

And bask in it

Just to feel it all again.


Category
Poem

what might have been

their song came on
the speaker drifting it out of the first floor
kitchen window
for the whole block to hear
and her cherry stained apron
transformed into the prom dress
she never got to wear
to the prom that never happened
the memories of which were only dreams
she created when her tears had dried up
and there was nothing left to do
but imagine
what might have been


Category
Poem

Grieving?

I stand at your casket and stare
Feeling oddly empty
I guess I’m supposed to grieve now
But it seems a little late for that
I grieved the loss of you years ago
As a child, when you walked away
And never came back
Daddy’s little girl grieved then

Surrounded now by family 
Waiting to offer solace and comfort
I want to turn and scream
”Where were you?”
Where were when I was
Grieving for real?
But I already know
You we’re there
Failing to even acknowledge
That my whole world was torn apart
Decent people don’t talk about
Things like that

So I stand at your casket
Searchung for something
Anything in the emptiness
That resembles a suitable
Or normal emotion
But there’s nothing.


Category
Poem

C in Country 22

Erasure of “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry”
by Hank Williams

Hear that
          midnight train  whining

I’m                      I
I’ve

                                        night 
                                        goes crawling 
                  behind
to                                     cry
                                               weep

When leaves began to die
That means he             will      live

                            I could cry

      silence            falling
lights                 

           I
I’m                      I


Category
Poem

Inconsolable

He was my rock
turned to sand
gone to sea
with the tide
leaving me
locked inside
alone.


Category
Poem

No Loss

I learned of your death today.
Surprised, I am sad 
because you died. 

I am not sad for your work.
Directing and teaching,
young actors, playwrights,

writing plays, a couple of novels, a memoir,
finishing a new play on JFK
his death, one of your obsessions.

I am sad
no, outraged,
by another obsession.

Great actor training guru
preying
on young female actors 

discussing their acting skills
utilizing power, luring them
into your lair of command.

Your late spouse endured your dalliances, lies,
persistent narcissistic preoccupation.
You closed out those who cared for you.

I am saddened for a period of your life
when you irreparably
damaged and damned young lives.

And you said you were threatened 
by a young schoolboy who told you
to leave his mother alone.

 


Category
Poem

We All Have Our Reasons, She Said

Her husband was a self-made man,

an up-and-comer of his own devising,

one of those who reads things

so he’ll know exactly what to say.

 

One night

at Porsche Club

he took a sip of wine

 

—Is that what they call it? A sip?—

 

and discoursed on its qualities,

then got up and went to pet his car

 

—Is that what they call Porches? Cars?—

 

or perhaps to brush an insect from its windshield.

 

While he was gone,

she took his glass and held it to her lips

to see

how it was

different

from her wine

which at the very least was from a different bottle

or perhaps

to see

if she could smell and taste what he had

and yes, she thought,

it is definitely different.

 

He returned,

said, “Here,

let me taste yours”,

and

 

—You know where this is going, don’t you.—

 

took his own wine

from her hand,

sniffed

 

—They don’t have another word for sniffed, do they?—

 

and sipped

and described it as completely different

from the one he’d tasted first,

discoursing at some length on just exactly how.

 

—I mean,

okay,

it had been in the open air

awhile

and things do change

when they’re

exposed,

but still…—

 

Some years after that she left him

and some years after that

 

—It was after decades, to be honest,

decades of cohabitation.—

 

she up and married me.

 

—I hate to humbly brag

but I will always gladly tell you

exactly

what it is I do not know.—

 

She calls me

her “little lifelong learner”,

 

—As Bucky Fuller said, “You can’t learn less.”—

 

calls me

“ignorant

in the best of all possible ways”.

 


Category
Poem

Ways To Claim the Light

Dig a hole in the earth
and root yourself there,
then hoard the sun
until it warms you,
coaxes tendrils, then blossoms,
from your fertile loam.   

Curl as a leaf
beneath a child’s magnifying glass  
and let the beam burn you
to emptiness, then breathe
into that space.   

Open as the resin-coated paper
to the enlarger’s ray,
then in the safelight’s glow,
slide into the warm bath,
rock gently, and await  
the image of your soul.