Posts for June 7, 2022 (page 5)

          –after Gil Scott-Heron

The Apocalypse will be televised at its best angle for sake of the economy
The Apocalypse televised at its best angle for sake of the economy
Apocalypse televised at best angle for sake of the economy
Apocalypse televised best angle for sake of economy
Apocalypse televised best for sake economy
Apocalypse best for economy
Apocalypse economy

Apocalypse televised best for sake economy
Apocalypse best for economy
best economy

Apocalypse televised best for sake economy
Apocalypse forsake economy
forsake

Not even worth one star.
Despite poor ratings and critic disapproval, the show is still streaming on all major networks. 
This season is not family friendly, contrary to advertisement claims.
The character development is non-existent.
Directors copied themes from past seasons and killed off all my favorite characters.
There is no way to progress the plot line when the handmaids are trapped in rooms with nothing but yellow wallpaper and wombs.

Avian trills
tinkling wind chimes
sweet morning church bells
whispers of wind

fog horns’ soft moan
rippling pond
wind jostled branches
your whispered whims
 
Sounds that tickle the soul
and let it sing

-Sue Neufarth Howard

The closest I’ve got to the Grand Canyon
is flying over it. Or the Kentucky Palisades,
the gorgeous gorges. I drive across I-75
and peer into the river, shortcut through ages. 
I get closer to it when I can and take the ferry
when I don’t need it. Drive the single lane bridge
that hums my car underneath the highway.
If I could quilt the afternoon in shadow.
The canopy of trees looks like it stretches endless. 

My mind is heavy with grief, worry, and stress
But I choose to be joyful
I choose to find the joy in the mundane
The laughter of a child
The chirping of a bird
The sound of a cleansing rain falling

The heavyness of hard circumstances
Cause discouragement and sorrow
But in the midst of that, I choose joy
Found in hugs from my family, 
Smiles of friends,
And the everyday beauty of life

In this house:

We are Pro-Abortion, because
Abortion is Healthare. Black
Lives So Much More Than Matter,
(but sadly we seem to be dealing
in some bare minimums here).
Trans Men are Men, and Trans
Women are Women – & your
pronouns are important to us,
be they she / he / xey / them.
Science is Real, and so is Covid
(so put your damn mask on –
correctly – if we don’t know you).
We honor the Old Gods – church
recruiters, walk on by. But Girl
Scouts selling cookies? My man’s
a Thin Mint guy. Yes, the Earth is
warming. Yes, Oceans-Blue will rise.
But “blue lives” are not a thing; we’re
both proudly & loudly Antifa & Allies.
Lastly? Every blesséd day in this house
(not just a solitary month) is Pride.

I am sitting outside of a hospital in San Juan.
Why is a long story. 
The breeze has a warmth and samba to it, 
a breeze I have never felt before.
The pidgeon watching me has red feet.
It’s shift change–
no scrubs, Capri pants, washed-out jeans, buns & scrunchies, stethoscopes around necks, sandals, t-shirts, beach towels in hand.

If drawings rose up

right out of the sea

or descended down

from a canopied sky

How could we catch them,

or see them? or try?

Would they stay long enough

for study and capture?

What would they look like?

this performative rapture

Resembling maps

blueprints, or light?

Would they start and then stop,

or zip out of sight?

Thought-like impressions

with quivery edges

or be made of bricks

making foreverness pledges?

Would they ticker continuous—

and mess with air travel

Would civilization

totally unravel?

Would they bypass time

in order to see

past, present, future

served with crumpets and tea?

Would sights appear

words never could touch,

Would “beyond description”

be asking too much?

So, whether by land or

whether by sea

Just where is somewhere

drawings are meant to be?

And how to get something

from here to there

What is required to

transform mid-air

So what if each tip

of each pencil and pen

had a very small portal

where these drawings

swooped in

Staying forever at rest

at that station

Content to be governed

by imagination

And to see them again

To make visible awe

Somewhere

is just where

one chooses to Draw