Posts for June 27, 2022 (page 7)

The three-nager has snuck in our bed

Not quite a year ago
I took a chance.
I got my nerve up.
I stepped into an open jam.

I leaned hidden
at the bar’s back wall,
until my name was called.

They asked where
was my instrument.
I pulled it from
my jean’s pocket.

When I left I was
a member of the band.

The leader said,
“You play too much.
You stepped on
my guitar solo.
You don’t even
know what key
we’re in, but then

again, you heard them
shout, clap their hands,
so what the fuck
do I know?

Come back next week.
Bring all your harps.
Here, take this amp.”

Let’s strive for sane reason & compassion.

Let’s find humankindness. 

Let’s walk the long way around

& listen closely to each other. 

Let’s melt down guns.

Let’s hold choices & children, all colors, close.

with patterned out stars to guide
I’ve eyed the life you provide

witnessing you on the mountainside
emotions inflamed and intensified

looking at liveliness by the lakeside
vigor even where sands have dried

also you take when you decide
thunderous denials amplified
leaving occupants petrified

wandering about you until I subside
wondering about you until we’re unified

we have come to see
without taking time to taste
wine instead of blood

On my knees I bend in roadside
gravel & attempt prayer. No solace.

Down here on earth I thrash
my head against cold stone. No answers.

I place my first, last & middle
name–plus his–on a prayer chain. I tried.

At mountainside I hide my face
in my hands & weep. Better now.

When in darkest hour find
darkness crept into your mind
When fortunes take you to your knees
Be most gentle, Give most ease  

For brighter moments will be met
And lighter days there will be yet
Be strong of heart and strong of will
For our rights we’re fighting still  

The day is lost but not this life
For mother, daughter, sister, wife
Womyn rise and womyn roar
We’ll not stop knocking at the door

This old lake house has seen better days:
spiders in the corners, woolen must lingering 
in the closet, lichen spotted stones 
leading from the back door down to the grove 
of spear-like pines and peeling birch. 
From the back porch, a view of the lake: 
white caps and scalloped troughs this morning — 
last night a front moved through,
the sound of rain and wind over
the metronome of the ceiling fan. 
I do not know which rivers feed it,
from which source comes its tattered blue,
but I know the turmoil of the lake’s face
feeds something in me, the darkest part 
that despairs, that no longer expects to outlive 
the current condition. The wooden dock rises 
and drops with the wake. It moans 
as you’d expect a wounded animal to moan. 
Not even the hope clouds burn off by noon.

artists roll up
in a hurricane of tools
brush up next to a sable marten
get the point, live forever
do something unethical

scribble aside
a Magic Rub or Mars Plastic
live another day
clean as a tootin’ Pearl piccolo
an unmatched outline

it is avant-garde
that some little poems will land
in a Shimpo Whisper flash pan
spun into a sharing pitcher
but hey!

find something in common
fly by an Adobe toolbar
mix media, mix drinks
with artists
there is so much to Leica

We’re leaving our piece
            of the ocean behind

the bit of blue-green
            that was hers and mine

that spot on the sandy            
            shores of our mind

goodbye little beach house
            auld lang syne