Posts for June 29, 2022 (page 4)

Four score and four,
relatively unscathed
but for a prostate gone bad
cloudy skies in the eyes
a bum knee that was awarded

a purple heart, and death
taking his toll in the matter
of love.  Numerous times.
I spend this day having it out
with melancholy. I’m off

the houseboat, off the Dix,
off to the gated state of old age,
told Penelope to stay away today,
all her sunshine when l want
overcast. She and Narayan

convey me early tomorrow to Cincy
for some viritual Van Gough, 3D
I won’t be able to see, then a night 
on the town to drown my sorrow
at Friday’s fright flight to Tampa Bay

I promised Penelope a sort of bio
when she started me on this site
but I’ve only dittered with the day-
to-day of my unexpected expulsion.
She understands, says next year,

when I have more time sitting
around watching for the alligator
with Dr. Hue, says it’s a start.
So okay then.
Au revoir

(after Thomas Paine)

She asked for help, the Goddess of Liberty,
but no chariots of light ever came.
Ten thousand celestials lost their way
as she gripped her torch, her failing flame.
Misinformation spread across her nation,
where millions with millions disagree.
She pledged to us safety and compassion,
yet here topples what she planted: our Liberty Tree.
We the people are manipulated and divided,
as tired and tempest-tossed as before.
The fame of our fruit said to sprout united,
to feed all from shore to peaceable shore.
Quickly we cling to perspectives believed true,
bound to our tasks and our routines daily.
With distracted spirit endued, over time fatigue ensues.
These roots cannot hold, not for you, not for me.
In the beginning, as with the empires of old,
our ancestors adapted, died, expanded trade.
While some accumulated property and gold,
we all inherited visions of the grand and the great.
“Red vs Blue” is a lie by pandemonium supplied.
Lady Liberty led us to live connected, respected, and free.
It’s us against weapons of mass deception. It must be decided:
secure our blessings and preserve our Liberty.

Popcorn
with salted butter.
While superheroes flew at us,
I reached to hold my son’s arm,
he smiled.  

Form inspired by Susan Glassmeyer’s Four Blue Eggs.

Running errands on a hot day,
a song comes on the car radio
With just a few opening notes,
I am transported back in time

The familiar notes and words
wrap around me and take me back
to a time and place that was simpler
when I was much younger

As I come back to the present, 
I realized that my mind had gone
back in time, yet I was still 
in my car at a traffic light.

Do you have a calling card?
Kindly drop it in the dish
What occasion brings you here
Is there something that you wish?

Hard for me to see your face
Your cloak enwraps you wholly
Step into the light a bit
Please speak so I may know thee…

I am Sir Vermilion
I am here from Cinnabar
Straight to the House of Shadows
Alchemy commands me far

To stand here in your doorway
In the sun of burning rays
Seeking too the heat of love
Upon your beguiling gaze

This mix complete, I confess
I have come for one thing true
It could not be done alone
Your shadows drew me to you

In my purse is quicksilver
Mixed with sulpher to complete
Without my cape you will see
why destiny had us meet

I need your will to be mine
My calling card is fire
And yours is love so devine
Abundance spills desire

Into the caldron’s rapture
Until the Red Smoke rises
Signifying surrender
Red is my only defense

As to why you are absorbed
By this heat of fiery blend
With a stranger by your side
Without warning for this end

Yet you will soon learn of light
Hues of Red reality
And now Vermilion gives
us both Immortality

Beware the fruit that shines like plastic.
Find value in what survives the worm,
the heat, the late freeze. 

Pick and hold the misfit fruit, 
unpoisoned by pesticide. Run 
your tongue with appreciation
over every magnificent asymmetry. 
Savor each bite of what is real.

The clock
ticks
and then
tocks.

Random, restive
thoughts
stalk
me.

I walk
from bed
to cupboard
to chair
and back
to bed.

I sigh, for
broken sleep
leads to
broken days.

In my experience anyway.

how they keep shining after
so violent a death—hydrogen
which is odorless, tasteless,
transparent but felt, fuel
for so many lives, now
spent.

One lovely luminary, still
bleeding her tawny light,
said to me, I will tell you
the secret of continuing
to live once atoms
have been squeezed
& crushed to their smallest,
smaller than they ever
thought they could be. 

Now I sit upon this rock
& drink the midnight
stars, imbibe their deaths—
eruption    rush     surge—
& savor their re-creations
in capitols of light.

My existence isn’t unkind
It is not gestating in a diabolical mind.
There are no funerals for my projections
The bells ring for the fading familial distortions.

My sexuality isn’t a source of malice
It is a source of life more imaginative than that of Alice.
My friends are not sprung from hell
The fall is always loudest from those who silence.