Looking out
from Berea’s East Pinnacle,
above green-gold knobs—
a lone hovering buzzard,
benign blooming clouds,
blue sliver of Owlsley Fork Lake—
I can’t see
the flooded lands,
poisonous mines,
people mourning
and adrift.
If only
we could get the world
up here
(two or three folks at a time)—
Within all Lost Souls
Monstrosity looms inside
Clawing, Consuming
Making you question
Black, and, Gray, and White Spaces
Where do you fall in?
Hope looms inside too
And you see a Splattered room
Black, and Gray, and White
Hope, Monstrosity
In the recess of your brain
Which Perspective Wins?
Determinate by
Blots surrounding you, us, in
Our day-to-day lives
Since I started dating again,
all of my friends run hot.
When a loud knock
behind the glovebox startles one,
she says, “You have thrown a rod!”
I am not used to answering knocks.
My mechanic puts his hands on his hips.
He says, “That’s jus’ a blend door activator—
a gate next to a tiny motor that opens
and closes on the internal temperature.”
Today, I meet my date next door at the coffee shop.
My mechanic texts me good news,
“It is even better than we thought!—
an old pack of smokes have fallen behind
the dash. 🙂
The healthy hunk across from me
likes his AC cold/his coffee hot.
good morning, the sky says—-
pierced with the severing
force of the clouds—-
the red and orange
bleeds from the horizon
the morning’s chill stings my skin—-
this, too, is another razor,
blood oozing out in droplets
relieving myself with a reminder
that i’m human
i am not immune to loneliness,
everyone gone save for the lilac blooms
and sad birdsong—-
is it possible to not miss your laugh?
would i want a world without that longing?
a world wherein i’m not bereft?
-the first of june 2023, 5:43a.m.
provoked.
They fornicated, slandered,
brawled.
In 1637 retorted,
“Kiss my arse.”
A woman refused
like a “most obstant and grasless person.”
Women’s speech
made clout of men
precarious.
(An erasure from pp 94-95, Good Wives, Nasty Women and Anxious Patriarchs by Kathleen M. Brown.)
In the gentle quiet of twilight’s sigh, Underneath the murmuring indigo sky, The world wrapped in a soft, velvet shroud, Every whispering wind, every heartbeat, loud.
Upon the canvas of the waning day, Stars like diamond-dust come out to play, In their scattered light and eternal flow, They sing songs of cosmos and eons ago.
Silhouettes of trees with their branches bare, Stand as silent sentinels, stoic and fair, Guardians of the night, they whisper and sway, With secrets that bloom ‘neath the milky way.
The Moon, in her regal and radiant guise, Drapes the Earth in a silver sunrise, With each cradle-rock of the tidal ebb and flow, In her silvery glow, the world is aglow.
Creatures of the night begin their refrain, A symphony echoed in the leaf-littered lane, A million lives, both big and small, Awake in the hush of nightfall’s call.
Yet in this quiet and celestial dome, Each heart, each soul finds a home, For in the grandeur of the starlit night, We find ourselves in the cosmic light.
Beneath the universe’s quiet serenade, Where the day’s worries begin to fade, We realize, though we are but a tiny part, We hold an entire universe within our heart.
So let us gaze upon the night’s embrace, Where time and space interlace, In the silent poetry of the cosmos above, We find our place, we find our love.
Why didn’t they tell us when we were children that when we die, we don’t become angels?
Instead, we sit in dark trees with crows eyes for feet waiting for the next call to a fleshly domain
Paint the ceiling of the wrap around porch blue so they know they can’t stay here
The whispering shadows on the walls play breathless games of ring around roses triggering the ringing in your ears
Reminding you that you’re never alone and heaven was only created so that you’d work harder for the monsters that live down the lane
who don’t give a damn if you live or die so long as there’s another body waiting in line to fill your place
I’d rather stay a crow’s eye whisper, making rooms in haint spaces
I forgot how to write a poem
words are hiding in the dark
just behind those doors ajar
but I see an eye glowing in there
like some distant star
hesitant to come out
hey guys, come on,
what’s there to be scared about?
run around the room a little
speak as though you might be a fiddle
slip and trip on something funny
drip on down from some spilled honey
fly by etched on butterfly wings
maybe invent some new names for things
whatever rings right, just don’t spite me
don’t stay in the dark, I rather you bite me
you can show up anyway you want
in swirly formations or in elegant font
but not out of reach in the midst of great need
where are the days you grew like a weed
so I guess you’re waiting for some kind of inviting
or a big idea reason to come out of hiding
blank pages await you, I’ll wait here alone
so let’s have a play date, and head for the zone
