Posts for June 13, 2023 (page 8)

Category
Poem

vow of silence

people misunderstand silence: it makes them uncomfortable: the quiet quickly becomes unbearable: if no one is talking, they turn on the TV or radio, even when alone: anything to chase away the stillness: me, i enjoy the silence: there is a kind of acceptance available only to the reticent: there is a peace that only begins to flow into a space after the words have been chased away:

pro level: achieved when you can be noiseless and look others in the eye while covered in the unblinking hush.


Category
Poem

Blood Lily Stands Tall and Stout In Back Porch’s Wind

No more drooping leaves.

Her eight inch coral globe is tipped 

in tiny yellow dots,

her skirt tipped in blood.


Registration photo of Samuel Collins for the LexPoMo 2023 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Sellout

Actually, yes
I do it for the money.
Maybe y’all have nicer landlords than I do,
But I’m doing it for the money.

They don’t pay to do what I want to do,
So until then
I do it for the money.

(As a matter of fact, I’m quite a bargain.)


Category
Poem

haiku 13

houndstooth ripples rove
jumble landscape angles
fragments remake beauty


Category
Poem

Lean On Me

Lean on me when you’re not strong
But now I’m weak
Crushed under both of our problems


Category
Poem

Some Mornings

For most
Of the summer
I’ve been waking up
Early dawn light
And dirty clothes
Tending a lawn
That has grown wild
Over several years
But today I woke
Watching leaf and sky
Out my window
And I was tired
So I rolled over
And when the light was warmer
And stronger
I came down alone
And drank coffee
And wrote poetry. 


Gaby Bedetti | LexPoMo 2023
Category
Poem

Cemetery Birdwatch

craning our necks
to spot songbirds
we encounter a blue heron


Category
Poem

Rock Bottom

The bottom’s never 
made of rock. There’s always room
to keep on falling. 


Category
Poem

Redwood Spring

This terraced forest 
where moisture still 
rises to the surface.
A saturation of cattails
and doe tracks
near a trail on the hill 
above our home.
 
The rusty iron pipe pours 
a noisy liquid silver strand 
onto some slickened bricks,
while a single thick
porcelain mug hangs
on a hook above the loose 
stacked stones.
 
Cold water in the mug 
is a small dance, bubbles 
clinging to old glaze.
They surface then pop 
into being thin air,
soon gone. 
 
In this smooth bowl
with my own two hands
I carry water to the Dawn
Redwood below the spring
for sharing information.
The tree and I stand
with light alone.


Registration photo of Bill Brymer for the LexPoMo 2023 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Report on our mother’s condition

Brothers, last evening I dreamt
I was giving our long-departed grandparents

a ride in a golf cart, in Tucson, after sundown, 
with the purpose of going across town 

to pick up their daughter, our dear mother, 
our progress impeded by a bustling street festival, 

full of sun-kissed people and marmalade colors, 
music — so much cheerful music — smoke 

and the smell of meat cooking on outdoor grills, 
stoic mariachis and drunken revelers, 

street dogs fighting over scraps in alleyways, 
the feeling overall, from the stops and starts 

and twisting though the crowd,
of being on a carnival amusement.

I awoke to a bird singing 
among the thorns of the holly tree.

I’m afraid that this means
she is not long for this world.