Posts for June 22, 2023 (page 7)

Category
Poem

The Air We Breathe

The whole world searches fervently
for rich White people trapped in a submarine
exploring the corpse of the Titanic,
another rich White people disaster.  

Rich or poor, each of us shares their fear.  

Temperature at the bottom of the sea
is cold as the shoulder turned to those
who breathe their own thoughts and prayers
and try not to implode.  

Here’s an exercise in imagination.  

Alter the attributes of those in peril
by race, wealth, nationality, gender,
politics, religion, whatever comes to mind,
and compare subtle differences in your gut.  

That will tell you a little about yourself.  

Then do it again, and in each case,
visualize the assets and attention
rushing to aid, or kneeling to mourn,
and where and how they emerge.  

That will tell you a little about the world.  


Category
Poem

1960’s Sunday Evening Comfort TV for the Soul (the Waltmarie)

We were the first on the block to have the technology, so we invited all –
Neighbors
Mom popped corn, dad tuned 25“ zenith console made from  kit –
Gathered
To smell crimson glowing capacitors slowly burn off dust –
Around
Children sat on olive shag rug encircling rays of shining technicolor – 
To view
The playbill: Daktari, Wild Kingdom, and the Wonderful World of Disney
TV


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

Essence

Best days
Worst days
Essence of time distilled to
Eke out the marrow of minutes.
Four letters fill our cups
No matter,
Ours is eternal


Gaby Bedetti | LexPoMo 2023
Category
Poem

And Many More

when asked how he felt
on turning 27
my son confided
to his septuagenarian mother:
not much time left


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

Destination

It’s just okay growing older.

There’s gratitude for being
above ground, as they say, 
still sucking air,
and sorrow for the friends
and family who aren’t.

But, do I wish I could go back 
and be the one who catches 
the cheerleader as she free falls 
from the top of the pyramid?

Some days. 

Some days the regrets stand out
like steeples against the skyline. 
And the pavers shift beneath
the weight of nostalgic desire.

But, there’s something to be said
for being a seasoned traveller,
of having one’s bags packed
and waiting beside the door:

whatever the next destination is,
it’s someplace I’ve never been before.


Category
Poem

taking the corner too fast

on the straight be fast
and slow before the corner
or prepare to crash


Category
Poem

out of stride

know about this 
                below-
so you don’t forget

                as if
any time of day
            can be
                simple.

every time can be
            each to all.


Category
Poem

haiku 22

gray clouds cover sky
small niche catches sunrise orange
pocket of promise


Category
Poem

Cloud-bursts into-Summer

Far away thunder echoes 
 from the rockface. 
A strong gale bellows
up the hill from the lake-
Forest crown roaring-
 
Yet, here perfect-
stillness is a small Finch-bright yellow-
chirping at it’s reflection in an old Oak
 against a gray pewter polished sky.
 
When the first drops, wet-cold  
of rain find this dim-lit holy hold-
through the dark leather green
not yet summer pale shrunken leaves
 it becomes clear.
This sound-
was-is-will be, cannot be, isn’t wind-
That   is  not   wind.
 
This is a summer monsoon, come early
Heavy thick and pounding up the mountain
-rock by rock-
Clouds, bruised shadow violet veils
pour out weight onto the overstory
with the force of a rope lifted wood pail
filled to the -lip- with water, then cast
 with force by the hand of a butcher to wash
-blood from block-
 
 Everything is gone, it’s
 gone, they are gone: bird, reflection
         moment,
     gone. 
 
Rain stops rain. Leaves are still and splayed- 
in the brilliant sudden sun. 
A quick -shifty breeze- canters through
 like a muppet, rattling everything
in the just washed brand new summer.
 
Chunky drips drop into the duff like they mean it.
        I am soaked
 slow-muddy river-baptism wet and laughing and-
 smiling saying-yes, oh so yesingly yes-
         laughing.
Holding four full pages of notes-
I can barely read.
                               -And a pen-
 
      
 

Category
Poem

Low Tide

Wave-washed aftermath
of jellyfish massacre.
Gelatinous ghosts
line the beach. Blue heron, stone-
still, stands in white froth, watchful.