Posts for June 24, 2023 (page 4)

farmers market
strawberry patch
sun finally, so I wear a wide brimmed hat
a drive down winding, rural roads
horses out amongst the miles of fences
a few sunflowers, though seemingly early
I unknowingly photograph a bee mid flight

I miss the chatter, sure
days gone by when they were younger
they’d have ridden along and we would have had ice cream
but now, today
opposite coasts and I’m in the middle
still celebrating summer the same way
and yet I miss them
tremendously and I also cheer myself on for continuing
doing what makes sense and carrying on

                        I plan to go back when the blackberries are ripe
                                                                                            summer allows returns
                                                                            thankfully

yesterday’s mail and how I resisted temptation  

a thin and slick magazine
addressed to my daughter
who doesn’t live here anymore
who stays once-in-awhile for a few days
who stores most of her stuff here in her old room
and in the storage outbuilding in the back yard
it’s from the humane society usa all about animals
daughter had a friend who worked for them
that friend told me a portion of one cent
from every dollar donated helped animals
the rest for lobbying corporate salaries
slick magazines filled with propaganda
meant to squeeze empathetic money out of me

a cute little package of postcards from the sierra club
wrapped in a mini-manilla envelope
who writes cards anymore
but it’s like a present so i have to open it
and now i have to use the cards
i write today’s poem inside a photo
of an unnamed location’s landscape
full of bright yellow-petaled-fireball-orange-centered
flowers as far as the eye can see into the horizon
of green-bluish trees into the far-off pastel-pink-tinted sky
5 pictures meant to elicit dreams of me seeing
and saving the places and the cute bear or feline cubs
with my hard-earned gift of dough they know i will give

then there’s a flimsy 11”x 14” flyer
from consumer reports
just what i need a subscription to something that’ll tell me
what products are the best of all the products made to screw me
i wonder why they don’t know i’m going to use every cent
i get my hands on to protect my habitat against the side effects of aging
getting old is a very expensive endeavor

a white rabbit emerges
into the next world of trickster raccoons
and blindfolded doves – each lightning

stroke of the bell a call to go beyond
the clouds, the mustachioed magician,
the flaming, four-eyed wonderland

A ritual for all mothers, inspired by the legend of Ka Punahou, to invoke protection and assistance for their children

Goddess of Storytelling
    I will craft a lei for you
    And an altar of greenery
I beg you to help my child shape the narrative needed for success

God of Wisdom and Healing
    I will commission a surfboard for you
    And hang prisms to make rainbows
I beg you to grant my child the knowledge and health needed to thrive

God of Tricks and Time
    I will snare a catfish for you
    And write amusing stories
I beg you to grant my child the wit to please

God of War and Prosperity
    I will build a chicken statue for you
    And plant a garden of breadfruit and coconut
I beg you to wield your flaming mace to clear my child’s path

God of Creation and LIght
    I will carve a tall rock cone for you
    And knock my forehead with my child’s
I beg you to protect my child from the Gods that require human sacrifice

Driving by the bus stop across from the Lyric Theater

seeing that the art had been removed felt like an assault,

a sudden recognition of arts’ power

its healing, soothing attributes.

Perhaps the poor, the hungry,

the sick and addicted

are drawn to places with art

because of the beauty.

The art removal assault

reminded me of

the impact of art

that is not in a museum.

Art in community, in bus stops, on buildings

surrounds, reaches out, touches when we least expect it

giving us a glimmer of hope

when, sometimes there is little.

While I never stood in front of the bus stop art,

gazed at it, contemplated its meaning,

or how it was made

I felt it.

I saw it out of the corner of my eye driving by

or from across the street.

its power became strongest when

gone.

Being in arts’ presence calms, heals, soothes

the poorest human being needs it

as much as the better off, or the well to do

it’s what brings our community together.

We cannot orchestrate community alone

it takes all of us pulling for everyone

art is our only

hope.

Who else could love me
Save my sister? Who else could stomach 
Watching me grow fat and rot from within 
Besides my sister, who only ever stares into me with admiration
And dignity. She could spit in my eyes, 
Cut out my tongue, shear me clean, and I 
Would only think of the smile she bore doing so.

Sleeping 
Beauty wakes from
fitful slumber, surgi-
cal scar tracing her rebuilt spine.
She stands.

Rescued from rabbits
Red velvet geranium
Resumes its blooming

the skin beside my nails is blanching
and peeling up, away
from my twitching fingers. reaching
for some other life
in the sun, some vacation from sizzling
summer blood, the
starving pain of doing nothing for days
on end, unending
afternoons in a paralyzed yellow daze.

what do you have to be stressed about,
she asks. nothing,
i reply. doing nothing is what i have to be
stressed about, cicadas
in the back of my mind getting louder
and louder, screaming
TAKE HOLD! TAKE ACTION! MOVE!
my eyes won’t unstick
from an unspecial point on the wall.
i tear my skin slowly
and it hardens into strawberry flesh,
tender and nervous.

Cherry tree is dead. 
See saw down from found to ground;
Woodpeckers unbound.