Posts for June 28, 2023 (page 8)

Birds sing sweet songs as they nest
in rain kissed trees beneath cloudy skies.

I open my eyes to a dull sunrise and listen for you–
your  absence surrounds me 
and bounces to the chirping rhythm 
our feathered friends provide.

Tonight I am not alright.

I shoulder neither angels nor devils, but demons of fear and doubt, greeting them through gritted smile.
A happy face with frail faith.
I set a fancy table for my pity tea party, giving my best to unworthy shadows.

Is it high time to read the leaves? Pull the cloth from beneath crystal hearts?
Or can I serve grace with a side kintsugi gilded patience?

everywhere
in vast spaces
inside the flood wall
under the train trestle 
on a bicycle riding 
     the streets of Paducah
crowded in a bed with siblings
joining up (with the scouts)
always near 
     the banks of the Ohio
then far away in the Blue
     Ridge with Father Judge
kneeling in a pew of belief 
on a mountain seeing everything
down the hatch of college
swimming in waves of prepositions
in a house with bovine windows
walking stumbly fields
holding the hands of children
in a classroom in a school in a cow pasture
living in the lane of Know-It-All
then broken like a dropped plate
tipped over in a smashed rocker
hearing the voices of offspring
in a barn where she dances with love
gardening like mad
sleeping in cornfields 
     to keep the deer away
on the road to shows
in a place where writing occurs
drinking from the spring
     of further offspring
on the path to slow down
sitting with comrades on Fridays  
     in front of Lil’ Jumbos
reading the pages of wordsmiths
leaning in to hear what you said
squinting to see what you have
holding a dish of nonsense
bending down to the force of time
hobbling on cobblestone 
outside the floodwall
in a narrowing hall
nowhere

A tall, wide,
lifeless tree
debarked,
rises in
musky dark
like a beacon /
a silver-white
skeleton,
branches—
lightning
strikes /
arteries—
end in
pitchforks
/ claws.
The frame
lops off
the base &
crown—trunk
never begins
or ceases.

Bear Lake, New Mexico – Georgia O’Keeffe — Google Arts & Culture

I sent my love.
You sent it back
with no forwarding address.  

A broken heart
is like throwing a punch
and hitting myself in the face.

life can support the:
        could be
        when you
        old and new
        you can
        don’t want to
        always been
        never tried

long blue heron legs
in sparkling sun-warmed waters
long claws stretch & grasp
fat green bullfrog in full-song
fate faced in bird belly

haiku slink from push
enter between word and thought
prosper on the page

I usually don’t cry
can’t allow myself to feel
makes the heartbreak and pain
seem all the more real.

I usually don’t cry
doesn’t matter if I’m happy or sad
I usually giggle with giddiness
or just get really mad.

I usually don’t cry
not because I think it means weak
but because it’s my composure
that I want to keep.

I usually don’t cry
I’m not made of stone
I just don’t cry
is that wrong?

My brother and my mom
both passed away
I must admit
I cried those days.

I usually don’t cry
it exhausts me when I do
but then there are times
that I really just need to.

I usually don’t cry,
I don’t like tears on my face
for me personally
there is no good time or good place.

I usually don’t cry
it takes a lot out of me
because I usually cry so hard
that I literally can’t breathe.

I usually don’t cry
don’t try to give me reason
for me there are circumstances
and I’ll do so in season.

I usually don’t cry
but today I did
because I watched a mom
lose her kid.

I usually don’t cry.

1. Predetermine every word you will or will not speak

2. Control every action your hands do or do not take