Posts for June 3, 2024 (page 5)

I bought a pool
I bought a bigger pool
We tilled the ground
Back and forth and round and round
With 2′ x 4′ and level
The ground we prepared
It wasn’t quite right
Eye close enough 
Walls and sides up
The pool installed
Add water
Time for fun in the sun
Oh, no
One side high
The other low
That won’t do
Pull the plug
Out goes the water
Goulg, goulg, goulg
YouTube tutorials viewed
Trip to Lowe’s for me
It’s hot
I want to take a cool dip
Professional leveler needed
Time to make a call

Grazing in the field, 

three cows ate under an oak. 

Though the wind blew

and the rain pelted them

harder than a hoard of flies

ever could, they grazed. 

And when the wind picked up

and the tree snapped 

their backs, the cows laid there, 

resting in the crimson rain. 

Their friends gathered around, 

mourning in the way only herds do,

now knowing there’s no shelter

for those left to stay in the field. 

He wore a ribbon shirt every day
on city streets where no one
openly cared or noticed.
He wore his custom made shirt
elegant in historical design. 
Ribbons of yellow and red blowing
in the Boston breeze to carry messages
of tradition and remembrance.
He carried a leather briefcase along
Commonealth Avenue in a city
of modern strangers. A city built
on land of ancient hope, he tried to
make sense of this world.

If my words trigger you
your actions are the searing
pain causing my heartache.

It easy to shut someone down
after you have thrown the bomb
which set them aflame.

Runaway flame-thrower.
My retort soothes my broken heart.
The one you broke apart.

popcorn and pickles
in the Kroger parking lot
today’s trading card

I heard his family buried him in a burlap sack.        When one tends to one’s own garden,
                                                                                           rumors can grow like kudzu.

                                            Townsfolk expected           his family would choose 
                                                        final services           a walnut and red oak coffin 
                            rendered by a funeral home.           crafted by his sons in their farm’s woodshop. 
                                          The whole town with           his widow, the rest of the family, and 
               its gossips could parade by the body,          close friends gathered to
                      hear a sermon about eternal life,          lift the coffin
                          follow a purple-flagged hearse           in the pickup
   to a vault adjoining others behind a church          The sons cried, laughed at the surrealty
                                                                                             as they fetched their father’s body
                                                                                            from the hospital             
            where they could fellowship in the hall        where custodians who sat smoking 
around hambiscuits and coffee after a blessing,     on its loading dock asked,
                                            Father, take him home.       You takin’ him home?
                                                                                           Yes, home, they nodded 
                                                                                            to our cemetery
                                                                                            on the edge of a pasture
                                                                    where the boundary 
                                                                    between worlds
                                                                       is not so firm.

They walked right by Venus and Van Gogh!
Like there was nothing there to know
How can they miss the utter necessity of Art ——its endless astonishments!
The ways it breaks the norms
Ignites new forms
Seeps into your dreams
Makes you think and laugh
And screams
For you to stay
Long enough to say
I wish I had made that
I never saw the world that way
I never thought of that!
And wonder
How did they pull it all together?
Art invites us in
Lets us move around as guests
Gravitate to its light
Heed its call
That makes us fall
Straight into it,
Sometimes deep
Causing worlds to expand
By traveling to a realm
Where I see
I feel
I love
I am
Standing with Venus and Van Gogh!

I always ruin everything
or were my parents just that impossible to please?
Sunlight streams through the window,
and the rain doesn’t wash the bird poop off my car,
and the grass has frosted tips, like a middle school boy going through a phase,
and my parents were unhappy with me.
it was all a phase. It was always a phase.

The phase where I hate myself~
it’s all over.
Rainbows and sunshine and leprecahns and sugary cereal and happiness
(and I’m not supposed to judge my food choices because food is neutral.

                                                                                        but sometimes, I still do.)

Actually, it’s sad to think that my parents hated me
—in general, like, why have kids if you’re going to hate them?
Use a condom, please—
(except, my parents don’t even seem to love each other or be attracted to each other,
so there’s no way they were having sex for fun. They were supposed to have a kid because that’s what you do when you get married, and that’s it.)
there was no way to prevent my suffering.
It was predetermined.
I wish I had a god who would have given me good parents in the first place.

actually, it’s sadder still that now I hate myself for them.
A Sisyphian task, hating myself to make myself good,
good enough for them,
hoping that if I dig a little further, I’ll find that diamond I
can give to them to make them proud of me.
I don’t want to be like that guy who turned back too soon.
my dad said to never give up,
but what am I doing all this for?

Why? It doesn’t benefit them.
Why else would my parents hate me, if it wasn’t for something good?
It’s hard to imagine that your parents are bad.
No one ever wants that.
I have to stop doing things for them that hurt me,
that aren’t for my highest good.

My parents said they wanted what was best for me, and then they hurt me,
so everything is very confusing now.
i was punished for no good reason,
Sisyphus was punished for violating sacred hospitality,
but my dad got away with everything.
I guess bad guys only get what’s coming for them in stories.
That’s why stories are better than real life.

The eager insects invade

Emerging from their dirt dreams

Leaving their shells behind

The sanctimonious shedding of their skin

A rebirth and revival

They scream their solstice song

A collective calling

A lively lullaby

Somehow both spirited and serene

For one fleeting moment

They reign supreme

The bantering brood

Dominating the dog days

We could learn a lot

From these clandestine creatures

Who rest for 17 sacred years

Only to rise and sing, and dance, and mate

Until they’ve had their fill

Seduced by one final sunset

Reuniting with the dirt once more

For one final satisfying slumber

Because words jump into your mind
as you walk, dance in your ears.
You love the shape sound feel of them. 

Because you cannot stop the bombs
end the wars save the children. 

Because a stranger in a cafe says
“my second ex-wife” and your mind
jumps the fence, a young horse
running for sheer joy. 

Because of the careful way your mother
folds a shirt, smoothing warm cotton
with twisted fingers. 

Because you can’t paint
or write a symphony, yet
you need to preserve
this perfect pink seaside dawn. 

Because you see your shadow
on a moon-bright night and you
are ten years old again, freshly
bathed, wrapped in flannel,
shivering to “The Highwayman.” 

Because fitting sounds and syllables
creating architecture on the page
absorbs you more than crosswords. 

Because this is how you bow down.

Because sometimes the only way
to say it is slant.