The heat squeezes my lungs,
Figure, figure, figure,
tap, tap, tap
calculate, calculate,
add and subtract
“How much was that?”
“What was the cost”
“How much did we lose?”
“Can we even afford groceries
from Save-A-Lot?”
Figure, figure, figure,
tap, tap, tap,
the financial balancing act
getting paid just enough to get “buy”
but never enough to truly live our lives.
she took twelve lines of daybreak observations, writ behind
condensation-impressionistic view, and chose the brightest one —
scoops of orange sherbet swim among green croaks
she searched the page for a hint of coveted metaphor —
tiny globs of rainbow-road ice cream– first pops
of zinnias? candy? no. yet i hunger.
she scanned the lines. is there a theme?
i imagine these eye-ear delights echo-gliding
today on stratus clouds o’er bluegrasses,
o’er sages. over all poaceae. in soothing breezes.
she scanned again. ramblings. what might a reader want?
perhaps the silent part.
burnt umber raw umber
Payne’s grey
Take off my glasses
landscape blue blur of green
dot: brilliant yellow
lichen layers smear on rock
cobalt blue cadmium yellow
lamp black Chinese white
Do you have a rock to show me?
Alizarin Crimson
the artists are painting
ocean, rocks, white frame cottages with heavy green doors
Rosa Rugosa–pink petal swirl
wild iris
they mix their greens & purples
add white and black to red
tins of water–a spritz here There.
paintings alive, breathing–unfinished
capture the light: its shadows, how
it slants, blinds, shimmies
You know there’s still time to run
Angry splatters of red
creep across the TV screen
underlined by scary words
like severe and heavy
while a list of counties
slides along the bottom
In case of a tornado
a meteorologist reminds you
to DUCK
get DOWN
get UNDER
COVER your head
KEEP in shelter
until the storm
has passed
Effective words indeed
however sometimes
the storm still
finds a way
to get
you
and even then
…
What if that storm is inside you? What if
you can’t escape because you carry it
with you? What if you allow yourself to be
your own atmospherical disturbances?
Gale force anxiety hits at destructive speeds
and self-deprecation pelts you with baseball sized hail
and nobody will blame you if can’t go outside for a while
when you sense the pressures shifting
and you know
there’s still
time
to run
or hide
it is so much
easier
after all
…
But I?
I don’t want to do that anymore
because it’s what I always do.
It’s what I’m tempted to do again
never holding on long enough
to get up close and personal
with the storm,
learning why it becomes so vicious
and maybe then
I can figure how to take a hit
or to fight without
the option of ‘-or-flight.’
To STAND up
get OVER my fears
OPEN my mind
And LET GO
of self defense mechanisms
that help me survive
but won’t let me thrive
…
No. There can be no more running
if I hope to one day
achieve the dreams
that got me going in the first place.
No more running
because the next storm
is always coming.
No more running
when I create the storm myself.
There can be
no
more
running.
Keep eyes, ears and nose
on alert. Practice patience
till you can wait like a cat
perched on a stone wall
intent on a mouse.
Dispute trade-marked half
truths, like that Everything
Bagels are topped with
everything.
Smell the air after a storm
to see what fury’s end can
release.
Attend to the sound made
by bills dropped into
a mailbox. Record it
as a curiosity for
posterity.
Sift a clod of dirt
with your fingers.
Contemplate the soil’s
powdery gift to you
but don’t bother learning
the names of weeds. They
won’t be any easier
to uproot.
Watch a hummingbird’s
wings beat and with that
same energy ready-set-go
a good deed
like looking your bus driver
in the eye and accepting
her smile as if it were
a trophy
Ignore the come-hither
of a store’s water bottle
aisle, its implicit greed
an icy version of hell.
Plant pansies outside
your window so you’ll
see flower smiles when
life’s sun hides.
Because I don’t know how my car works,
I pray to it like the ancients to the sun.
Hallowed be thy name, Toyota Corolla.
Please get me there, both of us in one piece,
and if you do I’ll sacrifice some green leaves
to buy you oil and a new air filter and maybe
even tires, oh car god. I must seem so slow
to you, so close to the junkyard, and it’s true
that the fast lane now seems far away just as
eighteen seems far away.
I have rust, chipped paint, a rebuilt engine.
When we get there, the ground looks at me
hungrily, like its mouth yearns to swallow me,
and the streetlights shine in my eyes,
the green a flashlight
that spots the problem,
the yellow a dim waiting room light,
flickering as I fill out insurance forms,
the red a doctor’s bleary eyes
as he says I should sit for this.
Three Kentucky Town Limericks
Muldraugh, KY
There once was a gal from Muldraugh
whose tongue’s tricks had the townspeople in awe.
Pointed and split
it licked d*(ks and cl*!s
and at all the church picnics it made the slaw.
Dycusburg, KY
A Dyscusburg steamboat captain named Freddie
Steered clear of Cumberland River eddies,
but once on land
he could barely stand,
sea legs and Silent Brigade Bourbon made him unsteady.
Lexington, KY
Dear friend Kevin, who resides in Lexington,
your limericks today are a blessington.
They purge
my continuous urge
to create poems profound and well written!
