Posts for 2024 (page 62)

On the table in front of me is a stack of books

The first authored by Bell Hooks,

Someone else taught me her name

In front of the fireplace is plant stand that I still need to give a friend

A house-warming gift now several months late

As I’m pleasantly entwined in a near constant exchange of things, ideas, and place

On the wall a photo of Tom Petty

Put there by the man who owned the bookstore

I learned to love in

A print of Claude Monet’s “the lilies” sitting in the floor

Mugs with coffee stains from each destination I’ve traveled for

A raven holding a lightbulb in its beak

Two pieces of granite on the shelf, carved to act as bookends

I’m an amalgamation of every token of affection

Stitched up by “I was thinking of you”

Parts of me are that are wholly mine are so few

I’ve been slowly built up over time

By lovers and dear friends

This house would not be home

If it were not filled with the things given to me by their hands

I hope that when they reach for the teacup, art, or the trinket I’ve offered

They know much I treasure this constant exchange of love and life

And know that anything I find beautiful will never be coffered

The trainer said my dog
Is really, really smart.
But watching him race
As fast as possible

In a circle
On the living room rug
Chasing his own tail,
Makes me wonder
How smart he really is.

Of course,
The same could be said about me
And a sizable portion
Of the population of our planet.

The Steinway grand,
under warm hall lights,
expectant crowd, murmuring

reviewing the program:
Bach, Mozart, Beethoven
in the first half

Chopin, Debussy, and Prokofiev
in the second

and, lately, he has been playing
the Schubert as first encore

the hall lights dim,
the stage door open,
his confident footsteps,
a roar of applause

he bows, a hint of
that charming smile,

he sits at the piano,
the hall falls silent,
he lifts his hands
to the keyboard

and opens
a new universe

a night walk through a forest                      
                                                     of conifers aglow with mushrooms
(bitter oyster, little ping-pong
                                                     bats, bleeding fairy helmet, honey
fungus) bewitching insects to                                                 
                                                     strew their spores & fireflies (we called lightning
bugs) flashing for mates, mirror-               
                                                           ing the heavenly incandescence of the moon
& stars. How sated the air feels,   
                                                         dense & intense, a smoky dark green & I too,
radiate with the flush & fever of                                                    
                                                           pleasure & reverence; recall past glows: 1971,
falling in love for the first time,                                                     
                                                         18 & in college, car-singing tunes I swooned
over & still adore today at 71—                                               
                                                        Imagine, Suite: Judy Blue Eyes, After the Gold Rush,
I Feel the Earth Move, Me & Bob-
                                                         by McGee, Woodstock, Wild World, Maggie May,                 Stairway to Heaven.  

I wrote this poem a while back after losing another close friend to cancer.  This dreaded disease impacts just about everyone in their lives in some form, shape or fashion.  Many of us have faced the c-word with family, friends, colleagues, and even in-person.  This is my rememberance to those we have lost and to those close to us battling this terrible disease.  This is a very simple poem with a strong message.

I lost another friend today
Who battled cancer for many years,
Seeing another friend pass on,
It is hard to hold back the tears. 

The fight they fought took courage,
And the hurdles they jumped each day,
Losing another friend to cancer,
I long for a cure and brighter days. 

There once was a woman who loved a good oration
She wondered what would happen at Thursday’s confrontation
To other plans she said goodbye
Checked her popcorn supply
And waited to learn the fate of the nation

Often a haiku or tanka,
usually, forgettable 

written and saved
in case I can’t come up with
something better.

In case I turn on the poem tap
and nothing flows,

in case I have poetry
constipation.

It is reassuring to have
an Emergency Poem
in the wings,

an understudy,
who will step up
during LexPoMo
so I don’t miss a day.

Every time I leave the hospital, 
I give something new of myself away–
a certain shyness I can no longer hold
close to my body, the deeper cravings 
for a cigarette that will likely not come.

Instead, I turn and toil in the ICU,
sleep only in bursts, and then 
when I am freed to the outside world again 
the bigness of it all has so much new
choice and flavor, suddenly–

the heat wave? just a little 
needed warmth–

and I am glad to be home again
and yet I also miss being able
to push a button, receive
some limited care until I am
sick again.

If you want to know
who your real enemy is, 
look in the mirror. 

An erstwhile stoma