Posts for 2025 (page 116)

The room dims. The sun, who had finally
come out, hidden again by a last thick cloud
driven by. The air goes still, yet the periwinkle
porch swing sways. In the faint light,
I feel a chill— another ghost floating through?
It’s something I think about, from time
to time, in this nearly airtight box,
consider who lived upon this land before—
before cow pastures. Think of those
who roamed freely here. Before they could not.
No enclosed boxes then, all out in open air.
Before we over warmed the Earth.
Was the large pond in the middle of the cornfield
across the way filled with trout? Did those here
welcome the clouds on a hot June day?
Recite poetry? What tree roots had hold
before most were chopped down?
The wind whistles through the leaves
of the crabapple tree, and the swing swings
higher. Perhaps this ghost does not see me
or this now. Or simply wishes to settle in
and sway, drifting in her death state,
remembering a stillness I could never know.

I warned her not to shake her bottle of 7-Up.

          Did she listen?

I warned her not to open her bottle.

          Do you think she listened?

When the fizzy concoction exploded onto her face, 

and I saw her eyes as wide as saucers,

          Do you think I laughed?

Indubitably!

Look at these drawings I made, aren’t they nice?
Look at your characters I drew, with their fluffy
green hats and red freckles. Did you look at the post

I made, the one with the joke? Did you laugh? Look
how funny it is, I am howling! Look at how sad 
my character is. Did you see, did you comment?

Look at my profile, it’s so empty! Did you see
I am free to draw? Did you see I have been writing
more recently? We can write and draw together!

Did you see?
Do you see me?
Please look.

when your bones ache
when your heart is heavy
when the sun beckons and beams
when you only get one of this day
forever 

is it okay?
is it okay to stay in?
to rest or to recover
when you only get one
and the wind is so lovely

Out and about here ain’t no place to meet the love of your life,
But the streets are as good a place as any to leer at a lady that looks like her:
Elisa Leigh Beauty Queen,
Barely pushing eighteen with the same reckless determination that
Sisphylus hauled ass up that hill.
Ol’ man sees her in the dairy aisle and thinks to himself,
‘Girl that pretty has no right to be in a place as beat down as this.’

Blowing smoke out the window of his beat down Toyota,
Leaning her head against the rattling plastic of the door as the engine
Kicks into the next gear.
Each inhale has her chest expanding in the confines
Of her see-through white tank top,
Making it real hard for him to keep his eyes on the road
Even when she ain’t doing a damn thing but breathing.

She must’ve made him feel like a real man,
Batting her long eyelashes at every new experience he introduced her to –
And every single one of them was, mind,
Cause she herself is so damn new.
The whole town’ll talk about them being seen together,
Churning up the rumor mill over the way she holds his hand in public,
Aiming eaving ears to every hushed whisper they speak. 

Ain’t it just like a girl like that to go and seduce a man old enough to be her daddy?
When she grows old enough to know to want better than him, he’ll drown
Himself in the bottle,
And the men in town’ll say,
‘Poor man, I’d be grieving too if I lost out on one that fine and fit,’
While their wives’ll shake their heads and say,
‘Damn fool, should’ve known better than to rob that golden cradle.’

Move your body oft
Through dance, steps, workout, or play,
And avoid torpor

* 6 of 9 strategies for a creative life

We lay in bed that night,

When God and Satan 
sat down to Tuesday brunch
and discussed the fate of a man named Job,
did they reminisce about the days before Lucifer fell?

In the years after Job’s death,
did he join in the Tuesday brunch tradition?
Did he get the only thing he wanted when his world crumbled?
A seat at the table.

It’s two a.m. and I can’t sleep

I’ve tried the usual tricks

Taking long deep breaths

Slowing the chatter of my mind

Feeling my limbs go numb

But my consciousness hangs on

Unwilling to let go.

Even with much to worry about

Everything is calm as thoughts toss

Carelessly among themselves

Unable to find the unmarked line

That crosses into a hazy realm

Where with the slightest shift

The unbelievable turns real.

Once there, I can drift or be anchored

Take on various faces, clothes or shapes

Sudden change comes in momentary flashes

Thoughts alone color the landscape

I know well places I’ve never been

Where new faces of intimate lovers

See an unfamiliar me.

I have finished the last of my tea

Watched the moon rise into the mist

I’ve stretched and peed, the bed

Opening with a welcome now

Holds me aloft, soft yet firm

As I descend into darkness to step

Across the mysterious threshold.

A scintillating phrase skips across my brain
so I fumble inside an over-sized purse–
chap stick, 3 quarters, a penny
& a hairbrush–determined to snag
a favorite pen.  Its comfortable
grip, smooth tip
might glide across my notebook page,
& cage words before

            poof!

they’re gone. 
Possibly I left the pen on my desk
or a nightstand.  Near a book I’m reading.
Maybe I’ll retrieve floating words
and my pen.

What’s missing may reappear
in a quiet hour, a dream
or not at all.