wings at my window
wont you tell me your worries
with summer scents in the air
so sweet
I hope you find peace and plenty

maybe soon
our colors change
red to blue
remember, when they do
hope is a favorite song
it’s okay to sing along
don’t forget to smile cus’
it’s so bright
outside

Hope is a feathered thing
an iridescent wing
giving colors
that catch the light
Hope is a place to breathe
where it’s safe to drink 
the water of life

wings at my window
I hope you find a way
I hope you’re here to stay
sweet hummingbird

If you’re looking to donate to a good cause or help provide a little hope to those who need it, here are some Non-profit / Community orgs engaged with conservation, philanthropy and Humanitarian efforts: 

– Humane borders: Fronteras Compasivas – 
https://www.humaneborders.org/volunteer-information
Humane Borders, motivated by faith and the universal need for kindness, maintains a system of dozens of water stations in the Sonoran Desert on routes used by migrants making the perilous journey to the United States on foot. Humane Borders was established in the year 2000 in response to reports of a drastic increase in the number of migrant deaths on Arizona’s border with Mexico. 

– The Trevor Project
https://www.thetrevorproject.org/volunteer/
Providing 24/7 crisis care for lGBTQ+ youth, as well as advocacy, peer support, research, and public education

– The American Bird Conservancy & Peregrine Fund
https://abcbirds.org/
https://peregrinefund.org/
preventing imminent bird extinctions. Improving millions of acres of habitat with bird-friendly management practices. Advocating for solutions to urgent threats that put birds at risk.

so far summer
is live and learn
     lessons
     choices
     dead ends
     hope 
     opportunities if I’m optimistic
     lilies, white 
     magnolias as well
     family, friends
     answers
     peace, even though
and rest

There’s no respite; 

“Are we all ADHD?” my friend asks,
                               (an innocent joke, really)
but I can’t help but wonder how frag-
          mented the modern mind is, like
a bumbling bee addicted to its own honey.

Crack, the mind splits, slurping the sweet drug,
spitting trivial facts that don’t really mean anything—
    Who Wants To Be A Millionaire! the screen screams,
and I forget my thoughts.

But I don’t forget. Not really. The neglected self
     remembers—the body keeps score, like a sport
live-streamed, eyes glued on the screen,
     advertisers begging to be seen.

Pay attention to me, the mind begs, but is drowned
                  in the sea of colors and noise, of corporations
exploiting human psyche, our vulnerabilities.
         (“I must post to stay relevant, I must look beautiful to be accepted…”)

PAY ATTENTION TO ME, the screen demands—
       and we listen,
because a quiet mind is too frightening,
                                    the real world too boring.

Comfort is pleasure, we say to ourselves as we rot
on the couch, and wonder
           why tech billionaires live in this world,
                                 while we use their tech to escape it.

Part III: One more day of extreme heat advisory!

The air conditioning at its wits’ end— I walk around my tiny house filled with so much art— so many water scenes— rivers, lakes, oceans, ponds, canals.

I stop at my five-year-old self. 

Background: the Atlantic Ocean / Middle ground: the shore of Pompano Beach.

Focal point: me, nearly leaning against the frame, wrapped tight in a striped beach towel of blues and greens. My wide brown eyes turned towards the artist, my Oma. My short blonde curls frame a tiny pale face. 

Dare I jump in here?

The heat drives me in. I rush past my silent self into salty waters. A quick turn back, I see my younger self’s eyes follow me. I swim out to deeper, cooler blue. Stay a long while.

Back ashore, my five-year-old self is still silent. I touch her tender cheek and leave.

an ekphrastic from Michele on Pompano Beach by Oma. Oil on canvas. 16 x 20.

I don’t want to write a poem today
I don’t have anything to say

Not a thought
Not a word

Nothing

Evening heat glows–
     purple canterbury bells
          crumple, embers fade

It’s so fucking HOT.
I can’t think of a more clever
replacement for fucking.
Can’t even string together as many thoughts
as beads of sweat pelt the ground
falling from my forehead, elbows, and belly
onto the sidewalk where they barely
turn from a shadow to a spot
before boiling into nothingness.
I thought I might remove my shirt-
more surface area to evaporate
the sweat. My body’s feeble attempt at cooling
an umbrella in a nuclear firestorm.
The air is so thick and pregnant with water
it can scarcely accept any more.
It’s a hazy fog that obscures both
vision and breathing. Drenching all things
yet not at all hydrating.
May and early June
lulled us all into a false sense of safety. Zeus
taking a break from philandering
to orchestrate the rainiest May in memory
before some scantily clad sorority socialite
on her last summer before real life
drew him away from his duties,
back into a stupor.
Soon Hephaestus fired back up his forge
and sent his exhaust and offal
down towards us mere mortals.
Boiling us all alive, to keep the industry moving.
It’s so
            fucking
                          H
                              O
                                  T

I don’t even remember what I was doing.

metal scream
learn to sing
ease into
the shoulder brush
endorphin rush
the question
and its answering
the fear it brings
the opening

sleep the whole night
and wake with the light on
my body is not a treasure chest
anymore—it is a river

Amid isolated mountain cliffs
craggy and barren
sits a cubic throne 
bearing the horned heads of rams
And there presides 
the Emperor. 

Crowned in gold 
holding an ankh and sphere as
symbols of his dominion over the world
under his red robes he wears armor.

He is not a peaceful ruler.

The Emperor
imposes his structures 
enforces his rules
asserts his authority

But his wisdom is not drawn from a higher power
His control is over earthly realms alone.

With the arrival of the Emperor
it is already too late.

But he has no power 
without his executors–
look to those around him 
to see how the power
of the Emperor
is used.