Poetry July 2018

 

 

poet’s anarchy

someday the world
will be bright
with flowers
climbing trellises
up to the moon
and every child
will have food
and water
and a pillow
but for now
pardon me
while I crawl
on my belly
to plant a
ticking poem

 

reaching out
my elongated fingers
poke the stars
it doesn’t hurt
you know it feels
like nothing special
because my tips
are now so far
from my heart
they feel nothing

Retirement

I’m done, I say, to no one.
Boxes from the supermarket
filled up with the stuff
I brought to work years ago
to comfort me, to make a cozy
corner, a nook transported
from home. Dusty and forgotten.
Until now. I’ll have to make room.
Things. They meant
something to me, I guess. Why else
would I bring them for comfort?
No framed photos. Just books.
And knick knacks. A smooth stone
a sweat-brown baseball cap. A cracked
coffee cup from somewhere I never went.
I seal the box with tape. It pops open twice
so I leave it be. Maybe I’ll tape it well
before I slide it into the dark under the stairs.

 
Eating at my grandmother’s

The filtered Saturday sun
Came through
The window
Like water pouring
On her green
Ceramic
Tabletop.

Breakfast was
A rich affair
Of old-country
Family-pleasing
Eggs and meat.

Lunch was
Her style-
Toast
A cup of
Honeyed tea.

For dinner
She prepared
Her famous chicken soup.
Never strained.
The pointed
Lethal bones
Hung on
My shaking spoon
A reminder
Of the old country
She had fled.

 

 

 

mother’s day

sitting by her bedside
dementia
freezing her brow
conversation
unlikely
so I read to her
my poetry
the first time
she’d ever heard
them
knowing
she wouldn’t
she couldn’t
understand
the words
and I wasn’t
I couldn’t be
sad at all

 

 

the flowers

one day
i didn’t
water the flowers
the less hardy
shrank
to hollowness
their flowers
crumpled
like the ancients
the newer buds
curled up
inside themselves
will they ever bloom
now
the others
are still in full bloom
colorful
like holiday visitors
one day
i’ll see them
too
spent of strength
neither water
nor fervent rays
will be enough
their time will have come
their season be done

 

 

w/o socks

when you don’t
wear socks
the world
rushes you
odd pebbles
weeds
blown puddles
a butt
a spent balloon
rust
feathers
something dead
but you keep moving
life without socks
takes courage

 

 

overnight/four poems

1

by and by swans pass

a red and white bobber
caught in a tree

 

2

watering can put down by mother
she turned on the oven and then we all burned and burned

 

3

crooked smile
yes you did

tell me again

 

4

empty alley
drowning kittens in a bucket

fire escapes rusted tight

 

 

 

 

this pond this pond

pond this

this pond

right here

this bend

right here

she died

right here

do you

think

think she knew?

 

 

neighborhoodscape 

church bells
shatter Sunday

neighbors
hanging off

peeling porches

tell each other
to fuck off

and a dog barks and
barks and barks

 

 

three tanka

 

high clouds

bird song
soothing

the topmost
needles

 

 

solitude

bees allow me
to sip

the dew
from their flowers

 

 

coolness

a breeze
responds

to the request
from my heavy heart

 

 

haiku

i’ve planned
a riot

with petals

 

hydration

i drain the last

fresh fish
come

they pluck
my legs

but ignore
my muddy

buttocks

 

tanka

clubbing

bully bees
outmuscle

sipping
hummers

 

 

illegal

only fireworks
we ever knew

going off
two nights
in a row

neighbors
half naked

tossing back
many beers

kids screaming

cars stopping
in the street

eyes behind
curtains

our fourth
bursting

over all

 

 

 

 

three poems

1

cold bin

the moldy orange
is most difficult

to clean up

 

2

he smiled down

picking his teeth
with a fallen twig

 

3

day at the beach

sand shifts
under my feet

you swim away
showing off

knowing I’ll fall

 

 

 

six poems from inside the heatwave

1

lovelorn
when a gentle
breeze
isn’t
enough

 

2

boom boom

freight passing

one ugly
car

after another

busting up
bird

song

 

3

heat wave
my blossoms

deranged

 

4

brushing my teeth

twice

words
fill up

my mind

 

5

on the beach

heat lurches into me
like my least favorite drunk

while a single sea breeze
chooses someone else

 

6

heat wave

a butterfly
on my cheek

mistakes my sweat
for dew

 

summer tea

dainties

carefully
arranged

daring to melt
through

white paper doilies

 

 

untitled 7/2/18

dangerous
heat

petals drop

dead fly floats
in iced drink

unplugged

sharing my scent
with petals

toes grasping
river flow

 

 

 

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s