NaPoWriMo: This Poem Is A Myth

NaPoWriMo

NaPoWriMo

Philemon and Baucis

“Welcome, dear companion! You’ve come to hear the tale?

Of the truly loving mortals that stand before this temple trail?

What? You’ve never heard of Baucis and Philemon?

Climb that branch of Oak there and I will climb the Linden.

Yes, ‘tis true they are of one trunk, get comfy hear this story

For tonight I tell the tale of a humble immortal glory.”

Upon Olympus Zeus sat bored twiddling his beard,

“Hermes, my quickened friend, let’s explore some weird.”

Hermes was always eager to dip his toes in mortal world

Grabbed Zeus’ hand before his mind changed to Phrygia swirled.

“We can’t go door to door, looking like we do.”

So they dug some dirt and conjured clothes making beggars of the two.

Hundreds of doors they knocked upon with no the final refrain

Zeus was boiling with fury, Hermes with disdain.

“Do they not realize,” Said the patron God of travel.

“That when they turn away a stranger, their luck will soon unravel?”

“Apparently not, my friend,” Zeus replied. “But let’s try one more time.

For up ahead is a dilapidated hut that’s way past its prime.”

“If you say so Zeus, but you’re bound to be disappointed.

That’s certainly no place, where wealth has e’er anointed.”

Before the hand of the beggar ever came to rest on the door,

It opened up warm and widely, to a dirt, but well swept floor.

“Come in! Come in! Come join us while we feast.

It’s rare when we are visited by such company as thee.”

Baucis began feverishly to put the food together.

While Philemon worked diligently to make the visitor’s comfort better.

The old woman boiled a pot of hot water and raided meager provisions

The old couple worked the room feverishly under watchful supervision.

She prepared olives, bread and bacon, radishes and eggs

While the old man took a broken dish to fix the table leg.

They spread out the table with everything they cut loose.

They even chased until breathless both, their family pet goose!

They filled the plates with generous portions. They filled the cups with wine.

And among the love and laughter, the four people heartily dined.

With a burp and a push, the Gods revealed their true being

The old couple nodded with love at each other then to the Gods now seeing.

“What is it we can do for you, name anything you wish.”

Philemon nodded to Baucis, his eyes filled with tenderness.

“This humble cottage has always been our home, though our pockets are slenderest,

We’ve never known a moment of sorrow, never had to borrow.

We’d like to live here, if you care not, to serve you our living days

But we ask that neither one of us live alone when one passes away.”

Baucis smiled up at her husband with tears in her sweet blue eyes.

Philemon smiled back at her, then they bowed to the deities.

A beautiful temple of marble and gold sprouted where they stood.

He grew leaves while she grew leaves as they turned to wood.

“Farewell my dear companion, were their blessed lasting bliss.

You sit upon the tree they became with the final lover’s kiss.”

NaPoWriMo 040415: Sipsy

NaPoWriMo

NaPoWriMo

Fried Green Tomatoes At the Whistle Stop Cafe, Fannie Flagg

I knew the love that woman had was something deep woods

It was something that was taken for granted, but everyone understood.

You do not cross that line between what is wrong and what is good

Not without the skillet in hand bouncing off that head of blood.

I knew the love that woman had was something a thief would rue

It was something everyone claimed to not know, but we already knew.

When she looked into my eyes before that blow bid Frank his adieu

I grinned and nodded approval at her, because a mother’s love is true.

NaPoWriMo: Feeling So Deeply

NaPoWriMo

NaPoWriMo

IT HURTS!

I heard my Gram scream in the desolate silence

It was early January, out in the country, snow to navel

five blanket kind of freezing and she was screaming.

I jolted awake, scrambling beneath the cocoon of blankets

She screamed as if the hounds of hell were chasing her

When I reached her side, she was five years old.

I rocked her back to sleep.

IT HURTS!

I walked into my home with hope shining brightly

on legal sized paper declaring my parental rights

The phone rang, it was handed to me.

I listened as the perfection I imagined

threw me to the floor unable to support my vision

ripping a universe apart with six words

unable to support the weight of my sorrow as I screamed

IT HURTS!

I rode the elevator upwards without hope, holding knowledge.

I waited patiently for the doctors to return to the room

waited but already knew what they’d discovered.

He was dead. I was alone. There was a void of pain.

An echo of maybe and an absolute removal from now.

When I leaned down to kiss the cold skin of his once warm forehead

I was pulled away for my contamination of the saint with my sinner’s taint.

IT HURTS!

He packed the last of his things into the suitcase.

My eyes barely opened from the days of begging on my knees

My lip bloodied from our last confrontation

when he tried to burn the music out of my soul

when he tried to show me who ruled the roost.

I sat on the cold slab floor with brown tile hiding my shame

I deserted his God. I left him with the pile of discarded cardboard.

NaPoWriMo: indulgences

Drip your bloodline to mingle with mine

Heat my body, our hands in each other’s hair entwined

Let us drink the wine that spills from our cups

Onto the tables of flesh, let us sup

Tickle my fancy with the brush of your lips

Fancy my giggle along that curve in your hip

Turn your face sideways look over your shoulder

Give me that look that’s for only me; the one that smolders

Remind me again and again how religious we are

As we cry out to the God’s, sing out to the stars.

NaPoWriMo: The Birth of Your Art

NaPoWriMo

NaPoWriMo

Lady Cathy Gritter took me into her church

near her garden door that led only outward.

It had nine panes of stained glass

that guarded the treasures within the hall.

On the pristine white shelves

is where she stored centuries of art,

a sacramental archive of holiness.

I’d enter her church through the side door

withering looks from her husband William

glared resentment at my childish intrusion

I scooted sinfully through to gaze with adoration

at the hallowed scriptures

blessed gospels of

van Gogh, Picasso, de Vinci, Kahlo

offering sermons of:

Sunflowers, Girl Before a Mirror, Mona Lisa, and Weeping Coconuts.

I was allowed to peer into the eyes of holy angels

upon my confessional return of each holy grail.

NaPoWriMo

NaPoWriMo

These Are My People: Theresa Wiseman

A beautiful spirit cloaked in kindness.

A beautiful spirit cloaked in kindness.

There is a legend from the ancient fires

That when a body dies, the soul does not expire

But it continues through the ages, grace upon graces

Changing its location, wearing different faces

When two souls their paths abide

Return to gather in eras of needed tribes

The powers that be return them there

So they may uplift, gather in prayer

That they may break bread and commune together

Hold the umbrellas through storms and sunny weather

And sometimes it’s seen as a gracious boon

That one knows the other never too soon

They see the smile, the movement in grace

They feel the love returning from their own face

The one from where the legend of ancient fires sprung

And they know that the cycle has once again begun.

“Old Time” and “Squeezy”

I’ve met him before in this life. Just a brief interaction with my friend’s son with nothing spectacular to mention. But today was different. Today we recognized each other’s spirits to the point where we talked about things we couldn’t possibly have experienced now. Forgive, but indulge my recollection of my brief time in VietNam before I was killed by a brother triggered trip wire.

I was a Captain, he my lieutenant. We were working on an engineering project together when the explosions started. The initial shock blew out half the buildings barracks. We lost 12 men from that. One of them men we called “Mustard” razzed me and Old Time, my best friend, calling us brother and sister. They called me Squeezy because I snored loud enough they’d have to keep covering my head with my blanket to dull the sound which made me wheeze.

From the room we were working in, we could see J-Pod and Durkee run by with their rifles down. Durkee smoked as much as he could get his hands on so I’d give him mine, so would Old Time. I watched the packs lined up like carnival ducks on his helmet fly by the window.

“Okay, Old Time. We have to pack. Drop down.” I commanded as I scrambled to get my responsibility packaged into my trekker.

“I’m almost there, Squeezy. I don’t want to mess this connection. A few more minutes.” He half answered me.

“Look, Durk and J-Pod just ran by with rifles down. We don’t have a couple minutes. Pack up, now.” I commanded finishing my assembly. I rushed over to his station and started packing his gear. “Pack up. Drop down.”

“And, got it.” He said, pushing back from the table.

I realized he hadn’t even been aware of the sounds or the smells from the burning buildings until he pushed away. Realizing the gravity, he grabbed his gear and helped me fill his bag with the essentials.

“Shit, I didn’t realize…” His voice was blasted out by a shell that hit the north side of the building exploding concrete and glass into our work space. “Squeeze, you’re bleeding.” He said as he crawled from under the table where he’d ducked down. I wasn’t as quick as he was, my head was bleeding almost as much as my right shoulder which still had a sizeable shard of glass sticking out of it. He leaned over, assessed the wound, and pulled the glass clean out. “Let me help you Squeezy.”

I nodded as he jacked his pack onto his back and helped me get into mine. The strap helped ease the bleeding in my shoulder but my head was starting to swim.

“Old Time, I don’t know if I can. My head is swimming.” I protested.

“You look here. I’m not going to lose another brother. Come on.” He dragged me to my feet wrapping his right arm under my uninjured left shoulder. He grunted a bit as he realized I wasn’t moving half my body the right way. “Don’t you worry Squeeze, we’ll get to the rendezvous point.” His face was so close to mine but I was having trouble focusing. I saw him smile at me, but the fear in his eyes was deep.

“GO! GO! GO!” I heard Maxi-Pad yelling. Through the hole in the wall, I watched Max and four others rush by under heavy fire. The only reason I knew it was Maxi-Pad was because of his lilty voice. He sounded more like a woman than any of us, but nobody had the heart of the lion like him. He knew what to do almost instinctively. Although he was only a sergeant, he ran his squad like a true leader. They loved and trusted him in the way only soldiers know. I saw one of his men crumple as Old Time pulled me over the rubble.

With shells exploding around us, Old Time pulled me as I struggled to keep my feet. I knew I wasn’t long for this plane. I had to let him go. I dropped full weight into his arms forcing his release.

“I can’t. I’m done. Just go.” I wheezed as blood filled my lungs. I could barely catch a breath. My blood was pumping so fast. “I’ll have your back.” I said as I tugged my side arm from the holster.

Old Time got damn near nose to nose with me. His dark brown eyes, filled with fear also held the promise of truth in them. He grabbed my face with both of his hands.

“You sorry son of a bitch. Get up and get moving right now. Loretta would never forgive me. Get up now.” He smacked my face hard with both hands. I hate when he does that.

I struggled up to my feet. My head was swimming, my ears could no longer hear the rifle fire, just the steady pulse and a high pitched squeal of my blood running out of my body too fast. I allowed him to lift me up enough for me to use my last bit of will to move my feet towards the dense jungle just a few more steps in front of us.

He shoved the branches back, never losing grip on me as we disappeared into the heavy smell of acrid gunpowder and sloshed our feet into the barely dried ground after monsoon season. We struggled through the dense fauna, him holding on to me, me desperate to follow his commands because to disobey my inferiors command was to die.

When the wire tripped, there was barely enough time for him to turn and look me in the eye as we both breathed our last breath from the explosion. We died that day, buddy next to buddy. His left arm gone, his right arm still holding me protectively.

I met him again today in this life. He saw me and said, “Sister!” He grinned from ear to ear. “I knew I’d see you again. Man, it’s been a while.”

“As with you, my brother. I’m glad to see you again. Thanks for helping me. You did all you could. I hope you know that.”

“I will never forget it. You still owe me $5 bucks.” He laughed referring to the ongoing penny cribbage we played when we weren’t working.

“You’re not going to get it this time or that time either.” I laughed. I realized that we had to give that life up to meet again in this one. I understood right then, that we really were brother and sister of spirit.”

He’s still interested in electronic projects in this life time. I think that’s because he never quite finished that damn project in the last one. It really amazes me the details I could remember when my spirit saw him. It happens from time to time where I just know people. I’ll call him Old Time when next we meet and I’ll bet he’ll call me Squeezy.

A Walk Through Her

Soul Reflections

Soul Reflections

I walked through her soul picking stray bits and pieces,

Stringing the pearls, stitching them together

With dreams made of pink stitched green ribbon

I made it into a bouquet as a tribute to her beauty

Caught at the peak of fertile perfection

Lightly scented with the essence of her glory

Her gift to the living, loving world.

These Are My People: Sarah Carrie Hunter

My friend Sarah Johnson My friend Sarah Hunter

She was born with a baby on her hip
A jaunt in her step that moved her like a cradle
A smooth line smile that granted mother’s milk
While soothing ruffled feathers of frustrated ilk
She slithers with grace leaving trails of wildflowers
Carefully disguised as children, her daughters
She was born with a baby on her hip
As if the earth were not solid but a slow rolling ship
A reckless follower of her hearts intensity
Gives birth to her gift from her sacred humanity.

Filly Ranch with Fleas

I'm a Seahorse

I’m a Seahorse

There are multitudes of angry words corralled behind her tongue

Waiting anxiously to stampede into the unwary ears of the unforgiven wrangler.

He doesn’t suspect that his lasso of rage would harness responsibility for his neglect.

She is unbridled in her disgust.

She halts without warning, veering suddenly towards the truth.

Although she relishes her saddle for its beautifully intricate design,

she bucks in furious battles against the reason it was placed on her back.

The cowboy remains oblivious to the pain of the branding iron

with which he sears her flesh with his signature as proof of his mortality.

The wrangler arrogantly believes he is bigger, better, stronger than she.

But her spirit hasn’t been broken. Her body is faster, smarter;

more adept at navigating the directional and environmental changes he affords.

She is her own shelter, her own stability, while he is self-oppressed at his hearth.

He is completely entranced and entrenched by his campfire of hatred.

It makes him unaware of her riding away at a full gallop into the sunrise of freedom.