Tag Archives: poem

NaPoWriMo: In the beginning there was nothing, which exploded

In honor of Sir Terry Pratchett, I selected a quote about madness.

“Five exclamation marks, the sure sign of an insane mind.”—Sir Terry Pratchett

He didn’t call them exclamation, he called them excitement

A bitter testament to his life’s indictment

With no more than a word or a breathy breath brought

He surrendered his loving light, just as he’d been taught

With shadows his footsteps and lies his parade

He ran off with a glass menagerie, to make his own way

I thought he’d come home, return to the love

But he can’t, he won’t, no olive branch carrying dove.

I’ll watch from my window to see if he passes by

But I know that he has five exclamation marks riding by his side.

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NaPoWriMo: Making cheer up

Cass Betro taught me a word that I added meaning to. Joyfriend. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I really like this term. I really like that anyone that brings you great joy can be your Joyfriend. Happy Joyfriend day every day!

Cass and me playing hooky at church.

Cass and me playing hooky at church.

Every day should begin with a promise of a Joyfriend day

A commitment to call them, or let the know how you feel

A word of thanks for their humorous appeal

I think every day should begin as a Joyfriend day

Just letting them know that you’re there in a wonderful tale

Blessed Joyfriend, you could say, I’m so glad you’re in my life

Living the Joyfriend way.

They’d laugh and you’d smile like a mule and a crocodile

Which makes it even funnier and you laugh until your sides ache

I love to life the Joyfriend day, for I never know what will come my way

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NaPoWriMo: Speak to your affliction

povertyinamerica

We need to have a talk.

I’d offer you a chair, but you’ve already smashed that.

I’d offer you a drink, but I can’t afford to make you water.

I’d offer you food, but I have two kidney beans and tomato paste to last me.

You keep taking everything I have.

I’ve tried to feel compassion because I see you in sunken cheeks.

I’ve tried to understand, but you took away my medical care too

I’ve tried to wear your shoes, but they disintegrated immediately.

I’ve attempted great feats of courage, heroism, and charity

On your behalf, but you won’t leave.

Politely, I decline to allow you purchase in my life.

You’re going to leave and not return.

I can’t abide not paying my bills because of you.

I can’t stand the idea of stagnant mobility because of pain

I no longer wish you to attend my every day.

You will go. You will leave.

You will not return. I will watch you bleed.

Poverty, you are not welcome in my home any more.

There’s the door.

While I still have one, leave and return no more.

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NaPoWriMo: Anticipating Mayhem

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Public Speaking: The Clothesline Project

I knew the challenge was to be real

That the courage I needed would take nerves of steel

I went over the words that I wanted to say

I covered them over and over in every which way

I walked through the crowd feeding on them

Terrified that the words I’d speak, they’d condemn

I laughed, joked, and performed pulling pigs from my sack

When I stepped to the stage there was no turning back

I showed them my underbelly, one of my dark days

I used it to educate so my flashlight could help them find the way

I stood there in silence giving up a slight bow

Then I teetered off the stage with my mind in the now

I was greeted with warmth, forgiveness, and hugs

The healing I get is better than any other drug

I can shine my light of love into the crowd

I can speak my truth, though shaky, way out loud

And they know, like I do that I’ve struggled and cried

But they trust that what I tell them will never be lies.

NaPoWriMo: Art Speaks to Art

Chasing Angels and Blessed Mothers

Jamie Lopez is one of my favorite contemporary artists because she sings with her creations in a language I understand and frequently sing myself. She is alive, vibrant, willing to be compassionate, and shares her life with open arms. The painting I chose has owls and a mother which reminded me of an event that happened to me while I lived in Oro Valley just north west of Tucson, AZ.

http://fineartamerica.com/products/1-blessed-guidance-jamie-lopez-canvas-print.html

I drove down the darkened Arizona road

My pickup truck headlamps chased colors through the gray.

I didn’t have the radio on because the music sang in my head

The moon was barely rising when I saw

Crumpled in the middle of the road, white with feathers

A figure that stood up to the size of a small child

Gazing at me with eyes so large I took it for an owl

Skin so pale it appeared as milk. My brakes stopped willingly.

I began to panic. I began to wonder, but I realized neither.

With a gaze upwards, a woman dancing the skies with dark stars

Dangling pearls and diamonds on indigo, held open arms.

The creature spread wings as wide as the road side to side

Asphalt to asphalt; dust to dust; rising into the night of Tucson

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NaPoWriMo: Pain and Sleep

Pain in the Foot

Love, Lucky Happiness, and Courage. You can see Courage and part of the luck in this picture.

Love, Lucky Happiness, and Courage. You can see Courage and part of the luck in this picture.

The best thing that ever happened to me was pain

I’m not a masochist if that’s what you think

(and even if I was, that’s personal preference not pain).

I worked many jobs that didn’t quite fit me.

Who needs happiness when I got bills, ya get me?

Then I learned about pain when I bare handed broke my foot

THUMP! VOMIT! “That can’t be good.”

Two days of crying while I hobbled around before I got to see

A doctor who looked at me and exclaimed, “HOW could you BE?!”

I’d collapsed my foot bones, broke them in two

By rubbing a cream on my foots that were as stressed as I was.

But that pain, that pain that, two years later remains

Is a constant reminder of how much I’ve gained.

I have time to create, to speak, to volunteer.

I have time to be, to love, to give, to cheer.

Pain has pushed me to places I’d never have learned

Pain has given me new ideas to churn.

But Pain, dear pain, has given me more of myself

Than anything I’ve done, nay, anything else.

It’s taught me courage, strength, endurance

It’s taught me to keep going even with hindrance

Pain is a wicked friend but it never lies to me

It allows me to push limits; to set up healthy boundaries

Pain is the best thing that ever happened to me

My only issue is when it won’t let me sleep.

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Terms of Bereavement

That side of my bed is cold as death.

It fills me with such emptiness.

The lingering scent of absence

haunting the corners as if

they had a right to be there anymore.

I stare at the dreams we once

shared together

as they drift like chipped paint

on a breathless breeze from my ceiling.

I lose the fragmented pieces

as they get swept up each Monday

on chore day.

I recognize the longing for the echoed laughter,

the heat of your kiss,

the flesh of our creation sweating drops of love

onto my flesh on a Sunday afternoon.

I remember that night I stayed up

soaking your t-shirt with rejection

that you soothed with caresses of forgiveness.

I roll away from death

even as I reach my hand to grasp the pillow

that no longer smells like you

even though I’ve not changed the fabric case.

I’d hoped that it would imprison the thoughts

that made “we” an

unbreakable, indivisible, apocalyptic force

to be reckoned with in our unity.

I pull the blanket your mother made for you

(on our fourth Christmas wed)

over my head

tasting the salt of my regret

that I didn’t know that was the last.

That side of my bed is coffin cold.

It fills me with such emptiness.

NaPoWriMo: Finger Licking Good

PUERTO RICAN RED RICE

1 Tbs oil
1 pkg Smokey Links, sliced
1 lg onion, chopped
1 green pepper, chopped
1 6oz can tomato paste
1/2 lg jar salad olives
1 teas garlic powder
1 1/2 teas dry oregano
1Tbs cumin
1# (2 cups) rice

Heat the oil and the sausages medium sliced,

Onions, olives, and peppers add as they’re diced

Not yet for the paste, but add in the rice

Cook until it’s brown stirring it twice.

Add the rest of the ingredients, mixing well

Three fingers of water over, allow yourself to smell

The aromas as they blend

Cook until the liquid is absorbed and the rice is ten-

Der.

This makes me think of Demi, the lady from where this comes

She used to live upstairs from me on Caufield where I’ve from.

She taught my mom to make this, and it’s still a fave of mine

I think of her when I make this dish, each and every time.

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NaPoWriMo: I, Tree

The north eastern tree

Brrrr! Yah nasty wind, ye stripped me clothes off!

Ye made me blood retreat from my trunk

Burying me roots in the frozzzzzen earth

Unlike the kiss of your wetted white,

I will return to shatter your deaf silence

With barbaric spears of buds piercing yer with renewed life

I will return!

 The southern tree

Hey, ya’ll! Check this shit!

I was jist standin’ here by the sod of ‘his her road

An dis nassy smillin ting came at me bro!

Flippin me a nasty finger cut uppin der

Ya see that scar? Loss tree branches in a wind storm

Still stannin.

 The South western tree

Wwwwwwaaaaaaaattttttteeeeerrrrr

Fuck you nestle

 The north western tree

I am paramount to the indigenous people

That…HEY! Cut that…bad choice of words

STOP THAT! HEY! That’s my history! HEY!

YOU! LUMBERJACK!

TIIIIIIMMMMMMMBBBBBBEEEEERRR!

–thud—

The Midwestern tree

So ya see, I get used for maple syrup

Vermont thinks they have the major bunch,

But we’re really number one

Except for Vermont

 The plains states, middle America

Come on baby! Let’s do the TWISTER!

Whoosh! Caught me a trailer home!

OH! And a car! Roll the dice, weather,

Papa needs a new pair of 18 WHEE!-lers.

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NaPoWriMo: Coffee or Tea

Ode to Kawphy

Kawphy Thyme is my Bapa's brain child. It is a truly magical experience when done properly.

Kawphy Thyme is my Bapa’s brain child. It is a truly magical experience when done properly.

The dawn blooms silver-pink, barely lighting my path

I climb the high hillside, filling my lungs with thinning air

With burlap in hand, I carefully select the dark red ripest

They drip from the fruited tree like tiny whiny grapes

I don’t cherish the fruit as much as I covet the seeds

The dawn heats water per the dictator’s striking hand

I am in Kenya, Ethiopia, Costa Rica, Sumatra, Timor, New Guinea.

I am roasting in the sun. I am cool beneath the shade.

I am the Sabbats and Esbats wrapped in the Holy Grail

I am the earth which collects my offspring

I am the water that nourishes my roots

I am the air which determines my wealth of ideas

I am the fire on which my ovaries are brought to life.

I am the spirit wrapped in each element,

Indulged with a noisy slurping morning prayer,

“Ah, nectar of the Gods.”

I am Kawphy, not the coffee you seek.

I am the commune of commiseration

I am the lifeblood of the creators

I am the dreamless sleep of the catatonic believers

I am the dream of the hillside, delivered for a tithe of glazed donuts.

I am to be honored as family, birthed to live among emotions.

I am the power to move the world from my small hillside tree.

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