Tag Archives: poetry

Alchemy of Death

Solemnity spoke

Solemnity spoke

I mailed a package off to the Spirits,

after staring at death with mournful eyes.

Gravely I dug into the hard earth

Return to Sender stamped in neat letters

on the cardboard coffin holding,

protectively, its morbid contents.

I checked to see if perhaps,

maybe,

I was mistaken.

Suppose that the heart still beat,

the breath still attended life,

the soft mewls of a hungry stomach.

I wasn’t wrong.

I wasn’t anything but lost

in the harsh tears following death’s

cool touch.

Dirt reset to conceal my pain,

I wondered how much postage

it would take to have the tiny package

returned to life once again.

Brushed Out

Clumps of dirt, dust, and debris rotted my brains

whenever I tried to speak to passers by

I’d hold my beggar’s cup earnestly pushing

for loose change to fall chiming into the depths

speaking foul breathed words of backwards intent

Clumps of zombie flesh fell from my body

repulsing potential friends, disgusting possible employers

until

I blinked my eyes to dream and you coalesced

pristine

extraordinary

You made strange sense of my chaos, spoke to me

with careful brush strokes through my tangled words

Ever so gently you tugged at my self-loathing,

conditioned my confidence,

curled my toes with affection,

showered me with the truth through your actions

as you loved my pieces back together.

With frightened squalling wails of labor,

forsaking all others

I was born into redemption with your hand embracing mine

the day I agreed with you that I am worthy of love

These Are My People: Jamie Lopez and JuJu

https://www.facebook.com/artistjamielopez/timeline Jamie Lopez is a prolific painter with a distinctive style and color palette. Her innovative exuberance melts happiness into every brush/pen stroke.

https://www.facebook.com/artistjamielopez/timeline
Jamie Lopez is a prolific painter with a distinctive style and color palette. Her innovative exuberance melts happiness into every brush/pen stroke. THIS ONE IS SOLD!

She lives in self-inflicted padded walls

Created with cotton balls,

Elmer’s glue, squished on fun

By her autistic son

She schools him on the finer points of life while

She’s splashing in the shallow end

Of the dating pool

Yelling,

“MARCO!” in the language of JuJu.

The responses are comical if not misplaced

By distorted males riding by on penny pony floaties

They shout “CABBAGE!” or “BOK CHOY!” or “PETUNIA!”

From the deep end where she already dipped her mug

Into the drunken pissy beer and found the taste repugnant.

She rejects the self-proclaimed wise men and gurus

Whom are no more effective than arm-chair quarterbacks.

Instead she paints herself a wisdom

Of spiraling owls and feminine curly tailed girls

That return prosperity in accordance to her schoolgirl happy.

When she looks at her beloved son, she realizes,

She is his Sherlock, he, her Watson.

Where she is prismatic and lively

He is repetitive and monochromatic

But they take out the crayons together one by one

Exploring every color of the world as a dynamic duo

Some days, when she’s a grounded bird and doesn’t want to fly

Juju nurtures her with yesterday’s worms and reminds her to seek the sky.

Moving Day

My arms are full of boxes heavy with my heartfelt memories.

I look at the darkened windows that feel like a medical flat line

The front porch light that once greeted my arrival is turned off.

The driveway where my children created Michelangelo is barren

The study window from which I witnessed the drama of “Oak Tree Living”

Looks nakedly back at me without holding the allure it once did.

I turn my back to face a new adventure brought to me by U-Haul.

With teary resolution and no tag-backs, I whisper to the sunrise,

“Goodbye my lovely haven. Good day my place of rest.

Whomever crosses your threshold, may they be ever blessed.”

These Are My People: The Newlywed Waskey’s, Eva and Rich

A Wedding Poem:

If you’re lucky like the Waskey’s

And I hope that you are

May you know as much love as they do

Which numbers boundless like the stars.

If you’re lucky like the Waskey’s

And I know that it’s true

May you know much joy as they do

Which is as much as every drop of morning dew

If you’re lucky like the Waskey’s

And I hope you are, my dears

May you know laughter as they do

Which will fill centuries of years

If you’re lucky like the Waskey’s

And I write this for posterity

May your life be abundant with adventure

And filled like theirs with prosperity.

3AM

I’m a 3AM kind of friend.
Show up on my phone
with tears staining my ears
and I’ll offer comfort
until your heart is clear.
I hope that you remember,
that I’m a 3AM kind of friend.
When I told you that I love you,
I meant it, end upon end.

Random Notes from my book

As the kids run through the grass, they kick up passels of summer gnats that flutter like dust in the sunlight.

Clarinets lined up like a firing squad splattering shrill notes on the crowd with missing rhythm and imprecise playing. SPLAT! WHACK! ting! Sploot! Trill!

To stretch my aching back, I bent oddly angled and realized by the horrified look of the salesclerk that I must have looked like I was trying to poop my pants.

I am an evil monkey today
I can behave exactly how I wish
I’m proudly wearing my top hat
they ignore my empty dish
I have crashed into the universe
it has politely punched me back
so I’ll sip my bitter coffee drink
while plotting my next attack

“Curse you vile human!” vs. “Have a blessed day!”

Blessed is a bisexual word. It can go either way. The argument is stated whether it be the Pagan or Christian way. Blessed or Bless-ed belongs to both or the other.

If you can’t see your shorts beneath your shirt, go change. That’s not attractive.

New Moon

New Moon

New Moon

Will you come spiral a dance with me

without your shoes or dress

on the naked earth

with a smile and a blush

your only adornment

under the dark of the moon

or the lavender of twilight

gleaming highlights of stars

on the curve of your knees, hips, and breasts

while the lungs of summer exhale

its final breezy breaths

until the wheel has come full circle?

Will you surrender to the rhythm of night

embracing the cicadas and crickets

as the treble notes of the living dark

while the thumping of our feet on the dirt

rustle leaves like the skirts we puddled

at the edge of the clearing

where the last of the season’s fireflies

beg for a mate to relieve their lonely hearts

while we build momentum in the cooling air

wildly sacrificing modesty for our natural state of being.

These Are My People: Carrie Jones

Always!

Love is an active participation one to another.

It is a tribute to those who taught us

who moved our spirits

who shook up our souls like a snowglobe scene

we kept dusty and hidden on a shelf that we don’t remember building

but suddenly are embarrassed to realize was there all along

Love is an active embrace of warm energy

It is an honoring of those who taught us

who helped us realize our worth

who took our broken pieces scattered everywhere

and meticulously hugged each one until we learned

until we believed that we were worth the love they gave.

Love is an active bond between two spirit kin

It is an abiding reminder of those who taught us

who helped us understand what forever means

who took the disappointments and broken promises

and ALWAYS loved us no matter what.

Love is Always.

Always love is the greatest gift I can forward

because it is given to me every day for always.

Lost Sunday

Go away.
He sat in the back seat using his hands as a rosary
praying to holy mother Rosemary his sin not be discovered.
The violation of my air space undetected by his stealth
suddenly had air raid sirens blaring loudly,

“HOW DARE YOU?!” upon my radar screen
while I drove away and prayed the guards were adept.