NaPoWriMo 2024 #30

Job Sits with Me in My Grief

I closed the door to my private room and sat

on the cushioned futon with a cup of tea.

When the words came, they were swept along

by a river of salt, solid chunks so large in my eyes

I thought I was bleeding - and being aware

of every heartbeat in my head, in my hands,

in my feet, I was bleeding.

Under a too-bright lightbulb, I told of all my loss.

As the wind rattled the window outside,

he patted me on the back, smiled with red eyes,

and said, "That must be hard."

NaPoWriMo 2024 #29

Self-effacing 

the way of a pilgrim 

- a cloak because only God is home

- a beard because the strain of prayer stretches the limits of the face

- sandals because the most difficult road is the sandy one on the shore of heaven 

- the wind because blowing hair erases the face

The one who is best at prayer cannot be recognized

for it.

NaPoWriMo 2024 #28

Sijo on Prayer

Prayer is answered: Our hands close, God's hands open, what does He give?

He says "Yes," I go my way. Or He says "No," and I do too.

Between these two, beyond them, He answers, "Wait," and there He is found.

NaPoWriMo 2024 #27

Sonnet for a Hospital Visit

That river pulled me from the blue-eyed eddies 

Until I rested in a pool of injured muscles

Looking deep into the woods, hearing deep the voice of birds.

I rowed against the pressing babbles

Back upstream to the fork.

I treaded water in the sun, treading softly, feeling it burn.

Spinning slow I sought a Virgil.

Sacagawea set my mind at ease,

Finger pointing long and strong.

These caverns filled with medicines for life

Were silent as the grave.

I found the bed where my friend lay.

Angel voices sang in the quiet,

Kneeling beside us in joy.

NaPoWriMo 2024 #26

Taking a Walk in the Rain

Crashing sheets shush my son's seething -

teeth briefly cheesing cheeky as he schemes,

then hushed, mind brushed in breathing streams.

NaPoWriMo 2024 #25

 Question-and-Answer

What is your idea of  perfect happiness?

What do you most deplore?

What is overrated?

When do you lie?

What is your idea of perfect?

Who do you hate?

What quality do you want to see in a romantic partner?

Who are your friends in real life?

What is your idea?

What is your name?

How will you die?

What will you regret?

Didn't you see the heartache that would come from those eyes?

Will you die?

Who will remember it?

I'm embarrassed to say.

Can they answer for themselves?

Do you mind a people-pleaser?

Is anyone worse than yourself?

It's something of which I cannot conceive.

Do you ever tell the truth?

White lies.

See above.

I thought I knew once, but I can't seem to remember.

NaPoWriMo 2024 #24

 How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable

seems any intellectual pursuit

when those golden eyes droop in memory,

and even the imagined brush of speckled grey

topples flat the house of cards I've huddled in.

I'm tired. I can't taste. I can't stand. I can't.

I didn't think it would be so hard to say goodbye,

but thought has no place in the eye

of this tall storm.

NaPoWriMo 2024 #23

 To the Flash

Settle down, Barry.

You're allowed to feel your feelings,

even at a thousand miles an hour.

That's what makes it hard to sympathize,

because there's no stillness

in which anyone with you may sit,

because you're gone, saving the world.

NaPoWriMo 2024 #22

 The Fight

The pen is supposed to be mightier,

but the futon mattress rises to challenge.

Click goes the pen

while the mattress chuckles.

It stretches like a cat, unfazed,

and shivers against imagined cold.

The pen stands stiff, a sentinel

against this shrewdly biting air,

its nib is eager, black blood dripping,

but the spirit weakly slumbers,

desperate for imagination promised

by the dreams that may come

upon the greedy bed.

NaPoWriMo 2024 #21

 Orange

You'll expect me to say, "Nothing rhymes with orange,"

which is emphasized in the shadows

cast by orange lightbulbs on this page,

and it fills my tongue with an absence

wanting the juice of an orange - Wouldn't it

be delicious to squeeze an orange into

the orange-brown whiskey in a glass,

to chew the orange pretzels spiced

and salty? Isn't there something elegant

about the orange flame of a candle,

and aren't you glad?

NaPoWriMo 2024 #20

 16 Minutes

That massive man behind his desk

lifted the phone that never rang

now ringing from the wall

and we held our breath without knowing

why, pencils elevated holding

the air between them and the sheets of paper.

He told us to do our work

and we barely do for 16 minutes

when the phone that never rang

rings again and he says, "Both?"

What did we know before?
What do we think now?

NaPoWriMo 2024 #19

Haunted, in sunshine

Storms - full - fail pressure pushing:

Hear crying away.

Hunted in sunshine,

Storms fulfil pressure, pushing

Her crying, "Why? Why?"

NaPoWriMo 2024 #18

Doe of Dawn

Please make my feet as sure as a deer's,

balanced on the cliff so I can look over.

I'd see you and the dawn, and I wouldn't mind

the dew on my fur, chilled by the death of night,

or the fruitless grass to eat - I'd love the frolic,

the dance of the dawn, before it blossomed

and I chewed on its flower, warmed

by expectation.

NaPoWriMo 224 #17

Sleep

I have to think about my own nightmares,

things that keep my heart pounding awake

and keep away rest. Driving on flat roads

between fields of wind I might be stripped

away to dust if these sands won't help me sleep.

NaPoWriMo 2024 #16

Committal

Mud cakes my ankles 

and where my foot crushed the wasted earth

water pools below the headstone,

sox feet above the head and concrete vault.

It's colder below, but the wind and rain above

dog hard into my bones,

and a dozen weary eyes are grateful for the rain,

as though God is weeping, not them.

The roses in icy hands, already dead,

begin to show it, wilting in the spray.

Huddled under the pastor's blessing hand,

our hearts are warm.

NaPoWriMo 2024 #15

The Bureau: An Elision 

authorized

to finance War

with Congress, the

Bureau Depart[s].

The Bureau 

functions and Demand[s],

the Bureau producing government 

The Bureau was.

The Bureau stamps

the contract. The Bureau then embarked on

a century.

The Bureau held

monopoly

when a few 

fell

and ended

NaPoWriMo 2024 #14

You

You said it, putting it into words. I'll hold

You to your promise, that

You won't turn your back on me, even though I turn mine on

You. Because

You agreed to this abuse.

You sweat in agony over the choice

You made, when I couldn't make one. It was 

You who made it all possible, and

You who made it all actual, and

You who made it all mine. So I'll take everything from 

You. I have nothing. But

You are an endless fountain. Since I have whatever belongs to

You, I have the scars

You bear, and I have the voice to thank

You for all those things

You give me.

NaPoWriMo 2024 #13

At the Falls

Where we took that mighty look was past

a longer path over which I read

my book while fields of blood-

root at your door smiled under-

neath a tree so pleased to be

where sand was felt by hands

and sifted and put where roots

swung addled above the babble --

river lullaby to make you shiver --

Finally there soul and body, we drank

our coffee.

NaPoWriMo 2024 #12

 St. John of the Cross - a Hagiographic Tall Tale

St. John of the Cross was born in a desert, and seeing how thirsty the lizards and owls were, he wept for them so they could drink his tears. When his father died he wove tapestries of his mother's hair so she could sleep. In school the poor children couldn't afford shoes, but the desert creatures brought their friend Juan some wood and string and he invented sandals for his friends. For exposing all these dirty feet he was locked in prison with only a candle. From its soot he wrote his poems, using for paper the scales of snakes. He hid his food and refused to eat, and when he had enough he called a wolf who took the food in exchange for escape. He saddled the wolf, tied down with his poems, and they leapt over the wall, over the mountain, over the moon, and now sail always where it is night, and when he sees any sadness he weeps and the wolf cries so that there is a nighttime storm of thunder and rain.

NaPoWriMo 2024 #11

Weeds

I'd like to find where you belong.

Warm Morning Sunshine on My Face

Ah-choo!

Poem on Finishing a Great Book

Return to page 1

NaPoWriMo 2024 #10

 Stray Dog Usurps Bed

There's a stray dog in our bed.

It curled up on my side

when I was late at work.

It stretched & drooled on your pillow

when you were folding laundry & watching TV.

Its muddy paws left stains on the comforter

& its claws tore apart the sheets.

That bed won't keep us

warm. We toss and turn in scraps.

There's nothing in it for us.

Since we have to leave, let's be honest.

That stray dog has driven us out.

Can we go out together?

NaPoWriMo 2024 #06

The Blue

Like lightning striking in the clear blue sky

there's no warning besides

the one already given

so I look at the blue and think

and pray

about my sins

that no one comes

to harm

by what I've done

and will do

but let them look beyond me

and see the blue.

NaPoWriMo 2024 #05

 The Love of the Mother, the Pained, and the Cat

- after Alicia Ostriker

To love,

said the mother,

is to be all things

as n eeded

even when unfelt

for myself.

To love,

said the pained,

is to never have

been

before harm comes

to the beloved.

To love,

said the cat,

is to lie down,

close eyes softly,

purr asleep

and smile.

NaPoWriMo 2024 #04

The Fourth Realm of Life 

"There is a wind-tossed green-grey ocean between earth and sky.

It is a sea on stilts, the world's fourth realm of life.

There are plants and animals of the land, of the water, and of the air--

and there are plants and animals of the canopy of the rain forest."

- Thomas R. Henry, The Strangest Things in the World

As passengers traversing lowly dirt

With eyes that flit to clouds and sky above,

That which we see we may or may not have,

But it is our nature still to flirt

With worlds - so dimly seen - that mean to hurt

Such things as us, who question, "Why?"

To reach above, to fly, or else to die,

We need to sail, led by a guiding star,

Who, in her mercy, helps us travel far:

"There is a wind-tossed green-grey ocean between earth and sky."

The boundary is set against the sea,

And to the firmament for things that fly,

And there is land for things that creep, and die -

But still above our reach we beasts can see

Another place, a gift that's not to be

For us who've fallen low to strife,

To labor, pain, and dust for man and wife:

An island with no boundary but air,

A world chaotic, alien, and fair.

"It is a sea on stilts, the world's fourth realm of life."

In Eden's garden, man could walk with God - 

Communion that we know yet by its loss,

The aching soul's expanse too great to cross.

Now in the dirt below have we been doomed to plod

Until our flesh returns unto the sod,

Our itching eyes a lifeless, bloodshot stare

For what we know not, but that was our share.

Perhaps it's that above, the floating land,

Set safely from the Flood by mighty Hand.

"There are plants and animals of the land, of the water, and of the air."

But any paradise that men can see

Is surely not in truth as it appears:

The land of light becomes the land of fears;

Take not the fruit you find, but rather flee,

The Devil makes of hell what heaven should be.

The thorns and thistles stolen have our rest,

When into wilderness all men were thrust.

What's seen, at best, is nature's anarchy,

not Eden, but another cursed tree,

"and there are plants and animals of the canopy of the rain forest."

NaPoWriMo 2024 #03

A Dangerous Guest

It's clear to me that the music must have tasted sweeter

than air, than honey, than the lips of the concubines as

they melted beneath the glory and the might, the pewter which

poisoned the purple person. The music was madder

than his sin, than the crackling incense, than the heavenly hint

hiding above his head. How else could he have been overruled, but

by that music whose majesty was mightier than his own,

and why else would it make him wish to kill it?

NaPoWriMo 2024 #02

Possession

It's a mystery, but not

one who's joy is in the solving,

rather holding you in my hands,

gazing deeply until you live

in my mind, where you are

encountered by questions you have

told me to ask - not in words,

but by your words. I breathe

a laugh with an ache. I wish

I could have met you, but at least

I have you with me, looking

over my shoulder, and I can

borrow you and purchase you,

you are mine, but also free.

NaPoWriMo 2024 #01

 Brothers in the Underworld

Each night, if we were tired or not,

Our father sent us at an early hour

To bed, my golden brother, I, and bars upon our glass.

My troubled soul was quieted by pipes my brother played,

And daytime was our kingdom for our quests

Of art and glory, riches, fame, and crime.

At nights my father robbed us of our sleep,

Our minds, our time, and I knw him

For what I am: and so I searched

To discover myself, to open the box

on my reality, but every open box

means a death.

NaPoWriMo 2024 #09

Ode to this Walmart-Brand Organic Dried Mango Strip Shaped Vaguely Like South America

My tongue envies my fingertips

- and my nose is rubbing it in -

while my eyes explore your mountains and valleys and forests

of gritty not-sugar

(because there's no sugar added);

but these pious looks will not hold back the conquistador's

salivation. I will devour your golden sweetness,

and not fully satisfied, I'll look for another

world to conquer. Of course,

once they're all gone, I shall weep.

But you were really tasty.

NaPoWriMo #08

 

FLOWERS SO SADLY WATERED

These lips so delicate have nothing

but trust that they will receive nothing

but love. By the time I found you,

that wasn’t enough, so you grew teeth,

and even though I loved you, as hard

as I loved you, so hard I bled

at your bite. We both wept

and drooped, you in fear

that none would ever love you,

and I in sorrow that you couldn’t

see through the stains. 

NaPoWriMo 2024 #07

Wish You Were Here

because then you wouldn’t be there,

and neither would I, but we could

slide down the white and scatter

across the stars, or back

to a golden age, if such a thing

can be pursued; but even if this moment

you packed up your books and jackets

and flew as fast as you could,

the faster you go the longer I’d age,

and I would be all white and blind

by the time you arrived, and you

would bury me in alien soil.