Hare trapped in a bubble,
Too pained by the capture;
Yet chews its last supper.
Even joy precedes pains—
stop your stare,
dare to help.
Though I err,
spare some love,
wipe my tear.
You stand with your suitcase like a buoy,
bright, bobbing in the shallows,
and I am the pier—
rooted, barnacled, smelling of old salt and rope.
You tell me you’ll stay
if I keep my hands wrapped round your ankles,
but I know the tide you carry in your ribs.
Even on windless days
it pounds against my palms,
shouting for the open mouth of the horizon.
The gap is a sandbar—
we could walk there together,
let our knees sink into its damp skin,
pretend it will hold us longer than a season.
But I have seen what happens
when the sea grows impatient.
It chews through land like bread,
swallows the footprints before we can name them.
I want to say go after the storm has passed,
when our nets are mended,
when the gulls return to roost in my hair.
But your moon is full now.
It pulls at your water
even when you swear it won’t.
And I—
I cannot anchor you
without learning how to drown.
CANINE KING
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was a dachshund extraordinaire,
a canine king with a luxurious coat most fair.
He ruled our neighborhood with nary a care,
his tail wagging wildly, his ears flapping in the air.
His little legs moved swiftly,
patrolling the streets quite deftly.
He sniffed and snuffled with a curious mind,
chasing the squirrels with harmless malign.
He barked at strangers with a fearless din,
growling and showing his teeth like a sharp mandolin.
He ruled the streets with an iron paw,
protecting and serving with his loving, doxie law.
He licked the faces of those he knew,
reigning gently while enjoying his doggie chews.
He was a master of mischief with his charming ways,
nudging with his nose, his way of begging you to stay.
His barks were music to my ears, his wags a delight,
dancing and prancing with a carefree spirit, light.
He was a dachshund extraordinaire,
a neighborhood hero and loving arbiter.
In a dandelion clump sits a dirty dog
his muddy paws could rival that of a hog
what he chews will remain forever a mystery
for he swallowed it before I got a chance to see
There is a need for quietness today,
I listen to my neighbor's toilet flush,
it takes a long time for the sound
to drain away and refill,
I hold seconds inside my mind
between that rise and fall.
There is space for listening,
the trash compactor chews on
when switched off.
I hear conversations
filtering through the air conditioner,
words both distinct and garbled.
Yesterdays hurried meal
speaks still, moments explore
newly opened pocket.
This is not silence
sound moves upon carpet slippers,
yet steps are heightened
by being audible
in a lower registry of depth.
It is I who creates this lengthening,
this processional unwinding of
of unremarkable moments,
a distance between
and marked by blank labels -
every note,
an eavesdropping deliverance.
Streetlight dander. Jawbone asphalt.
Blink razors carve her iris script.
Rib stars ovulate in feral grates,
mechanical tongue juts a bloodline breath.
Keystroke ruin writes in collapse,
a waveform lodged in sternum glass.
Lipsticked rodeo—a gash in faded denim
Banana-knuckled hands torch filterless ghosts.
Tree-call through copper root systems.
Wire-pluck storm,
vapor chews the stock market
Cancer caught in molar hush,
brined in citrine static.
She opens her throat like a coin purse.
Spine bows in semaphore.
We dismount the edge—
An incisor cusp,
the confession still blistering
beneath the flesh of no language.
It’s one in the morning.
I zoomed into Lisa’s room
and threw myself on the bed where she lay reading
in a near virtuoso, Fosbury flop.
She bounced, jostled by my mechanical bed wave.
“I hate goodbyes,” I said, indignantly.
“You’re not strong on hellos” she said, not looking up.
“They’re so bone-marrow deep,” I went on, “they steal hope away.”
“Did that sound pretentious?” I asked her silence, a minute later, somewhat self-consciously.
Lisa took the yellow, #2-pencil out of her mouth—just long enough to answer.
When she studies, she chews on them, seemingly eating them like french fries.
“Yeah,” she says, “but I get cha.”
“I know,” I said, smiling at the ceiling, because in a rooted and real way, she always has.
I’d be a different person if we’d never met.
I feel very grateful for that.
“Your boy’s flown?” She asked, using her pencil to hold her page and finally looking up.
It was an ironic, near-rhetorical question, she knows he’s gone and she knows I know she knows he’s gone.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
.
.
Songs for this:
4am by girl in red
Don't Stop The Music by Rihanna
blushing! by BETWEEN FRIENDS
My Garden Colonised
In spring, I worked so very hard
To make a garden of my yard
I planted seedlings, but alas
A hoard of pests arrived en masse
From all the pests a plant can host
I really hate the greenfly most
I wash him off with soapy suds
And still the blighter chews my buds
Then there’s our friend, the sneaky snail
Who leaves behind a silver trail
To show the world where he has been
But leaves no seedling to be seen
Then yesterday as I peruse
Behind the dust bin, out of use,
a nest of ants had made their home
And how those fellows love to roam
While leaning on my spade I thought
How all my work had come to nought
Should I just slab the whole damn thing
But then….
I’d miss the dawn of spring.
The moon, a charcoal smudge, hangs low and dim,
while stars, like pinpricks, pierce the black night.
Clicking crickets creates a raucous hymn,
and katydids whir on new wings to take flight.
A yellow bulb's honeyed glow makes a homey sheen
until a timer flicks a switch turning off the light
and letting darkness rush into the tranquil scene,
making baby goats bleat from fright.
In the corner lays a lumpy carpet of fur
made by mamma goats cuddling nice and tight;
making the entire goat herd an entangled blur
of white rumps and necks entwined in the night.
Except for little Gideon, who stands in the barn door;
a castrated pygmy goat turned into a withered grazer,
stares at the house below without a snort or a snore,
as he chews his cud, thinking about some tormentor.
Why else stand guard?
Gifted.
A round clay grey chalice
just outside the kitchen door
filled to the brim
with dark brown nurture,
frothy feather greens trimmed.
She eats the fresh smells
with all her secret senses...
Even her ears hear subtle
strong notes as she chews the cud
breaking down her defenses.
Handed some leaves in a bag-
not big enough to contain
her gratitude and pleasure...
buries her face in notions
of growing her own treasures.
Coriander, sweet basil, dill-
lungs balloon with pungent perfume
caught, breath held until
heart gasps, thankful-exhumes
breath of life with CO2, awake
to symbiosis give and take.
Thank You, from the abyss of my heart...
It is a Pleasure to return!
Aqua Marine: 09/12/2024
Acts 20:35
Acts 17:28
James1:17
Ephesians 5:1
Proverbs 12:25
1 Thessalonians 2: 8
Afterthought...
The sandwich...
Red, white, green...
Tomatoe bright red
Sweet basil next green strong
Mozzarella cheese.
Mama Mia!
Do you know what to do
Can you stay true
When your life’s falling apart
And yet I try to open my heart
Wishes are fading
I always seem to be waiting
And even after ranting
Do I know what to do?
Does this answer your question,
Because every time someone seems to mention,
Legends always seem to make a mark,
But last time I checked I didn’t have to share that spark
You talk to my friends
You come without ends
And when its said and done
I guess I want to be number one
Because when they ask this question
I start to feel tension
But when I look around
Everyone else is also on the ground
Do you know what to do
When your feet are stuck in glue
Because there’s someone inside that chews and then spews and then skews,
Until you finally get that clue
That you’ve become quite blue
I got pried,
And then I just cried,
Cause when you’re stuck in the middle,
You just start to shrivel
I suddenly start to swivel
As you suddenly start to drizzle
Into the cracks of my life
Where there’s about to be a whole lot of strife
But now I have to be true,
And simply admit to you
That I just don’t know what to do
The stiff neck from counterfeit blues…
I read about that in the news.
A guy from Sao Paulo
said he too can’t swallow,
but feels pretty good when he chews.
----------
Response to John Read's Deflated
Wow them!
Little sparrow
Leaves twitter alone
Morning does not end
Until the tweets are done.
The pigeon
Does not use a billboard
To say
I do not hoard.
The loyal dog
Wags the tail
As he runs to meet
His master without fail.
Cute Monkey steals
The banana
And playful antics
Our dear heart
The lazy python
Does not program
Patience shows
As it waits for the chow.
The alert rabbit
Knows no bad habit
Other than making us
Share HIS produce.
The little chicken
Grieves for
Missing family
Just like humans do.
Wonderful Cow
Chews the chow
We bathe HIM in milk
And HIS beauty glows.
Watch Mother duck
Walk little ones in tow
Does not pride in
Her face glow?
Bumble bee
Could not fly
Say the scientists
Flies he, anyway.
Tiny ant
Works all day
Showing us
Hard work is the only way.
Animals and more show
So much love
We should
Protect them now.
sore throat medicine
eye glasses
left shoe
potted plant
a six-foot tree branch
pieces from someone else’s porch
walnut
stuffing from an Amazon box
things brought into the house
through the doggie door
by our new puppy
who ignores expensive dog chews
preferring to find his own entertainment
puppy fights the broom when I get it out
I try to scoot him but he weighs sixty-five pounds
He does not budge
sits down on the pile I was trying to get up
chews on my plastic dustpan
rolls onto his back, smashing the mess into the rug
prevents me from cleaning up his messes every day
a dance I do not attempt often
for I always lose
Puppy won.
Me zero
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