Nature's sedoka
in everything everywhere,
each season a frame around
its heart— its fingers
through every warm bloom, picking
through every cold cavity—
its face— night or dawn
settling on leafy cheeks;
like rolled dew on grassy beds,
or bulky seeds low;
or rising with the first clouds
that the hot sun disavows.
Even in cities,
where it plays with reflections
on window glass— forests tell
the poet in us
to open our ghostly pane—
to breathe the colors of grain,
our memories in
noon heat or raining's murmur
on skin— or drifting snowflakes
that would not stick; or
in birdsong— like one spirit,
or in the after silence.
Nature's sedoka,
like the green it chose for my
song, intertwines with bright and
dull multi-flecked hues—
a tableau where a shaded
conscience glows without envy.
A therapist skirts the edge of lunacy
like a priest engages sin
An evangelist disavows poverty and fear
like a snake that sheds its skin
Together they paint the corridors black
with a promised light to come
Their patients and converts alone in the dark
salvation zero-sum
(Dreamsleep: March, 2023)
how can someone not know you anymore?
forswearing the very thought
that you existed
a total disclaimer of your name
cease to acknowledge your being
in adjure denial
it’s incredible
when one disavows another
when one discards another
and your heart is torn, scraped
scrubbed out like a chalkboard
junked like something old and worn
you’ve been axed
ditched
quit
you’ve got to wash your hands of this
renounce depression
forgo the little reminders
avoid junk food
refrain from tears
lay aside time to heal
time for you to
relinquish
knowing this,
someone gave up
something of
great worth
6/18/20
'Thesaurus - Abandon or Abandoned' Poetry Contest
Sponsor: A Dear Heart
THE RAVENS
“Amid the jagged shadows of mossy leafless boughs;”
A raven convocation croaks harsh judgement on our sin
No matter exculpation and our deeds it disavows
Their conscience incarnation claws the viscera within
Til confession and contrition bring the soul’s dark night to day
In bright winter morning sun the boughs stand clear and free of shade
Those black crows gather now in jaunty comic antic hay
On the grass our feet may tread freed from the prison that we made
26 November 2019
Writing Challenge 3, November - Any Form
Sponsor, Dear Heart - Wisshkobi Ode
The past is left in mourning,
the future still unknown
The present disavows them both,
not borrowed—never loaned
(Dreamsleep: August, 2019)
Chances and choices to grow
Chances and choices to taste
Chances and choices to blow and throw
Chances and choices to invest or waste
Same chances for Tom and John
Same chances for Mary and Martha
Same chances for June and Jane
Same chances for Betty and Bertha
No rivers of tears to cry
If chances you squander
No matter how much you try
To console your blunder at the sound of thunder
Tearing your overcast sky
Unless in your life you inject order
To jettison the blue lie
Thar denies the hand you play in the disorder
For which by design you crave
To reap the whirlwind you sow
Pretending your paper tiger grows brave
When it self inflicts low
Blows all the while dreaming repeating the same discredited methods
Yields better outcomes
Despite playing new music on dissonant cords
Assuming oversize claims
Fate disavows
Unless you rejig and reconfigure the path
To success which cows
Steps to reengineer your magic lath.
My friends call me gay,
not ha ha funny
My enemies call me *****,
they say I dress
like an androdyous honey
My mama with tough love,
tells me:
I’m living a sinful lifestyle
My daddy growls and disavows:
says I’m his biological son,
but not his spiritual child
Nothing is ha ha funny
about this situation at all
Mixed emotions got me
on a Bunson burn
Beaker of roiling XY chromsomes
and testosterone hormones
Homosexual agony
is tormenting me
Desires I feel for another man;
attraction so strong, so womanly
God said those feelings ain’t natural,
and shouldn’t be inside of me tempting
Not one safe place to breathe
in this heterosexual society
I got man-sized hands
and a feminine weighted heart
But, do you wanna know
the real funny part
I’ll give you a good
Pagliacci laughing head start
My partner likes to dress up
as a man
Likes to wear custom fabric pants
Drapes himself in the dark cloak
of a masculine life
But says he can only be himself
when he’s around me,
and away from his wife
Ha ha ... funny story, don’t you think —
I think not!
Beyond the exclamation point there is a silence In the center of my heart A no fly zone that disavows all things but light And the awesome grace of God