Ozarks are brutally hot
Heated discussions and disappointment.
August is a potential fireball
Backs are sticking to leather car seats.
Animals escaping from the west arrive daily
Grass is dried brown, our earth parched
Cultivation of garden is a pipe dream
This summer is the hottest in a decade
There is a bleakness in these hills
Tomatoes shrivel up on their vines.
A storm of sorts is taking place
Temperatures are rising, people are angry
It is not the right kind of storm
No hope of water, dew is scarce.
Heated discussions and disappointment.
I have discussions in my head
With family, friends not here but dead.
Coworkers or acquaintances
Who said they were but weren't instead.
Not dead and buried, not burned to ash.
It's just that part of life has passed;
Of evening talks through nights that last
Till dawn when gone is our repast.
Not that those true nor I don't care,
But life removed our time to spare
For conversations laying bare
Our hunger for those thoughts to share.
Brief connections on the phone
Of day to day a fragile hold
On inspiration we've been sold
To leave that child out in the cold.
Debates, and Arguments, grand designs
A memory swallowed up by time,
Replaced by fear of a great divide
Too far to bridge and so we hide.
By clicking thumbs up, comments, likes
Our love no longer erudite
We keep our truths in dark of night
Except when lashing out in spite
My friends and family are not dead
The bonds are simply less intense.
So I sit not in diffidence,
And have discussions in my head.
Bad Discussions
(Not a nice poem)
By the pound what a sound,
in morbid delay at death's door.
Cutting off bits and chunks of souls,
too busy to be made whole.
Now withered on the blocks,
slaves to the lochs...
where things beneath the water,
must eat and cheat death,
for a day and a night,
and...
a day.
Sold withered youth,
a new battalion of the young,
under the rule of an order,
that echoes a foreign land.
A disaster of repeat potential,
the death of millions,
a blemish on the necktie;
of our history.
The hanging tree,
will readily accept all that
sign on,
and replace all that will not,
with chance passers-by.
They will be fed.
The rest...
will be dead.
She remembers
The depth of his blue eyes
And how he once told her
Sullen and pensive
That should she precede him
He had it all worked out and
Knew exactly what he would say
Hating such deep discussions
She changed the subject and
Thought nothing more of it
He died first the odds were right
The house so empty now
She recalled how sorting through his things
She had never come across
Any handwritten draft of a eulogy
and she wonders to this day
why he took his last love letter
to his grave
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on December 11, 2018 for contest LAST LETTER TO MY BELOVED sponsored by SILENT ONE - RANKED 2ND
Discussions with a deity
Let’s talk about G-d
Let’s talk about your connection with G-d
Let’s talk about Him/It and
How you converge here in
This public forum
In this place of G-dlyness
Let’s walk in to the holy of holies
And proclaim our worth
And right
Together
Here, holding hands
Let’s talk about kosher
Let’s talk about candles
Let’s talk about when you
Decided you would/wouldn’t
Eat with G-d’s thanks on your food
Prepare the table
Smell the spices
How the wandering and the diaspora
Grabbed your innate senses
And rebelled
Let’s catagorise prayer, practice
And life and judge ourselves
And each other as we walk precariously
On the path of the land
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