but listening instead
It is in giving a fistful of wild lilacs
to a crestfallen stranger
and not needing anyone
to give you anything
today
It is in the seamless art
of living quietly,
considering clouds,
like A. E Houseman,
and not lugging boulders
or heavier opinions
when the earth is already
too heavy
The yellowtail butterflies do it
everyday
It is in not needing readers,
recognition, or praise,
when you love yourself
and trust the wind to sway
your hammock of gentle
existence
back and forth,
back and forth
The albino deer drew
admirers
He never asked for them
Tiptoe the finest, fine twine, needle-eyed thread
and a glitzy sequined clasp, tiny
tweezer-tie it finger-tip fast with a nuanced knot -
my, my, the pedantic perfection of the master jeweller.
I have the servile subtlety of thick thumbs,
all clumbsy carpals, my fudging finesse
better suited to a beanie'd stevedore, loud lugging
heavy-haired harbour rope to ship-secure
a brutish lump in the line.
Tongue tied up, spun on my own silver yarn
like a crystal jeweller, giddy with champagne giggles,
dizzy on a spinning chandelier high strung from the pressed ceiling.
Oh non, pas moi! Mine is more an oiled elegance,
heavy handed, ham-fisted like a scabby wharf rat,
chased and unchaste.
Dextrous in the strangest ways -
gutsy and glamourous,
ours is a nuanced life of grunting grime
with the briefest flashes of bedazzled dance.
scott e mcpherson yesterday
into a tavern sought a fray
lugging a big log
picked up in a bog
instead met he bonnie macray.
my first summer of retirement
would I bemoan not going back to school?
I sat outside, smelling my fragrant flowers
watched my dogs trot along the fence line
so casual, on a lovely balmy Kansas day
then it got too hot, I had to water everything
my tomatoes, tulips, zinnias, geraniums too
every day, lugging heavy hoses around.
summer became work, I got tired of it
had to have naps
the heat did not completely ruin things for me
school started without me for the first time in
thirty years, and I not only survived
I thrived, loving it.
Through troubled times I traveled far,
lugging life with lanced dreams’ deep scar.
Twilight tinged the mountain mystique,
I couldn’t climb the attainment peak,
failed life faded like shooting star.
Adversity passed down the line
Like drinks at the bar
We all carry common trauma
Healing from the same scars
Lugging comparable baggage
Distorting our point of view
Hard to change the narrative
So stuck with what we knew
Uncertainty a staple surrounding us
Jumbled up family histories
Longing for connection
As trying to solve life's mysteries
Creating a culture of kinship
Forcefully building bonds
Speaking the language of loyalty
Is how we correspond
Shared sense of allegiance
Willingness to sacrifice was steadfast
Unwavering ability to show up
Developing roots that will everlast
May have gotten missed in the past
But nobody left behind this time around
No longer alone anymore
As now being seen after finally be found
fun night for a glorious meet. Is it a secret? No. It's trick-or-treat!
squirrel and rabbit ran the first heat.
badger and mouse were the first in the seat.
this is a Halloween night that cannot be beat!
said a rabbit who came to the door lugging a sweet
dressed as a ghost in a tidy white sheet
Mama Kangaroo has raised a snowflake boy.
Get out of the pouch she says; and he says “oy?”
You are old enough now to go off on your own.
He does not leave his nest, tucking in with his phone.
Cut off his minutes, the other mamas sternly say.
But he is her only living baby, and she likes things his way.
Maybe just one more year, she says with hope, a bit daff.
Behind her back, they discuss her reluctance and laugh.
She ends up holding Junior until he is way too big.
He falls out of the pouch daily, and he’s big as a pig.
The other mothers have had six more babies now.
But she is still lugging junior around and he is a sloth cow.
He is lugging a heavy suitcase up a steep hill.
The suitcase is old, the kind that doesn't have wheels.
If he puts it down for a moment,
it slides downhill slipping on thin ice.
At the top of the hill is a town.
It is an old town, a town without wheels,
nothing rolls in and out of that town.
At last
the suitcase stays where it is dropped,
he watches the luggage as he slides backward.
He wonders if, downhill somewhere,
there’s a hotel?
The reception staff will be suspicious;
he has no luggage.
In a distant city
a frail old lady
purchases his suitcase from a thrift shop –
it is empty.
A wonderous day, we're
Busy little bees buzzing,
Circling round
Dandelions, daisies, and
Early meadow rue, wild-
Flowers with open arms.
Gems, open blossoms,
Harmony of colors.
Incredible, arousing
Juices of fragrance
Keeping us busy
Lugging it all back to
Mommy in the beehive.
Nice that the wildflowers are an
Open diner,
Pollen for the asking.
Quick and easy, we can sit and
Rest on their open blooms and here
Summer right
Through
Until early autumn.
Veering in an out
Wings and body's
Xenogamy of
Yellow pollen traveling along a
Zigzagging path
6/3/2022
'Bee Creative' Contest Info
Sponsor Matt Caliri
xenogamy
[z?'näg?me]
NOUN
botany
fertilization of a flower by pollen from a flower on a genetically different plant. Compare with geitonogamy.
Expectant parents line baby’s nursery with a giant foul garbage bin.
Others come to celebrate – lugging grime and mold, a huge baby win.
Boy or girl, it matters not, even during a nuclear war, cockroaches survive.
The excited expectant grandparents give each other a clicking high-five.
Old stained mattress
in a ditch looking forlorn
cast aside without a second thought
Old stained mattress
blown off a truck by a strong wind
or placed here by two men lugging?
Old stained mattress
shabby and streaked
I pass her daily
Wondering if she has feelings
Making up stories about her
Thinking about her first day off the showroom floor
Poor old stained mattress
Poor poor old stained mattress
She makes me feel badly.
Christmas
Halloween
4th of July
Three big holidays
Full of vivid memories
All big holidays come with
Enormously incredulous hype
Each remembered fondly
Years later as much better than they were
Insecure moms determined to make this year’s
Holiday meal, decor, costumes and presents
The best one ever, lugging in junk to
Make it the best one yet, wearing themselves
out, to win the best ever yet contest
Sad in the end when they realize once again
Things went terribly wrong, because someone
Tried way too hard, and we are not living in
Hallmark movies.
Real people in crabby moods, smothered by anxiety,
overwhelmed yearly by perpetual disappointment and rage.
What will be will be
It was raining all day he sat morosely
on the balcony, today he sits on the terrace
and is still pessimistic despite sunny weather.
He wants to go back to his cottage in Algarve
to soak up the atmosphere of what once was
say hello to the trees, birds and bees and
things that annoyed him like dog crap outside
his front door and the holes in the road
lugging firewood, sleep under three duvet and
on top of two mattresses, he is not a princess
hear dogs barking in the night and feel safe.
Last time he was home had forgotten the keys
had to break a window inside the yard to get in,
despite this, he had slept well to the choir
of howling dogs, with a belly full of wine and bacalao.
From silt of dead calendars,
I dug out carcass of my first kiss.
Lugging it, I'm on my last mile.
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