The babysitter across the hallway
lit a candle during the blackout.
Soft music played in the apartment
I checked on their place
to see the toddler asleep on the couch,
the parents away on a date.
A soft glow shared.
We left our doors open
to keep an eye on each other.
Dusk swept over a line, apartments
at the edge of town. We were left
to the resonance of our silence.
A line of residences
along the street rested
on a Sunday night.
Just beyond a line of trees
a creek took in what the rain had left.
Stars to the west hid somewhere beyond.
Outside my window, lightening flashes;
Thunder rattles the glass in the window pain;
Dark clouds have turned the day to night
In anticipation of the coming rain.
I kick off my slippers; roll up my pants legs;
Dancing in the rain is my only goal.
Uptight neighbors watch me with disgust
As the rain now cleanses my soul.
Their prying eyes worry me not
I shed all my clothes showing everything that I’ve got.
Let their shrinks come and take me away.
When the sun returns drying me and my world
The soul cleansing comes to an end
I go back inside with nothing to hide
Waiting for it to rain once again.
Two houses sit side by side on a quiet residential street.
In one, lives a man with an unlatched gate,
always ready to pause his lawnmower
to ask how your mother is doing,
offering a spare hand when it appears one is needed,
or leaving a basket of fresh tomatoes and cucumbers on the porch step
just because the harvest was good.
In the other lives a shade-peeker, a shadow behind pulled blinds,
who measures his property line down to the inch,
grumbling heavily under his breath when an autumn leaf crosses the boundary,
starting his car engine, revving with an intentional roar,
building a higher fence
out of a quiet, lingering spite.
For years, the coldness attempts to stake its claim,
trying to choke out the light with petty grievances
and silent, harsh glances.
Yet bitterness only locks a person inside their own small fortress,
leaving them alone with the echoes of their own noise,
and barring the door from the inside.
When the real storms roll through,
it isn't the tall fence or the sharp words that hold fast.
The stubborn, simple kindness wins out every time,
outlasting the cold
and leaving a light on in the dark.
thick yellow-gray smoke
hazy orange skies, red-tinged sun…
tariff rain forecast
490.
Prayer For Neighbors
Oh Father God, we pray for all neighbors
That they may not bring disgusting behaviors
Oh Lord Jesus, we pray for every neighbor
That they do not go against our good labor
Oh Holy Spirit, we pray for people we live by
That their goodness & graces they don't deny
This we pray to our One True God. Amen.
-12/25/2015
(Dumarao)
*Prayer Poems for Christmas
music pollution
neighbors outside party
my dogs are howling now
natural protestors minus signs
My building has ten stories,
Sixteen homes on every floor,
And most of them have strangers
Who reside behind each door.
My ninth floor neighbors smile and we
May chat while waiting for
An elevator to arrive;
We have a nice rapport.
Yet I have no true friendships
Where I live, but on that score,
That’s very common in New York,
Both for the rich and poor.
Some tenants have their little quirks
I try hard to ignore,
Though nothing really serious
I haven’t seen before.
My upstairs neighbors may exceed
What tolerance I store
Within my hands-off self
And make me just a little sore.
For noises that I can’t explain
And hammering galore
Disturb the peace I once enjoyed
And don’t have anymore.
Of course, it’s New York City,
Which has clamor at its core,
But I wish my upstairs neighbors
Lived on any other floor.
The tall and crippled old man,
lived in a mysterious old house.
Many said the two went together,
like pasta and tomato sauce.
He left his mysterious home by car,
and only in the early mornings.
What is his name ~ where did he come from?
The mysterious house held secrets.
happy roller- skating trio skated up and down the street
never wanting to use the sidewalk, too many cracks to beat
every car on the block was aware and watched out for them
This was in 1965 when every neighbor was a knowing friend.
A pink playhouse stood in the yard
but there were no children
as I looked out the upstairs window.
The woman about fifty walked around
and talked on her cell phone.
Her yard was well-kept and one afternoon
a man was mowing it. He did not live there.
She stood in back of her garage one morning
and did not wave as I walked to my car.
A housemate said she was mean.
I couldn’t say.
All I knew was that she kept a fence.
A story longed to fill in the gaps
of what I didn’t know. It begged
to be told.
I had moved into my loft a year ago
after suffering losses to write a new chapter
in my life. Every morning, I looked out
with new eyes to look at the sun
as it peeked over a crown of trees.
I talked with a neighbor across the alley
on Thursday mornings when we took out the garbage
or on the days he hand-washed his vintage cars.
A labor of love, he said.
Every quiet morning the block held dear
our private lives.
I keep my alicorn hidden from prying eyes
she only leaves the yard when there are darkened skies
my neighbors to the east are prejudiced against magical beings
intolerant of differences, five unlikable human beings
I think my neighbors to the west can handle mystical creatures.
They have lovely parties with outside movies, double features.
if the neighbors to the east move away, my alicorn will be free to frolic at will
every day I pray they will leave, but I’m afraid they are there still.
When home becomes a ring
And rivalry serves as supper
With the winner becoming lord
By a blow below the belt
Leave to live
When the bed becomes a field
Hosting rival players
And a goal is instant defeat
When respect is flushed down the toilet
And love is on life support
Leave to live
When 'Good Morning' is a burden
And going home becomes an aversion
And eating together seems like chewing dust
When the home becomes a kiln in the winter
When the sound of rainfall brings tears
The appearance of the rainbow foments frozen fears
Leave to live
When the pillow becomes drenched daily
And work a welcome remedy
When the eyes are open yet not seeing
And neighbors sit out expecting a spectacle
When the days are long, the nights empty
And sleeping becomes a nightmare
When prayers cease and help a distant dot
Leave to live.
Laughter of children and the dull clatter of small feet on aged wood. The congestion of men's voices with talk of crops, rain, and "remembering when". The faintly drowned-out sound of a stray hand unafraid to tickle long unused ivory. There, the aroma of well-planned dishes lay in wait to ambush and overwhelm the senses of those who will partake. The pride of a husband as his wife is washed in praise for her contribution. A communion of kind souls, the fellowship of close neighbors and friends. A vision carried on from a not-so-distant past. Where one could marvel at the magic of a fond smile and find comfort in a firm handshake that wordlessly informs, "you are a welcome sight".
VERILY I PRAY TO JESUS YAHWEH INCLUDING ALLAH ITS BEEN TWO YEARS NOW WHEN BIDEN AND ALL THE HORRORS SEVERE THREATS DURING COVID OUR LIVES IN SHAMBLES AN YET DOMESTIC TERRORISTS RIPPED OUR FLAGS MORBIDLY BREAKING INTO OUR HOME WE HAVE SPENT OVER 3000 IN NEW LOCKS LOCK SMITHS SECURITY CAMS THE JAN 6TH NEIGHBORS BUST THEM OUT IN THE DEAD OF THE NIGHT THEY CRAWL OVER FENCES PUT KEYSNIN THE DOORSBTO MAKE QUICKSET KEYS TO ENTER OUR HOME CIRCLINGBOUT APPOINTMENTS ON OUR CALENDAR SO THEY KNOW WHEN TO STROKE TAMPERING WITH MY VIETNAM VETERANS MEDALS OUR MORTAGE BANK INFORMANTION MEDICAL INFORMATION I SUFFER I SUFFER MENTAL ILLNESS PTSD TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY MY HUSBAND AS WELL REACHING FIR MY BIBLE IT'S NOT RIPPED OR FOLDED THESE TERRORISTS ARE BOLDLY MERGING WITH THE SAME DOMESTIC TERRORISTS BITTER OVER MY AMERICAN POETRY MY GOD ITS DEVASTATING THESE ARE INSURGENTS BULLIES COMMITING HOME INVASION EXTORTING OUR PEACE HERE IN AMERICA GOD BLESS AMERICA
Kelly cannot get along with her new neighbors
Their tree limbs fall on her fence
They say they want to poison mice
They park their car too close to her property
They plant flowers she does not like to smell
None of the other neighbors like them either, Kelly says.
She sounds like a thirteen-year-old when she says this.
The other neighbors are all on my side.
Make that a ten-year-old.
What do you think? She asks me.
I think you are giving them way too much attention, I say.
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