Strange oddities, hoodoos
they stand, stoic and timeless
stranded in red rock country
their solemn, stony faces
staring intently towards the
southwestern horizon.
I pause…
and witness their mighty stance
resolute and silent
an ancient tribal assembly
gathered and grounded
like mighty warriors of old.
Now, feeling claustrophobic
the hoodoos surround me
a stone henge courtroom
judge and jury
granite gravels at the ready
to strike judgment.
My path darkens with the fading light
I “will” my feet to carry me away
to escape the impending doom
it wants to chase me down
inside the lengthening shadows.
Hidden by nightfall
I distance myself from
the curse of the hoodoos
and their rock hard grip
and hope for a hoodoo redo
come the morning light.
To Rewind or Pause Life
Most people are confused as to which one
Others may want to try it out just for fun
If there's any pain involved either one could hurt
Correcting any mistakes that we want to revert
Who in there right mind wouldn't want to rewind the good times
To meditate on the good things and taking stress off our minds
The pause button would be good for making a decision
The world can be an audience with your life on television
By pressing rewind we would all get a do over
Giving our drunken minds a chance to think sober
Both of these words can't win because its an equal fight
That's why we don't have the option to Pause or Rewind life
Reluctant Rogue Redo?
By Mark Stucky
If Jonah, reluctant rogue of a prophet,
had desired to visit Ninevah,
instead of fleeing the other direction,
how different would his story have been?
More succinct but less interesting?
No stormy maritime mishap?
No hard-to-swallow fish story?
No prayer in the belly of the beast?
Just marching through streets,
preaching his pithy prediction?
Would Ninevah still have repented?
Or did the whale-of-a-tale
add conviction to his message?
Jonah was not unlike me,
a spiritual rogue of today,
refusing to answer my call,
enduring intolerable storms,
crying in the belly of my beast.
Like Jonah, reversing direction,
might I yet find my path
and emerge from the depths?
(First published in Poetica Magazine, 3 March 2022. See also my poem “Whale Wayfarers,” telling two cautionary whale tales about hazardous opposite extremes in following one’s “calling.”)
(Image by anonymous on Pixabay.com.)
A fisherman hooked him a croc
inside it was a ticking clock
The fisherman took out a jar
of Peter Pan,* said - 'Here you are'
The croc did thank the fisherman
as they sailed the sea to 'Never-Land'
________________________________
*Peanut Butter, of course...
Limited to one change in my past.
Tricky idea
There are so many mistakes I would like to correct.
Wait! Here is the one that started me on my life of crime.
The day I yelled NO in a mean, loud way to my teacher.
And she made me sit in the alcove for an hour wearing a dunce cap
So all the kids could make fun of me.
1958. Chariton, Iowa, Columbus School.
I would go back and bomb that school
So no one would laugh at me.
No. wait. Maybe I would go back and just try my damnest not to yell no
to my first grade teacher.
I doubt if that would work though, because I remember trying not to do it.
Wait!
I would go back to November 22nd, 1963
Columbus School , when I came back from lunch at home
And some big kid yelled from the top floor
“Hey, the President was shot!”
and I yelled back “The president of what?”
I would like a redo of that moment.
Then I would feel smarter somehow.
clean slate snow screen shaken not stirred
When I was young I cleaned my socks
One got knocked off while making merry
One got lost at the Happy laundry or mat
Somewhere between the bleach and spin recycling
It went missing between innocence and drying
Stop is not a word most understood by laundry aficionados
Like good old souls that get tossed and turned to slow
Rolled up in a ball, socked away with all lost socks
Life is not worth living without clean socks
I'll settle for a pair of dirty
Feet need a match for immortality
I grow old and withered with one contraceptive on
A device, a worn out unholy sock full of holes
Not unlike a donut without a nose
As is my story once it is told
Making many children makes me bitter
Sometimes I get my socks knocked off
But they return to me no matter what
It does not matter much to me
What is one more mouth to feed
One more sock or soul to mend
Feet need security
Or they will be darned forever
Return to me my virginity, my sanity
Lost socks, lost innocence are all the same
Where do they go when they go missing?
Sock heaven or maternity leave?
Socks give me little pleasure
Laundromats give me less
If I could go back,
and knew what I know,
I’d change a few things,
and shake up the flow.
I might go to class,
be where I should be,
Say and wear what I wish,
And only be me.
Ignore the ignorant,
hold dearest friends close,
Respect authority,
never stick up my nose.
Have love and compassion,
a watchful mind,
Keep ears wide open,
and always be kind.
Harbor a strong heart,
let others be shared,
Make sure I remind them,
that I always cared.
So, if I could go back,
and knew what I know,
I might change a few things,
and see where it goes.
Don't speak--- just read.
Take captive the thoughts
you ought to heed.
Imagine them
d
r
o
p
p
i
n
g
from your mind.
Take them back---
Press rewind.
Oops, how do you undo?
Next time better think it through.
Forgive, forget.
Never regret.
Just hit reset.
Now, start anew,
and redo you.
Roman warrior, helm of gold
Skin of alabaster, spirit bold
Warrior eyes, as green as Fae
Fighting through battle to live another day.
Sunset hair, trailing Apollo's ride
Curved words, with her tongue she can slice
Healing hands, with each step she brings life
So I was in your mind today,
Then you all day stayed in mine
And nothing in there did dismay
My dream to make you once again
My beloved valentine.
I
smell
summer
in the air
humidity fumes
reflecting off dusty windows.
Thanks Sharon for pointing out lines 1/2 in a fibonacci are both only
one syllable. Doesn't read as dramatic but it works ... smile ...
************ for Brian Strand's contest ******************
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