Captive no more
Out the incubator
Bottle fed at last
Vein, puncture free
Sunrise on me
Warmed by Mom
Skin to skin, silky
On wings of joy
The new world
Strange; novel
A book to read
One day at a time
Of cosmic origin
Energy repacked
In this universe
To grow mature
The grandkids are heading to sleepaway camp,
Their clothing all labeled and packed,
Plus all of the extras they may or not need -
Way too much, as a matter of fact.
They bring pillows and blankets and flashlights and fans
And shin guards and sandals and cleats
And towels and bug spray and sunscreen and stamps
And shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste and sheets.
They need rain gear and sleeping bags, books and canteens,
A laundry bag, backpack and socks,
Plus sweatshirts and jackets and underwear (lots!)
And their sneakers and rain boots and Crocs.
Of course there are bathing suits, t-shirts and shorts
And sweatpants and PJ’s and fleece,
But there are no iPads or Switches or phones
So some wonders, I guess, never cease.
The days spent at camp will fly quickly until
All that stuff gets repacked to go home,
With some missing or ruined or filthy, but that
Is a topic for some future poem.
There it was, just tossed aside.
The old suitcase
No more wanted or needed.
But left.
In the dust and dirt
On the attic floor.
Remaining unopened for
Many years.
It held the memories,
of years gone by.
Lost loves,
Trips long taken,
Some good,
Some bad.
Trips taken,
Business or pleasure.
Car or train,
Bus or plane.
The old suitcase,
Waiting to be packed
And repacked.
Just waiting.
One mile or a million miles,
Always the same.
Always waiting.
People pass on,
Time slips away,
Things Like the old suitcase
Get tossed aside only to remain unopened.
September floats down from the trees in leaves
Piling up her yellows, reds, and browns
Squirrels scamper around the trunks of the oaks
Chasing each other, readying their winter antics
September brings cooler evenings, giving us hope
Sweaters and jackets are ordered, plaids are popular
School is starting; college freshman are away from home
There is eager anticipation and delight in the air
September readies us for football games and bonfires.
State fairs are over, carnivals are repacked up.
Pumpkins and cinnamon parade around in decorative fashion.
October is not yet here but there are whispers.
I am the mockingbird
darkened gray and black
singing out a melody,
rhythms found and repacked.
Everybody has heard me sing
once or maybe twice
familiar melodies on the wing
sweet and nice.
Look for me in shadowed trees
listen to me sing
amidst the birds and bees
the continual flow of notes I bring.
.
Here I come again
flitting then stationary perched
loud and bold prayers of when
I found God's presence in nature's church.
Edward Ibeh Personification contest 7/18/19
Carly Simon and James Taylor "Mockingbird"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4WM_R-6AKHE
Why wake when first takes fade to night
Why wake when days evade your plight
Don’t ask to rule when thrones you lost apply,
To things you wish, keenly brewing bright
Don’t say you know
when the sun’s last chance arrives
Arrange your passions however you wish
And twist your eyes when they bewitch
Don’t ask of men to fashion a new breed
…the thought, of course, relies on me
Don’t look again
as I slip and slip
In fact your rangy words subscribe
to bottled pride repacked and retooled inside
To every hint of light this way derived
the prospect of insightful sparks you blight
Don’t send me a word
if my memories from your words may die
Don’t sign a cloud with brownish words of clay
A cloud is seen worldly through light and rays
Your words for clouds could thus retain
a will to cast all light aside and rain
Don’t cry for two
when clouds rephrase your words and fade
Don’t tell the truth
that saintly words of love unsaid remain
TOOTHBRUSH
TOOTHBRUSH
Bristles from a chewing stick in several smart Chinese.
One end was used to swipe and wipe the other was a sword or pick to get at
meat in between the teeth. Not until the World War Two was every mother's son a
victum of the brushing made to make a very victum blush so pink.
Brushing was never fun to me but they eye liked to use the brush on tongue
usually so wrong and coated with the many meals used that day.
A man can still pull a stick apart and make a brush of sorts if he is made to want
to clean them up. Or eye suppose he could use the packages given at the better
missions to all the hobo men. The used brush is sort of useless to a man
unless he can rinse it out not in the wild too many miles is lost in useless
cleaning of my parts a toothbrush gets repacked with toothpaste on and seldom
gets used again in mouth so strong ignored by men the food found can be eaten
in a can with brushless teeth on.
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