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.
She was a vampire; we hung together for a while.
Not a drop of my blood dripped from her lips,
and yet, gradually my soul,
(that wise infant who has taken up
temporary residences in the hovel of my ego),
was sucked like a hapless Mayfly
under her brooding wings.
Little by little
she drained my youthful spirit away
with her 'pity me' hungers,
(a vicious need to bring everyone down
to her own level of misery).
Until
exhausted by her constant tales of woe
I drove a silver lining deep into her heart.
O how she screamed, as a ray of sunny daylight
shattered her sulky sucky-ness.
I left her there
dangling from those manipulative spiderwebs
of her self-loathing,
and fled
with my soulful man-child still intact.
In the old city of St. John's,
in the older neighborhoods,
there are haunted houses...
residences with revenants...
apartments with apparitions...
even schools with spectres;
and there is one edifice with an eidolon
that I know well:
a softhearted shadow
very benevolent,
not at all maleficent.
It is supposedly the ghost of a child
who passed many years before;
a tale from days of yore
not well-known in local folklore.
This ghost is known to close
latches, doors and windows,
as if the occupants are being told
"Please keep out the damp and cold!" -
a phenomenon inexplicable
by a force completely invisible.
Some years ago, I observed this first-hand
and I'm sure I did not fully understand,
but I quickly deduced that it would be most
polite to say "Thank you" to the ghost -
a sudden burst of intuition
to please and placate this amiable apparition!
noon dandelions
all awash in seas of gold
spring has lately sprung
butterflies and bees
in beauty's residences
happy-go-lucky
joyful greenery
the songbirds are back in town
calico cat naps
Written on 4/20/2021
Spring Haiku Chain Poetry Contest
Sponsor: M. L. Kiser
Born of Spiritual Spasm
We can travel mindfully as with source light,
We can project our sullen spirits outward,
To a timeless harbinger, born of spiritual spasm,
Left invisibly on the shiny star of suburban Formica,
And now we are flying through the pull of the maelstrom,
Traversing cosmically toward a bristling bicuspid,
The standard source,
The standard ending point,
Where tired eyes find solace in the lateral moonlight,
Where trusted voices lend understanding in the sinewy shadows,
Asleep now as the Colorado dead,
Sleeping and sunken now in their timeless tombs,
Alive as the everlasting sleep, this girly sleep,
As it lurches like a ghost gazelle into the soft entrances,
Lunging and leaping into the dark, abandoned residences,
Coldly forgotten amidst the green serpentine vines,
We can sense the emerging timeless harbingers,
We can recognize the unending, standard sources,
Of the bristling bicuspids buried with the Colorado dead,
Sleeping and sunken now in the lateral moonlight.
Amidst the broken windows
The blowing trash on the sidewalks
She walks, cheekbones prominent
Head held high
Past drunks, huddled against the cold
Past the shrunken veins of stoned addicts
She walks, leaning into the wind
Her step steady
Empty lots littered with glass to her right
On her left, boarded-up residences, nevertheless
She walks, her love for her children
Filling her tear-stained heart
To a bus stop, then a train station,
Another bus stop, and then finally
She walks, to those pretty, far-away castles
To polish her diamonds' futures
I steal everyone’s ideas
It is not like I do not have my own,
But the others are so much more interesting
As they are new
I have always been
A changeling
I change my residences, my clothes, my jewelry,
My taste in books, my interests, so that I can
Live in a new world.
I live in a new world most of the time.
Because I get bored rather fast.
When I am on a kick, I am
On that kick fast and furiously
But when it is over, it
Is truly
Over.
Every day I think is this my
Last poem? Is this the last time I
Will write anything? The day will come,
And when it does, I will simply stop.
Fade into the sun, disappear.
But ah,
My poems will still be there.
This is why I write.
The rivers rise, released, unrestrained
Reborn of unrepentant rain
Recalling remnants of rimrock gained
Wrecked residences, drifting rafts, remain
Though dawn's rays reveal ruin and regret
Resolve ran through the returning vets
Of robust wars, whose rigors met
The rate the sliding roadblocks set
The ramparts raised, unrestricted
Remorse, redirected and evicted
Replacing rusty banks, constricted
Rebuilt runs regulated, predicted
They'll ride the restored, irrigated plains
Until the red ridges reclaim the range.
3/26/18
It’s a swill no one interrupts—
A pill that consumes and corrupts
Our honor's been jailed
And truth’s will is impaled
As the blood PAC tempest erupts
Author's note: Many of the super-rich (who do not yet have it all) are determined to have more of the pie since their multiple residences and bank accounts are not enough and their yachts and jets are too small and range restricted (OMG). There are about 600 people who have donated more than $1,000,000 to presidential political action committees (PACs). The very rich, who also are trying to buy Congress, are in the process of remodeling our society. They liked it when society was feudal--when the rest of us were consigned to serfdom or were slaves. This weekend, the Koch brothers are interviewing candidates to see who they will spend almost a billion dollars to elect. Are we to believe their propaganda (that they have our interest in mind)? That is why I support the only candidate who does not have a super PAC who is running for President--Bernie Sanders. Enough is enough and maybe, just maybe, we can prevail over the corruption of wealth. The truth always matters and can never be denied over the long term.
Alas to the child who suffer at home
A place made without windows, made without stone
Where clay and mud soak the feet, slowing them down
A home that was not given from above
Cry for the teen who suffer alone
In an abode of shattered glass, shaped as s dome
Where echoes vibrate, no escape to be found
A house of walls being mashed by he sea
Weep for the adult who suffer in the cold
A dwelling without foundation, no walls or sound
Of place of smashed grapes soaking into the ground
Where wind and cold are all that be found
The greatest sorrow to those who suffer in the sea
With residences gone with the passage of time
Trampled by elephants, forever forgotten and done
Homes vanishing deep into the sun, always left being unsung
I walk the Sunday streets once more
Long before the peal of church bells
Tuned to summon the hypocrites
From their cozy residences.
It will be awhile till they flock
En masse to the numinous house:
The butcher whose scale is slightly
Off in his favor; the lawyer
Whose soul was sold ages ago;
The car salesperson cramming cars;
Physicians unmindful of the poor
And an overweight clergyman
Orchestrating the proceedings.
Bong! Bong! Soon the parade begins.
The Benaminis are a family of rodents,
who live their lives capitalizing on other
peoples' residences,
They scope the homes when they're not
home,
or invade it when only one member's alone,
They scamper up and down,
acting like confounded clowns,
going through closets and secret hiding places,
at the end of their visits , they carry satchels on their backs
filled with delicacies and knick-knacks,
The familes set traps of honey and cheese,
hoping they all will fall to their knees,
But they just keeping rambling and showing up at
the oddest times,
even when polluted with coffee grinds,
They run a muck, taking what they want,
Their sniveling looks seem to haunt,
making families edgy, and promoting dreams
that taunt,
Oh, they give the children quite a scare,
by climbing everywhere,
They cover their bodies from head to toes,
for fear that the Benaminis grizzly hands may take them
out the windows,
The gypsies who traveled from "Nowhere",
have put enmity and nervousness everywhere,
helping themselves to life's delights,
only stopped with traps and horrible fights.
Senior retirement that defies conventionality,
The power to endure and stay strong.
To return to passages that reflect a forever young concept,
I choose to wash away the gray.
Stay slim and regain my young figure,
Resume hobbies that are complimentary.
Live at a beautiful residence that goes beyond previous residences,
The Lord's Ten commandments a reminder of God's blessings.
A mighty fortress is my church and God,
Song comparative to many levels of singing.
Fashions elegant and contemporary,
Socialization patterns exclusive.
Relatives and companions guesting and living with me,
God's many blessings and a good education guides.
University a favorite companion,
The learning continues and compliments.
Author: Gwen Meyer-Erlach Schutz
Yo wake up in the morning
give thanks and praises
for the chance to make it better
so much hatred has decease
just waiting to see the cloud clear
aint about fear only the Lord
In ways we connect
Struggles we accepted
Presidents Elected
Residences Neglected
Ignorance Objected
the only way is Love
to Get it Straight
Resisitate Medicate Dedicate
never Faking my flesh and blood
Savior save the sacred
Time is Wasted
This is not what forms in stomach,
and goes through the intestines,
to be ejected as waste,
This is something that is formed,
by a union of brain,heart and soul,
it rests about there ,
alternating residences now and then,
it is formed at about the time,
you made your first conscious adult thought,
it comprises of ego,anger,lust,hatred,falsehood,
ignorance,jealously,laziness and dishonesty,
it is to name a only a few,
of its attributes,
normally other attributes come along to,
ferment it real well,
My body odours are distinct,
but you could not stand the odour,
of this nerd,
this odour grows more pungent and nauseating,
as I move along in age,
the odour can be felt and not smelt,
it is peculiar of its odour alone,
the odour slowly pervades,
the heart,brain and soul,
till they send it to all body parts,
a day comes when body/soul stop their journey,
part killed by this odour,
but the emanating nerd remains,
and is interred with remains.
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