The day she decides she’s done,
Wasting her best years in fear,
Cowering in filth and shadows,
Her pet cockroaches near,
Who can’t face me in the light,
And scurry from the sight,
If not too tainted then,
By their black-fingered blight,
She may assume her place,
Beside me in spite,
Of a once-roach being sprayed,
And my Queen’s appetite,
Will never be spoiled again,
By these putrid insects,
Ever scavenging and stealing,
Like a cancer that infects,
Where she finally feels the kiss,
On her face so inspiring,
As sun enlightens her,
Without her scurrying, but smiling.
coastal bird-seagull
with keen eyesight they live free
scavenging ocean
Ashes all around, raining down
Drowning the misery with more
The floating specks of grey
That were once a rosy pink
Filled with fragrance and life
The flowers paved the way ahead
New love blossoming under the trees
First kisses behind the school buildings
Birds pecking at the ample rice grains
And a happy, happy place.
Nothing much has changed since
Only the air thick with morbid death
The boundless bed of ashes giving way
To nameless faces half buried in eternal sleep
Thorns drawing blood with every step
Unmarked tombs crowding weeping trees
Dried tears on the unturned pages
Vultures scavenging for fleshes of suffering
But the throne got an heir at long last
So a happy, happy place it is still.
A tilt off the sand
unfolding of the mast
water beats her in the wind
her footprints left in the surf
the seagull's scavenging
shells lay still in stillbirth
sailing
spearing
seaweed
A tilt off the sand —
the seagull's scavenging,
seaweed
Vulnerability
One decided to let you enter one's
Space and thoughts.
I assumed you were finally the one
At least one's mindset concluded that.
Vulnerability isn't weakness or is it
Pumped up for kicks?
Resulted from a deceitful tongue with
The results of broken trust over time.
Revisions like the seasons ensued on the road
Like beforehand.
Similar situations? Sooner or later, individualized
Faces are often challenging to cast from one's mind.
Opening oneself to others allowing yourself
To be deeply known and understood.
Having a preference for being one's true
Authentic self flaws and all.
Scavenging with mixed emotions of inaptness
By the harsh realities of a dubbed life of vulnerabilities.
The universe gives us all
A choice, a thousand roads
To wander as we grow old
Yet all paths lead to the same end.
Some dive into the wild
Scavenging all that nature offers
Hunting for more, for bigger, for other
Chasing shadows that never stay.
Some float like logs on a stream
Leaning on the current
Hoping the torrent
Will carry them somewhere, anywhere.
Me, stubborn in my choosing
I choose happiness
Simple, quiet, enough
Content with living
And the little I hold.
Scavenging relentlessly
Some critters find food effortlessly
Like possums, skunks and raccoons
Though not one of them carries a tune...
The arctic wolf rarely fills his belly
~ but at least he can howl at the moon
A gossamer hung on the graveyard's gate.
A spider clung to steel, consuming its meal.
It had no need to know dinner was served late,
Nor sensed ghostly keels the summer winds conceal.
The owls flew on, unperturbed by midnight's scare,
That made dead men howl silently in each grave,
Fresh ghosts were blown toward the gate in despair,
The gate creaked loud at each brush of ghostly wave.
Grief-stricken men earlier brought a fresh stiff,
Whose spirit roams about as if still alive.
His shroud still sweetly scented for winds to sniff.
Where otherwise smells of decayed corpses thrive.
Rotten bones left near the godforsaken gate,
Lay scattered by the snouts of some groaning pigs,
As scavenging and ruin became their fate.
While restless souls lay buried beneath their digs.
The town fathers
are long neglected by scavenging vultures,
locked up as they are,
in the wood cabin, we call the town museum.
Inside the shack, there are old tintypes, sepia
photographs and the usual rural relics.
Outside, a small patch of lawn
divides the past from a main road,
one that bridges our hamlet
between two swelling and brawling cities.
Those cities also have their metropolitan relics,
grand achievements forever displayed
for groups of bored schoolchildren.
Outside, vultures are shood away
by men in HazMat suits.
Our community fathers are black-suited
grim featured farmers and church dignitaries,
even the mayors that are still alive
look out from their portraits
as if wishing for the odd vulture or two.
Nothing else around here bothers
enough to matter much.
Fields are pushed back beyond backyards.
We killed off all the rattlesnakes years ago.
Sunlight and shadows
White clouds drifting by
An old apple tree
Birds of a feather
Scavenging windfalls.
Barefeet on grass
Cool leather seat
Glass table top
Sunshade retreat.
Urban noise
Church clock chimes
Lunch Bell rings.
Hot spiced
Garlick
Wings.
12/ 5 / 2024.
I cast these concepts
I cast these kernels
Kernels in my hand
Kernels in the clay
Clay of loam
Clay of words
Words to describe
Words packed
Packed with exegesis
Packed with strength
Strength of scavenging
Strength of crowd
Crowd of swarms
Crowd of staleness
Staleness with enthusiasm
Staleness with bluntness
Bluntness of prediction
Bluntness of demeanor
Demeanor with smile
Demeanor of delight
Delight in adventure
Delight of writing
Writing of nursery stories
Writing of poetry
Poetry from heart
Poetry for show
Show of pride
Show of faith
Faith in progression
Faith in aestheticism
Aestheticism in connoisseurship
Aestheticism of spirit
Spirit to convince
Spirit with zoanthropy
Zoanthropy from hysteria
Zoanthropy of diabolical
Diabolical in a cave
Diabolical of power
Power to rule
Power to deceive
Deceive with attempt
Deceive to mislead
Mislead unfair impression
Mislead into thinking
Thinking about calm
Thinking about success
Success isn't happiness
Success isn't wealth
Wealth
Happiness
Your mind is an open book,
A museum piece on display
For the world’s prying eyes
To gaze upon, judge, pulling
Apart each gyrus as though
Scavenging your thoughts.
But you forget that not everyone,
Strange or familiar,
Holds the cipher that decodes
The jumbled text sprawled across
Those vast, weathered pages.
Its mouth is a bloodshot pennant,
the clacking tongue a buckram spear
shaken at all comers, the torso a perfect bow
for that arrowing beak and its raucous bugle -
the emblematic screech
of an avaricious hunter.
Fine honed wings scythe
the margins of water and air.
On land, it plays the fool,
an artful prankster scavenging
beneath a clownish mask.
The bird is innately admirable,
sleek, often graceful,
until,
those razor-edged shears
slash across the throat
of an off-guard and
wincing fear.
A cold winter's night,
birds warmly nestled in nests-
frigid hibernation fight
Morning chirping songs,
scavenging frozen berries-
sparring for Spring survival
1/11/23
Contest: Winter Sedoka contest
Sponsor: Charles Messina
(checked with howmanysyllables)
it is another day an I’m in it
thanks to the miracle of life
in some way I am a vagrant
scavenging loitering sleeping rough
on the waste ground of unfulfilled promises
note to Self
focus on what there is
not on what illicit dreams posit
lack is relative
energy is there in abundance
but seeds must be sown
before harvest comes near
I am an allegory in the making
a metaphor for the meaning of life
one breath follows another
for the sun align with the stars
the playground of a broken mind
reaches out to the soul in the making
a rollercoaster ride is scary but sacred
every downfall offers opportunities
and the chance of a new dawn
after all I am not a hobo on a park bench
most of all I have a companion
to share seat and settle
with beauty passion intellect and longing
which comes true
as dusk settles and the moon shines along
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