Your City
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Seven Emerald Hills
Seven emerald hills rise steeply
From restless waters born of moving ice
Siblings of a greater peak
Lifting up their faces into rains of shrouded mists
Or bathed in welcomed sunshine
The First where stately mansion homes
Climbed to heights now holding healing hostels
Looking toward a Beacon,
Watching Rainier’s changing face,
Holding hands, across a valley cleft,
With the West where Alki shores
Welcomed the first footsteps of settlers
Looking across blue waters where ferries play at
Mistaken Magnolia blossoming with madrone
Not bowing to Queen Anne, counterbalanced,
Winking at Capitol, with shady streets
On a broad way above the lake
Looking north to find a learned Crown
Mourning Denny’s passing
Where offices now scrape the sky
Remembering a Yesler skid row, algorithms,
A pioneer square, a needle touching space
Slumbering in the shadows of a Sunset
Where seaplanes play with seagulls
In summer Seafairs and rain festivals January to December
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The third drawer down,
stuck sometimes,
resists like a child refusing supper~
then gives all at once.
Inside:
a landslide of faded cotton,
each square a surrendered flag.
Some still crisp with the ghost of starch,
others softened by years of fists,
damp with forgotten tears.
The blue gingham one
worn thin at the edges~
once blotted my knee
when I fell running toward her.
The white lacy one,
embroidered with spring flowers,
never used, as if saving itself
for a grief too clean to stain.
At the bottom,
one still folded tight
into a perfect rectangle—
the way she left it,
the way I won’t unfold it,
keeping her last touch
trapped in the seams.
related memoir vignette at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/lavender_time_and_mother_13659
Square a hectare, hierophant.
Religious mysteries!
In the attic looking gaunt!
Winter, thy deep freeze!
What to fill, my sacred space?
Buy a boulder big!
Smash in every foe-man's face!
Then begin to dig!
Tunnel subterranean?
What could have dug you?
Immemorial brain, thy span!
Many, become few...
Mounds space? O giant grave.
Etheric thy form!
Dial it in with color! Cave;
Corpses to keep warm!
Swarm, my wasps! O hornets, sting!
That will make them sing!
From the druid's tree to swing!
Flicker as you fling!
Serpent, in the autumn.
Is this the time to mate?
Reality, how you hum!
Thrum a-dumb, O fate!
Rasp in vicious voices?
They're circling in a cone.
Blight and bane, thy choices!
Break them at the bone!
Hope, flown? Grin? Groan? So!
Even flow, need a tow?
Caw above me, carrion crow!
Dapple, O my roe...
Everyone had flowers they had purchased from a naked pig
He was riding around the square a second ago, said Mrs. Big
I am not sure I want to purchase from a naked pig I said.
Do not be so prissy said my jumble bumble cousin, Fred.
He likes things that are different, he likes weird and unique.
A bicycle came around the corner holding the pig I seek
The flowers were gloriously pretty, and the prices were low.
I forgot the pig was naked and promptly yelled “hello!”
There once was a belle in velvet of jade,
Whose gown swept the square — a grand serenade;
She slipped in the crowd,
Her skirt flared too loud,
She got up, laughed and danced, unashamed, unafraid.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“The rules are simple,” Wednesday whispers.
“Forget the kale, the quinoa, the virtuous calorie-free green misery.”
“Today, we bow to cocoa, the bean of pure delight.
A square, a bar, a molten river, bathing worries in warm light.”
“Eat chocolate, be happy. It’s less a suggestion, more a dare.
Try to frown with fudge smeared lips. You simply can't. Pinky swear!”
“Guilt? Maybe later. Right now, there's only chocolate,
and the profound understanding that sometimes, the answer is simply…
….more chocolate.
My daughter who was then, just about seven.
The sun had just settled softlty in the Pacific.
We were in Ghiradelli Square, a joyful place,as is heaven.
Into an elevator we went so sparkling clean and spiffy terrific!
It was an elevator with walls of shiniest metal.
I pressed the command button, to take us merrily down!
Alas, the brightly lit buttons, did not work as itheu should.
Its tall, chrome doors shut, but the elevatotr refused to move?
How I frowned!!
Aha! But not to fret, I was intelligent enough to recall….
And reassure sweet Elena, that I would find a way out.
With lightning speed, I recalled the phone on the wall.
And so I could call and smoothly we’d be safe and let out!
My heart filled with joy, to that phone, I hustled posthaste.
I prayed, oh, please, let some Angels be very near.
But finding out the panel was dead, my heart sunk to my waist!
Suddenly, a knock on the door, help had arrined, Elena and I
gave three cheers!!
1/30/2024
Right in front should evil dare, no words still,
Even if beyond you bear, no words still.
In market square a girl is tormented,
You can’t bear her bosom bare, no words still.
In public space two bawdy bullies brawl,
Their puffed up prides need one pare, no words still.
A slavish mind has taken root in time,
Nation’s robbed as never ere, no words still.
Buds and blossoms are brokered every day,
Grieves the green garden’s grandeur, no words still.
When pilgrimage-like parents pine in pain,
Stones get worshipped in all care, no words still.
Exploring vast sea if you suffer storms,
It’s fine you braved to dare, if no words still.
___________________________________________
Ghazal |14.08.2023| apathy, indifference, lack of concern
Based on a Gujarati Ghazal by Rakesh Sagar:
Down the dirt road of the old farm village,
where the sun sinks low, casting long shadows,
each weathered cottage tells its silent tale.
Creaking porch swings, paint chipped and peeling,
invite a rest for those with stories to share,
as the wind rustles through the ancient oaks.
Narrow lanes, worn smooth by generations,
beckon with memories etched in cobblestone,
and the town square, a hub of quiet gatherings.
Hens cluck in backyards, scratching for stories,
their feathers worn like the pages of a well-read book,
while the blacksmith's hammer rings a rhythmic echo.
Chimneys exhale fragrant whispers of hearth and home,
as the church steeple, a sentinel to the passing years,
marks time with a soft tolling that lingers in the air.
Children's laughter, a lively brook, meanders,
through meadows where wildflowers nod in agreement,
and elders, leaning on picket fences, share the day's musings.
In this old farm village, where time moves slow,
shadows dance on the worn planks of the general store,
and the river, a quiet confidant, mirrors the stories untold.
Ever snorted cocaine?
I watched some partiers snort cocaine last night,
in a dark, Manhattan nightclub corner celebration.
But I’ve never crossed that line. The white line.
When offered some, with unctuous camaraderie,
I shrugged and said, “No, sorry, I’m allergic.”
What are you supposed to say, “Crack is whack,”
or “I prefer my coke with rum and ice?”
The white line. I don’t cross the line.
It’s not the first time, of course, I saw more drugs
in high school than I have at Yale. I’ve mostly seen
“study drugs,” there, like provigil, adderall and alza (concerta).
Do they give students an advantage? I don’t know, maybe.
Call me a boxcut or a squarepants, but my parents are doctors,
and I just don’t cross those lines - those little white lines.
.
.
Webster: Unctuous: “an obvious, fake friendliness”
Slang: ‘boxcut’ ot ‘squarepants’ = a square, a no fun party-pooper
*I use artistic license for colors: for instance, adderall can be a blue, orange or yellow pill.
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore —?
Was a boy who wouldn’t shut a door!?
Winter came in that year of yore-?
Sleet blew in and covered the floor. ?
Summer came with its bugs galore—?
Flies and gnats, cicadas and more.
?At last his parents, irked full sore,?
Shipped him away to Baltimore.*
*W. B. Rands Square—a shorter Victorian moral
*Mathematics&Poetry—based on a mathematical square: the number of syllables in a line equals the number of lines.
Life's a journey of many shapes
A square a triangle its all the same.
With edges and curves nothing is what it seems.
Good and bad life goes on.
Never a perfect circle for long.
Everyone has a different shape then before.
Life's a circle that looses shape
depending on whats coming your way
Busy square around me sucking me inside
Keeping me from seeing what's on the outside
Building shell surrounds me squared off like a hide
Standing on a corner; a square; a block; that's wide
Quilted district patterns are mapped across the land
while larger squares protruding shows zoning had a hand
Suburbs of the city squaring boundaries they have spanned
When all that's left are gullies squared by nature that are fanned.
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