Manifesto

Ah men, the bane of women,
amen. We pray, we sing this hymn,
that we be not prey to him.
Man’s heart can be but steel,
thieves striving to steal
hour after hour,
our rights to our very selves,
rites that celebrate our being.

Would that we remain on course
coarse not as his ways claim.
We weigh our choices wisely
for we are not poor in intellect.
Pour not your wiles on us sirs,
while we know our truths.
Your heels shall not tread in judgment
for we know only compassion heals.

Tears shall be shed in any decision
for we are caring women, all dear,
not deer caught in your short-sited scope.
And so I repeat to you this hour,
our voices, our bodies,
our strength is in togetherness.
Amen I say to you.
Ah men, we pray they listen.

Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse where today, Merril asks us to think about using an echo technique in our poetry…or to write somehow about the idea of echo. I’ve used homophones to echo sounds….two words that sound the same but are spelled differently and have different meanings. There are 12 homophones here. Two use one word as a plural (wiles and and while; ways and weigh). Can you find the other 10? Photo from the Womens’ March in Boston, the day after President Trump’s inauguration. I was there with my daughter.

The Trek

We were warned. “There are grave risks to crossing that unforgiving land.”

I set the pace. Our cow, her calf, my daughter, wife, and babe of four months following me. Lips blistered, soles of my feet cracked, I move determinedly toward the border. After thirteen days, we are parched. The calf is emaciated because we’ve squeezed its mother’s teats to near emptiness, claiming her milk as our own. And then, a freak of nature. Torrential rain. Cow and calf tethered to nearby scruff, we huddle as darkness falls. Lightning strikes. The calf slips its noose, rushing headlong into the gully. That rocky dry earth unable to absorb the storm. The cow is screaming across the arroyo as her calf flails and disappears.

We survived that terrible night. Followed that implausible creek and crossed the border: my daughter, wife, and babe of four months.

Posted to dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today is Prosery Monday where flash fiction collides with poetry. Linda is hosting and we are to include the line “A cow is screaming across the arroyo”  – a line from Jim Harrison’s poem entitled Cow – in our piece of flash fiction that must be 144 words or less, sans title. Photo from Pixabay.com
An arroyo is a deep-sided gully formed by fast-flowing water in an arid or semi-arid region.

Perspectives

Can you see . . .
homes alight with holiday cheer
stars and angels atop yule tide trees,
shoppers bustling, carolers singing
couples kissing ‘neath mistletoe,
gingerbread men snuggling in Christmas tins.

Can you see . . .
bell ringers seeking donations
people laughing, rushing by,
widowers staring out windows
dabbing eyes as snow fills air,
crumpled souls cowering on sewer grates.

Marking time . . .
advent wreaths lit each week
expectations for blessings dear.
Homeless shelters filled each night
bed fitful sleepers dreading dawn
when same day starts anew.

Photo: Christmas tree of my childhood.  Amaya asks us to write a poem for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, using Apostrophe as a literary device. Addressing someone within the poem. 
 

Let us make magic . . .

let us lie together,
dreaming deeply
until we find an opalescent
magically luminescent forest.
Let us love
beside immortal sprites and spirits,
share dew drop kisses
amongst shimmering leaves.
Wouldst this be our shared lullaby,
that we might ignore the dawn
when reality beckons.

Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where today De asks us to use the word “spirit” (or a form of the word) within our quadrille (a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title). Image from Pixabay.com

It’s Surreal!

Ear worm.
1-877-Kars-for-Kids.
Tickling incessant tune.
Words over-and-over-
and over-and-over.
Go in and out the windows . . .

1-877-Kars-for-Kids.
Shut off the radio.
Cadence that kicks
rhyme that sticks.
Like ear muffs close exits
on cold winter days.

1-877-Kars-for-Kids.
I don’t even own a car
but it’s driving
through my ear canal.
Drive it to Panama instead,
out through those locks.

Out of my ear drums.
Quit base thumping,
1-877-Kars-for-
oh just snare it!
R-E-S-P-E-C-T
Where are you, Aretha?

Lift the needle,
Just put on the B side,
PLEASE!

Click on the video and listen to it for a bit. I dare you. Beware the ear worm!

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where today Linda asks us to explore surrealism in poetry. She tells us surrealism in poetry is “the true function of thought. Thought dictated in the absence of all control exerted by reason, and outside all aesthetic or moral preoccupations.” To me, this sounds a lot like stream-of-consciousnes writing….which is what’s happening in this poem. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!

 

Ancient Lesson

The Ancient One’s book
answered the question
deep within her mind.

universe-1282375_1920You may choose the stars,
shine from the cosmos.
Lighten the canopy of darkness
as do many other souls.
Reflect bright wisdom,
comfort and awe,
to those who remain behind
waiting to grasp the Truth.

Or choose the dawn.
Join that orb of hope, IMG_0622
those rays of warmth.
Become one of many filaments
that spark awareness,
knowledge for those who wait.
The realization,
each day lived is a gift

The choice is yours.
Even in death
there is more than one path
to the everlasting Wonder.

 

 Today I host Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. This means folks can post one poem of their choosing, with no required prompt, form, or topic. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time – come join us!
Star photo from Pixabay.com
Dawn photo taken in Provincetown this past summer.

Kilahuea

2001
We hiked across lava fields
steam rising in the distance.
Kilahuea, birthing new shoreline,
slowly spilling into the sea.

Lagoon House was our delight
on beautiful Kapoho Beach.
Delerious with plumeria’s scent,
we swam wth sea turtles oh so close,
in nearby Champagne Pond.

2018
No longer content with shoreline,
Kilahuea’s temper rose.
Eruptions spewed farther, fiercer,
gave birth to graveyards deep.

Solidified lava, fifty-feet thick,
buried that beloved place.
Homes gone. Plumeria gone.
Pele, Kapoho’s sole resident,
silent in her new abode.

Photos from our stay at the Lagoon House in 2001. That’s me floating/snorkeling in Champagne pond, just beyond the house. We really did swim with the sea turtles there. And we took our children and their spouses on a lava walk tour — obviously Kilahuea was very tame then – although it was HOT and hissing and the hardened lava was very sharp.

 

Kilahuea’s angry eruption in 2018 and the result today. The beautiful home we stayed in, and that entire area, is now covered by fifty-feet of lava. The last photo is a rendering of Pele, the goddess of volcanoes.

Thank you Amaya for our dVerse Tuesday Poetics prompt — to address “birthing” in some way.

Release

Embrace the darkness, my dear,
keep hold my hand.
Listen to the quiet.
Many have come before you,
many shall follow.
Breathe slowly, slower still,
until your body dissipates.
Darkness will become light
as we soar into the cosmos
feeling peace among the stars.

universe-1282375_1920

Written for dVerse, for both Monday’s quadrille (poem of exactly 44 words, sans title) which required the word “keep” and today’s Poetics which asks us to write in someway about black/darkness. Photo from pixabay.com