The path beyond my garden
of good-lookin’ and evil
the wrath of Kahn, your warden
is shook – tooken’ reprieval
The chain of fate I break
on the back of daffodils
remaining late, you skate
on the tracks of raptured wills
Our style, denying us sleep,
I stand, react,
fight the game that slick freaks would
meanwhile you trying to keep
the band intact
like your name was Mick Fleetwood
I can’t sleep good, subconsciously
wait for an elevator
your technique lured, and tonically,
fate’s a great generator
We fight, freak, stood upright,
sonically copulate,
resonator
alight, streak, should midnight
chronically evaporate,
venerate her
***
Written for NaPoWriMo Day 3 prompt; writing a list poem in which all the items are made-up names. I gotta be honest; I started out trying to make up band names, but midway through I became somewhat distracted… you know… by flowers.
The path beyond the garden soon to be rented by wifey and me in new life lied before us in sun-kissed San Diego adobe pastels when I caught a soon-to-be new neighbor sizing me up behind soon-to-be briskly shuttered blinds, disrupting what I thought to be a giant bee, but in actuality, was the first time I laid eyes on a hummingbird, which scurried away from our mutual startled scenery on wing of the bluest blues and rubiest ruby plumage I had ever seen, and my heart soared with her along unfamiliar blooming scent which smelled of promise and renewal, like nature herself was settling old scores.
As for my new neighbor, her blinds did not stay shuttered during our stay, though she stayed curiously guarded and curious of my own curiosity as we shared a thought or two, subconsciously synching our laundry days in the community laundry room, a respite from separate-but-equally unrelenting realities as she hid her bruises while I just hid and pretended not to notice, which wasn’t too far a bend for someone so frequently locked inside his own head; in fact, she said she’d never seen me smile in all our contrived, randomized encounters, and she wondered aloud if I was happy. Most times, a lie would do, but in this case, I felt she deserved to know the truth about that hummingbird.
it’s raining sunbeams
warming my faith, compassion
sunburns and bruises
***
Inspired by dVerse Haibun Monday: Faith prompt, hosted by Mish. I was going to try to stick to NaPoWriMo prompts this month, but today’s Day 2 prompt challenged us to play with voice and different tenses, and I feared that folks might be sick of me always playing with tense by now. Eager to see what Day 3 has in store!
The path beyond my garden leads
to where asphalt kisses the sea.
I sit near the transition
and blow kisses effortlessly
to she who swims in
antipodean ocean
and backpacks in autumn outback,
shake hands with a man standing
in Swedish snow where winter
won’t yield easily to spring,
offer support and
love vicariously at
Vancouver seaport,
embrace a hug
in London fog,
swoon on Singapore island,
exchange dreams where eastern Europe
merges with Asia,
sharing tea, death poems,
and sunrises in the Land
of the Rising Sun.
Here within my cherished portal,
the sun always rises,
shedding light on new poetry
from brave, sharing souls
around the globe.
I’ve lived countless lives and loved in
ever increasing abundance,
touching without touch
via normal and long-touch,
swiping hearts and being swiped
while swiping-right and all directions.
Signals sent from points abroad
careen toward antenna,
out above atmosphere,
from satellite to satellite,
down through the thin blue into
receiver, decoded, delivered
to me via you; a device
designated both smart and phone,
but is actually neither.
Still, I’d never begrudge your
ostentatious designation,
as you have done well by me
in opening me to new poetry,
ideas, friends, and lovers
– platonic and fantastic.
And that you do all this astoundingly
half a decade past warranty,
makes me love you even more deeply.
** *
Written for NaPoWriMo’s Day 0 prompt, write a poem in the form of a love letter, to an object. Obviously, the object I chose is my phone, which takes me everywhere I want to be.
Other dVerse poets contributed their takes on this form, and though I’m always impressed by the talent displayed, there are surprisingly few dirty ones. Guess it’s up to me to rep the “Dirty Old Man” demographic.
You want me on that wall. You need me on that wall. 😉
My second still poem for dVerse Quadrille #31, hosted by Grace. I normally try not to go to the same well twice in a row during NaPoWriMo, but I’m sapped for ideas. I’m running on fumes and limping to the barn, but racking my brain is helping with my depression a bit, and I think I can make it to the end! Five more, people!
Hephaestus’ Waste & Cosmic Rubble 