Day 12 Prompt — National Poetry Month — Prompt: Paradox
Woke up shortly before I fell asleep
and gathered round the few thoughts remaining
that hadn’t fled the insurrection and
considered life without an overwhelming desire
to kick it in the head.
Sigh, laugh, giggle, I skipped to unwind the clock
reset the wind and sailed deciduously back towards
the beginning, where I could at least refrain from
rethinking what I had already concluded.
You see, life can at times be so antipathetic to living that it makes one wonder who put this puzzle together in the first place and…
10 April 2021 Saturday Poetry Prompt: repeatable
Strange now to think of you, gone without corsets & eyes, while I walk on the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village.
downtown Manhattan, clear winter noon, and I’ve been up all night, talking, talking, reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to Ray Charles blues shout blind on the phonograph
the rhythm the rhythm — and your memory in my head three years after — And read Adonais’ last triumphant stanzas aloud — wept, realizing how we suffer — Allen Ginsberg, “Kaddish”
Death is like a blind date that just won’t leave. Seeing something in…
07 April 2021 Wednesday Prose Poem: the color says it all
Bruised ego and broken spirit, harsh words still echoing in my aching head,
“You’ll never amount to anything until you do what’s right.”
And of course, I’ll know exactly what that is.
Red light, green light one-two-three. Children playing games in schoolyards
in preparation of adulthood. Tag you’re it. Hide and seek
until the mind warbles and the spirit doo-wops in dark alleys,
as ancient intonations sing praises to a God on hiatus — Back in the Spring.
Red, the color of anger, as tricycles rage around menacing corners…
03 April 2021 Saturday Poetry Prompt: say that again?
As a child, was a child
Felt the world towering above
Felt the wind threatening to knock me down
Saw the earth rolling forever toward me
As a youth, never was much of one
Felt constrained and out of touch
Felt alone and in a rush
Saw large footprints of the past all around me
As an adult, I failed the test Felt the child fighting inside me Felt the youth pretending to be free…
31 March 2021 Wednesday Prose Poem: where do the stories end up?
Writers think and write and cry and write and disbelieve and write
as lies stream across the ether, slamming against the sides of
heads from Boston to Bangladesh. Knocking sideways all manner
of thoughts and ideas that crash and burn at the feet of monuments,
at the steps of city halls, at the foot of beds as little children
read their stories and wonder and dream of worlds where words
are mightier than any sword.
Writers write and pray and write and wail and write some more and…
27 March 2021 Saturday Poetry Prompt: processional narrative
Walking along the streets, hot Santa Ana
winds blowing in my face; air filled with
grit and the smell of stale beer —
Cars passing hood to trunk in endless caravans,
music blaring as a distraction, as noise to block
out the sameness that hovers over all, like morning
mists over Verdun.
Feet aching from the miles, heart aching from
a sense of inversion — I am moving but falling
further and further behind. Thinking but
coming up shy of anything meaningful. …
24 March 2021 Wednesday Prose Poem: the weight of ink
Heard the whispering of words, in the coming darkness; in the neatness
of gravestones marching in stark white order; standing abruptly at
attention, while civilians in dark gray suits and black dresses, holding tightly to flowers and their tears, stand in twos and fours beside those that are no more.
Heard the weight of their prayers, as they echoed the memories, the images
in great detail of childhoods cut short, and lifetimes compressed into
two or three incandescent years — blazing in glory. …
I kind of remember my first birthday. Propped up in a highchair; familiar faces all around and a cake that was on fire being placed in front of me. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was supposed to do with it. Pour my cup of milk over it to put out the flames, maybe? Everyone around me began pursing their lips and blowing, which for a one-year-old, was really quite amusing. So, I did the same. I can’t say that I liked it, but what did I know.
That went on for a minute or so, until I accidently blew…
Leaving on a Jet Plane
Sitting in an airport waiting room, midnight long past.
Watching the mist sweep across the runways towards me; watching
passenger heads slung back in exhaustion — looking like human
Pez dispensers — the quiet is eating a hole into my brain,
I’m leaving home.
Not running away, running to. Tired of the introverted —
scenic tours inside my own mind, as the tour guide spins tales
of teenage angst and bittersweet memories of a childhood cut short.
Someone’s bouncing a ball rhythmically against a wall. Thump- -thump-thump as Rod Serling unexpectedly strolls through the aisle…
I punched the world in the face today,
bloodied its nose, and cracked a tooth
and said — don’t ever disrespect me like that again.
Then I woke up inside my own dream
with my pillow dented and my wife up on
one elbow staring at me in the twilight,
shaking her head.
Sorry I said, as she squeezed my arm.
I sat up and tried to remember what the fight was all about. …
I’m a writer. I love words. Those written, and those received. I’m here to communicate and comment. To listen and to learn. To be a part of a greater whole.