this haiku is not
about pretty flowers or
skies of blue and love
this second one is
to notify you that i
don’t write tenderly
hate me or like me
this is who i am just know
that you’re in my heart
coy
paint
pavement
sacred there
in the pond
on the daily traveled sidewalks
in motion forever being touched with no feeling
i see how beautiful you are comfort for the industrial spawn city child
your orange backs stop my steps from going too far without smiling in the bleakness of the day waving docile fins
your jewel backs charming treasure afterthought of the straggler in the mood of the times scientology across the street while the bed bugs do battle cry by the patisserie of my distant sullied youth
in the pavement my eyes the news of the day beguiles to think that in your face there might be happiness
around you go with the brothers in the dark pool of my mind
i walk against a tide of lukewarm panic
no Buddha’s cloak can hide
the past that
keeps me
forced
inside
charm school drop out
it’s very late and the crickets are bedding down in the banana trees for the night and behind the brick walls yes the ones tagged with nonsense the drunkard kings are pissing i’ve been kicked out of many a slummy joint you wouldn’t be the first bouncer to pop that cherry although i give you the fact that i was a little loud when the barkeep wouldn’t take my buck for a bottle of vodka but you understand i’m petite and not of swift feet when i’ve had a few tom collins’ down my gullet ok i get it don’t call my parent’s and that is not my id card but i do resent it when you won’t admit it that i’m the best duker in the bunch and while i have rosy knuckles to prove it let’s not point out last week’s black eye but don’t worry about me by the time i’m in my forties i might have been through a few programs for exceptional drinkers but psychoanalysis has nothing to do with a girl having fun on a Saturday night and by the way can you hold my hair back i feel a wave of chili coming up
Atet
dark
to light
the passage
of long lost time
resurfaced in my
Coptic mind wrapped by the
ancient ones who now travel
through the layers of abandon
our Queens have risen to guide again
sun rays of Ra sail through the gates of gold
silenced we wade the paths of the faithful
three portals inviting to our souls
even in death there is danger
of us making the wrong choice
before we exit to
our homeland beyond
the binding ties
of judgment
swift feet
board
for old times sake
place my cheek upon
your palms and draw me into
your love one last time
nocturna
shame nestled in my throat
as night’s soft charcoal gray skin
was wrapped with a lofty nimbostratus shroud
upon her moonlit shoulders
emitting sweet earthy odor
not sure of what i did
uncertainty about my heart
were my deeds the cause of it
like bullets from an ancient time
to kill the peace upon the paths
her tears fell down from heaven
now through the teachings of that lady night
and her dusky priestesses along with a few hard knocks
i’ve come to understand that it wasn’t me who made her cry
but that Nocturna was the mirror of my sorrows
Picture courtesy of The Poet By Day site
Pay It Forward Thursday- May 23, 2019
The baristas at Go Dog Go Cafe are big fans of Pay It Forward Thursdays. We think it is a great opportunity to give a shout-out to another writer who has wowed us or creatively inspired us. It a great way to share the love and pass it on to the readers. It also becomes a great pool for excellent reading stuff by your fellow readers of the WordPress community.
You are invited to post one link to one specific post of poetry, short story, or flash fiction, 300 words or less please, from someone else’s blog in the comments below.
Happy reading!
disclosure
the book of me is in my eyes, read with courageous love
mashed potatoes
mornings are hard when you know you’ll have to be with people with lots of soul pain. the typical refrigerated store air nipped at my nose as i trudged to the coffee line. Larry read the hospital paperwork poking out of his coat pocket with the torn leather elbows.
Larry had probably seen Halley’s Comet twice. he wore a blue plaid shirt with faux mother of pearl snaps, black dickies and steel toes. he had a decently robust head of hair, silvery with a darker shade of gray streaking towards the back. per chance when his brain cells had a more cordial relationship amongst themselves, he might have been only assigned to crafts requiring brawn and handy work. his face was anglo. blue eyed, long and thin, perhaps an Irish boy.
he had steady hands. a little calloused, but one could tell that he’d done his fair share of manual labor and partook in bare knuckle bar brawling, often. his dull downward stare declared days fleeted away full of insults, dukers’ blows and abysmal marks where many tears had corroded away at the spirit. all, of course, to the voice of Patsy Cline in the background. broken spirits usually have the ability to sit graciously across from a chair full of spilled coffee or possibly the Devil as well. no one paid attention so the old man introduced himself to the arabica soaked nothingness sitting at his table.
‘i know how to make mashed potatoes. you can’t leave the skin on, otherwise they don’t taste good.’ Larry abruptly spat out his directions to the emptiness in front of him. he had a good tone, not raspy or squeaky, kinda’ like if John Wayne and Bogey had a baby. ‘you put the butter in after you mashed them sons-of-bitches up real good! but the butter has to be soft, otherwise the potatoes taste fake.’ i relished in his pronunciation and perfect punctuation.
distracted by the buzzy voice overhead blazing the $5 specials the old man then looked at me. turning slighty pink Larry smiled and quickly began to wipe the table down as he stuttered and apologized. i smiled and offered my extra napkins. together two bruised souls sopped up a mutual figurative mess.
coronation
my eyes reflect time
my body hides the holy
secrets not known yet
civilizations
rise and fall below my feet
i am anointed
by the sky goddess
her crown she relinquishes
to me the new One
