Photo by Hunter Kerhart
the blinking sun saw
lines weighed with school uniforms
clothes of mechanics
kids pink and purple sneakers
mail boxes stuffed with worry
Wm. Mead, holmes
Photo by Hunter Kerhart
Photo by Hunter Kerhart
azures
heaviness in me
holds me down against the earth
my eyes while open
are deprived of your beauty
sinews in my brain toughened
hell hounds sucked bones clean
drowning of thirst for freedom
formidably sad
azures of my soul died away
my tear lands in the shot glass
Pay It Forward Thursday- May 02, 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!
“Do You?”
there are some days when we miss our mother no matter what circumstances might have brought us apart. the spirit of this offering captures the spirit of a woman i admired and loved, but hardly knew. thank you, Jen for this amazing work of art.
saddled shoes, shorts, bandaided knees
running where don’t know, on asphalt jungle chasing
tag your it on summer Nicky Nicky Nine doors clear
nights before the lights came on clean streets beddy-
by dreams Flintstones and Mickey Mouse.
Knee-highed socks and pigtails Camel hair coated,
camel Clarks listening to classical music to
Quell the pain, Barbie got Ken who cared some
war broke out somewhere and a Wall. Three initials JFK
something about bombs from some Niki some
place called Cuba pulling tabs on sodas personal, computers?
JFK shot! killed on Daddy’s Birthday, Marilyn selfy.
Minied skirts and loafers hoping pointed toes lost fashion
settling for Mary Jane empires buckle clips left behind.
Red Skelton, Lucy and Ralph our Heroes while
trading in mood Rings for Ouija boards twisting
through checker watching Go Go Dancers do their thing,
no go bouffant that’s, So, Aunt Jean I’ll do the locomotion,
Duck…
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2 steps
drift to sleep
under the hazy sky
blue cowboy boots
laying down in my truck
Twinkie crumbs
on the corners of my mouth
my left braid coming undone
the memory comes in chunks
hope to sleep
under a halogen light
no shoes or socks
stuffed into the couch
kale smoothie
not on my tongue
my mane’s too tame
the thoughts torn asunder
the eviction notice
pulse
warm sand
blue like glass
light flows through us
moon gathers the waves under her silence
our electricity blends into sound
whispers of rose
tinted dream
hold me
tight
move
slowly
the spirit
into my place
where the gods turn into earthly mortals
and will be toiling like the first Adam
and the daughters
of giants
polish
stone
i think im Hamlet tonight
pain at sunrise can cost a slight loss of mind. angry and melancholy like the crazy Hamlet. i think of actions and confusion of morality. i’m a villain to myself. i am fearful that God has gone by me super-fast, like when it’s too late to move your car when the parking ticket lady is writing the ticket. solitude and desperation of heart and soul can make one see things in a past that one never had and the reality of the future 5, 10, 30 minutes is too frightening. time grows stale at dawn. Griffith Observatory is oh so far away but down the street from where i live. the young folks are out being hip and smart in the world. i wonder if when they are as old as i am will they inherit my thoughts as they breathe my CO2 as they are doing now. i fear for us i fear for me for i am much more of a coward than they. they are still blissful in their youth and i am subjected by my wisdom of what is to come at dusk. time grows short and it comes in spurts, like my bloody noses and stories and such. maybe God will come my way again like the bus on the stop that forks in the road at sunset.
Promote Yourself Monday April 29, 2019
Welcome to Promote Yourself Monday. All Go Dog Go Cafe readers, guest writers, and baristas are invited to post one link to one specific post (600 words or less please!) from your blog into the comments section below.
If you post a link, be sure to read some of the other great writing people have linked to.
Share this:
I Never Saw Another Butterfly, a poem written by the child, Pavel Freidman (short bio included), before he was murdered at Theresienstadt Concentration Camp
Regular Sunday Announcements are in process and will post later today, but yesterday was International Holocaust Rememberence Day. I share the poem of a child imprisoned and murdered at Theresienstadt Concentration Camp. We remember it with the hope that there will never be another genocide and that children of every race, country and creed will be allowed to fulfill their promise, to grow up, to grow old and to die in God’s time. Even as we do, there are genocides currently happening around the world, ten of which are full-blown. Ironically, “prominent scholars of the international law crime of genocide and human rights authorities take the position that Israel’s policies toward the Palestinian people could constitute a form of genocide.” Details HERE. May all sentient beings find peace.
I Never Saw Another Butterfly
by Pavel Freidman
The last, the very last,
So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow.
View original post 471 more words
the price of peanut butter
of course i remember the old Safeway, Hank. in closing my eyes i can see the Mahatma Rice Genie on the little rice bags and Jiffy cost less than a dollar. i was not taller than a yard stick, yet i knew my lime green pastel knit dresses were an infamy. Hank, i recall the prime parties on Berendo street, the last of the beehive hairdo elegant women in turquoise bell-bottoms, i a barefooted brat. and on alternate Saturdays the biker parties in the Silver Lake Hills. the Harleys looked like stallions. in the middle of the week, i can’t remember where i’d sleep, but AC/DC dueled with Tom Jones in my dreams. now, Hank, we have non-GMO juice stands and designer coffee drinks. i’m about a yard stick and a quarter tall now and i dress in black. i still enjoy Tom and Brian, but Nirvana and Cornell own my heart. i finally read the Torah too. but the fears, doubts, agonies and uncertainties are still within my universe. Safeway is now Vons. House of Pies is still there too, i feed on their Western Spaghetti. i’m going at it in a round-about way. Volkswagons’ and Mustangs aren’t what they used to be, but they’ve cut down on bad emissions. Hank, you wouldn’t believe, there’s almond, cashew, sunflower, pistachio and Brazil Nut butter. i don’t talk much, i type on the phone, even on dates, sitting right across the table from them all. i suppose i’ll never see a good bra burning anymore, i giggled at it as a child. but, they have apps for that now. i never really fit in any particular time in LA. from 8 tracks to Alexa and frozen peas to organic produce delivery. i don’t know, Hank. peanut butter today is quite expensive.
words less spoken 