Rhapsody in Blue

In the methane blue
of Neptune’s stew
I wildly whip my wind lasso-
a-hunting for the Dragon of the Cloud!

Through icy fleece
I stalk the beast,
a thousand miles an hour at least,
beneath this sapphire atmospheric shroud.

I’m born of wind,
and thickly skinned-
with Neptune’s swirling vortex twinned.
I hurry hard and bellow out aloud!

To catch him fast
and so at last
undo his necromancy past,
and join again the nation of the proud!

Starvation

Insensitive remarks.
Things thrown.
Mother crying
Rotten bastard
Father restrains her.
Doors slam
Once, twice, thrice.
We two kids,
We see and hear
From the crack in our bedroom door
We want to stop our ears.
We cry too.
Too young to know why it is like this.
Want to come out and console,
But scared to open the door.
Calm comes, sometimes,
And there is what passes
For family love,
But these two little ones
Had now a cautiousness, a tentativeness
That precluded real joy.
Awaiting, with dread, what would happen next.
We were showered with gifts
At Christmas, if Dad had a bankroll.
Feast of presents,
Famine of spirits.
A month later, bailiff at the door.
Everybody hide, don’t make a sound.
They will go away.
Then, out for a ride,
We two captives in the back seat.
The bickering begins
Between mother and father.
At a stoplight, she makes her escape,
Screams at him from the open door,
Then runs the other way.
We cry again, until he is able
To cajole her back in.
We were never hit, but seldom touched.
No cruel or unusual punishment,
But, it is hard to remember times of love,
Under the shadow of these things that fester.
A learned apprehension that now comes so naturally.

Anonymous

There’s a man who stands bewildered in his garage. He can be heard to hum Heart of Glass, while he stands bemused, hands in pockets.  His grown kids rake the final leaves, hauling them out by tarpaulin load to the street.  Yesterday was his last shift at a patchy part time job.  So many youngsters there.  Such exuberant repartee.  Hard for him to follow at times, but always dispelling the lonely dark.  Dismissed by some as the sad old guy, still he has made one or two friends.  A girl who has hardly spoken to him these months shows surprise that he is leaving, and tells him awkwardly that it was nice to have met him.  Another who seemed standoffish at first had begun to chat with him these last days.  Although just a line worker with the rest, her manner of speaking and of taking charge  when others were losing their heads had made an impression upon him.  She saw his covert glances and wistful smiles, and knew him for a friend.  To think that someone with such confidence and ebullience would take the time to talk with him has touched his heart, and, this night, he has written a little verse about her.  It’s called To make you smile. She does not know it’s his last night there.  With trembling hand, he passes the note to one of the guys, asks that it be given to his Jenna girl, and leaves without saying goodbye.
She will know.

What it feels

fuzzy food in fridge
flushed today
smell lingers
can it be washed away?

desperate house plants
bought with good intentions
gave up ghosts through kitchen window
carcasses remain

breakfasts of cold toast and peanut butter

outside, a sanctuary of thistles

inside, the dark imbues the body bones
absorbed in daily doses
just enough to quell
thoughts that foment rebellion

these I gave to you, I think.
my remembered lover
my old optimist
my partner of journey
my willing prisoner

spurn me now
for I have killed you
the worst of all crimes
a spirit stilled

melancholic

Rites of passage

There was a man who loved his daughter.

Not unusual, but this particular man was not very good at showing emotion, and thought that people would know, by his actions, how he felt.  He knew that this made them needy at times, and he blamed himself for it, but still he could not open up.

There was jealousy within the family because of this, and he bore the stress unto himself, trying to please everyone.

At the age of 15, his girl told him she wanted to be like some of her friends and get a small tattoo, to which he readily agreed.  Not long after that, she wanted to get her tongue pierced, and this caused an uproar. Her mother would have none of it, and pressured him not to consider it, saying he was too soft, and their daughter had him wrapped around her finger.  So, he did tell her no, as firmly as he could muster, and there was much drama and sobbing off and on for a few days.  The subject was soon brought up again, after he thought it had been forgotten.  Seeing the potential of another fight, he spoke to his wife privately, and struck the bargain that if their daughter still wanted this in a year, when she turned 16, he would see about it.  Both thought that she would lose interest by then, and go on to something else.

Indeed, when the time came, he had already put it out of his mind, but his girl’s resolve was strong, and, on the very day of her birthday, she said it was time for him to keep his promise.  Eyeing his wife sheepishly, he said he would look into it, then spoke to friends and acquaintances whose kids had gone for similar things.  Their best advice was to find a place that was government inspected, had an autoclave, and used disposable needles.  He sought advice from an actual government website, and found similar admonitions.  Within a few days, he took her, and the deed was done, not without some squealing on her part and a look of instant regret.  However, she put a brave face on it, and there was relative calm within the house for a time, even though his wife was resentful.

A year later, when it was prom time at the high school, the big kerfuffle was to find his girl a dress.  She was valedictorian, so it needed to be something special.  Off to the city they all went, together with a couple of her friends, and landed at a fancy shopping mall.  Mom & Dad left the trio to their own devices, telling their daughter they would meet back at a certain time, and hopefully she would find something she liked.  He and his wife then wandered about for a while, looking into the windows of some dress shops as they went.  He spotted a formal gown in black, beaded with beautiful silver designs upon it, and said to his wife “That’s the one she’s going to want.”  They walked for a half hour more, and made another circuit of the mall.  Coming to the same shop again, he decided to go in and ask the price.  The saleswoman said “you know, we have someone in here trying one on right now”.  It was $425, and, of course, you know who was trying it on.  While they were there, she came out of the room to look at herself.  Dad saw her first, and looked pleadingly at his wife, who, after seeing this sight, had no choice but to give in.  Their girl was glowing, and her friends gave her some envious looks.

After the prom, she announced to her Dad, when they were home alone, that there was going to be a party at a cottage belonging to one of her friends’ parents.  He gave her something of a cross examination, and, respectfully enough, she told him that there was “probably” going to be booze, and maybe even drugs, there.  For the first time in his life, he gave her a flat “No”.  She pleaded and said that she, of all people, had to show up, and would stay away from that kind of activity.  He believed her, but would not let her go, and she kept testing his resolve.  Something let go within him, and this man who had always kept his thoughts to himself, began to cry silently.

A change came over his little girl, and she crossed the room to him, hugging him tightly.

She said “Dad.  Dad.  You have nothing to worry about ever again from me.  I will not go.”

On his birthday, the card she gave to him said “Dad, I love you because you love me”.
Fifteen years later, he still has it.

Homelessness and Hunger

A good way to feel. A good way to be. From Carol Hopkins.

carol hopkins's avatarchopkins2x3

blown down barn

Is God trying to reach me? I don’t know if there have been divine signs or if it’s my natural proclivity to be drawn to people in need, but I have been noticing more often than usual the stories of hardship, homelessness, poverty, and hunger – and not only the physical, but the spiritual as well. Yesterday I was one of many listening to a presentation from a local organization that is doing its best to face the twin challenges of homelessness and mental illness. Last night I chanced to watch a documentary on television called, “God knows where I am” about a homeless woman who starved to death due to mental illness that prevented her from reaching out for help.

I want to help people. But I have no idea how to do so. So, I write it out. To hold all the pain I perceive in others is…

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Radiance

This paean of adulation and hope from The Feathered Sleep

TheFeatheredSleep's avatarTheFeatheredSleep

Sun filigreed through high tree lines

Touching our chosen space with bright finger tips

We swing, irregular rhythm, sometimes your momentum, sometimes mine

I watch you point your toes and know

It is hard to remain calm, not to act upon

Desires bound by respect and difference

You are a forest nymph, a hummingbird

You are a nayad of the lake, your honey my want

I imagine holding your bottom lip lightly with my teeth

Graze your unapproachable grace with whispering touch

Green water is still and birds sound from high

I hear it all

And only the gentle deep of your voice

How you move your mouth

The tilt of your long elegant neck

Sunlight turning your skin into caramel

Picks out the rushing river of your eyes

Glances off the high wistfulness of your cheeks

Your thin tshirt a wrapper, I long to pull toward me

Your fingers…

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Hullo again

Awakes, he does, in the foldable bed.  Swims to the surface, breaks water.  Beats the living daylights out of whatever it was they gave him.  Geez, maybe it’s been a long time, he thinks.  The daylight smarts his eyes.  There’s a vague smell of stale urine.  Pupils adjust, and he sees the sea-green serenity of the room.  The netted curtains on their curvy tracks.  The vectored reachings of a needy houseplant.  There’s an ache in his arm  as he moves his hand to feel his face.   That damn tape rips out some hairs and maybe a layer of skin too.  Oh boy.  Now, touch those bristly whiskers.  They remind him of his stiff hairbrush at home.  How’d he get into this state?  There are two white-capped young nurses just outside his door.  They chatter a mile a minute, in low tones, about some difficult patient.  Down the hall?  Their lilting banter stirs him, and invokes a wide smile that cracks his lower lip.  Yep, it’s been a long time.  Fumbling for the bed switch, up he sits. Hey Nellie Bellie!  You got any chapstick?  Two girlish heads turn.  One drops her jaw, the other rolls her eyes heavenward.  Yes….there’s going to be some devilry today.