Ode to Queen Jessica:
~love has no color, only the heart can see it; in natures prism~
Her birth was inevitable—
orange Lady Bug helicopters on the windowsill,
giggling about the Princess to be born.
The ladybug with hidden wings,
Visits a sunny glass pane,
Then buzzes back on the windowsill
with a slow dance—
and awaits patiently still.
Falls parade has already announced
The coming birth, from the mountains of Virginia
To the rivers of Valley Forge.
The Prince has already been born,
Waiting to cradle her into their upbringing.
Lady bug smiles at the harmless spider,
settling in for the winter,
spinning the legends
of her descendants,
in the center,
of her castle—
Sept. 29th 2020 (Quar)
This is my father’s birthday, now buried in the Mount Calvary Cemetery. Lost in prayer and thought having flash backs of a father never being there, mostly never here.
Abandoned by his day-care giver (his wife), after abandoning him and the children, he was unable to deal with it alone. Sending the children to relatives.
1950’s Las Vegas Divorce **
“Life has to be given a meaning because of the obvious fact that it has no meaning.”
Sitting on the fire escape
he was waiting for you to save him.
He wallowed in his inability to leave.
Cheap hotel: bed without bedposts, no complimentary soap.
Should he sit tight waiting for you?
To work out problems never explained
between love, residence, and a person that only pays rent?
All he was asking from her,
is to save the last dance for him. For love, affection,
and a future without dereliction.
“Gosh, that is a nice dress.
Bright red with sequins and plunging neckline.
You never have gone out with me, looking like that.
Yes, I know it’s new.
To wear when the night has no moon.
To walk the cross walks under streetlights
glittering with nightly specials on your low cut- menu.
Stopping anyone who has only one feeling—
to admire your attire and everything that is underneath;
soft, round, moist, short skirt’s unrelenting heat.
It was me.”
Wielding a face like an axe,
he silenced any objection to negative gestures of guilt,
into words, into conjecture, into blame.
The truth as he experienced it.
Another act to repeat itself in disaster—
having to search in the clutter of useless feelings.
Like her first set of headlights, windows rolled down;
to her last trick— running on empty, but, never gently.
Cheap hotel, bed without bedposts;
stench of stale cigarettes and after shave floating
through the next rooms’ half-opened windows.
He sits there without the utmost concern,
or yearning for his guardian angel—
or for the disposition of his soul.
watching another night fade into morning;
waiting for Eve
to come back
and save him.
* “Notes Found On The Refrigerator”
** “The Night Before Breakfast”
A butterfly visited the sun flowers, kissing only a few, before she flew away. I guess the others are taking their turns.
first flower to pick
leaving the others to bloom
all to pick smiling
Sept. 2nd. 2020: Quar
Oh, blissful ignorance:
In Wilmington, Vt. watching the sun sinking behind the trees.
There is a soft breeze that exhales and inhales around me.
So, should I?
To settle this day down
And let the evenings starlight
with the moon peeking
through the clouds announce
its closure at Midnight?
grasshoppers still chirp
before the incoming frost
that moon sweeps away
Green leaves shush each other,
in the gossip and the celebration
that will take place;
sometimes in loud applause
with the forceful incoming
The sun and the moon are complicit;
getting ready for the seasons fall
—In pageantry and bright colors
before winter candles are lit;
to read by and catch the glow
on the faces by the fireside
and smile with the rewards
of another year, gone by.
the leaves are laughing
giddy all spring and summer
sleep gently tonight
Aug. 28th, 2020: Quar
I am not a keeper of records or memories. Nor, of cream and curds mixed with fantasy and the absurd. As if… it is like yesterday or yester-year! I never know today or the future clear.
There is a presence in the keeper’s mind of your absence; in the “tock” of time or the “tick” of our heartbeat that brings us closer, in each disappearing day.
the rose is a scent
that wants to be remembered
Aug. 29th, 2020: Quar
There are storms and floods
covering the shallows
disparaging the un-holy;
while the righteous soil
absorbs the water.
And emerges as just another flower,
in the garden.
During these times:
We are looking for monks, brothers, and sisters who live, eat, and teach in our neighborhoods.
Instead we find a High Order of Holy Administrations that accepts, for the propagation of our core beliefs in each other, Alms… that prop up ancient Architectural structures to modern day Mansions; that feast in its symbolic understanding. Accepting tidings and spending them as a profit from a ticket purchased to Paradise, Angels, and reconciliation and if you double your offer, they’ll include free shipping.. Some admit it’s a raffle; 1st. place, Heaven. 2nd. place, Purgatory, 3rd. place Hell. 4th. Place, stay alive and pay twice.
We are looking for the monks, brothers, and sisters who live, eat, and teach in our neighborhoods. That understands the Holy spiritual path to community without compensation or lack of dogmatic male compliance.
it’s a cloudy day
winds are changing tomorrow
sun not far behind
I understand why some shutter their windows
But, they eventually need
to let the sun in, to shine through
Looking at the stones I placed around my small flower garden, I noticed this particular one, quite larger than the other ones, was placed in the middle and on top of the small stone wall. It caught my attention as it transformed into a focus that became clearer as I paid attention.
I saw my history from childhood to my children appear and diminish as another transition appeared.
I couldn’t take my eyes from the story-teller stone. Until it all passed, and I could focus, again on my garden.
appearance in Spring
gaiety and rebellion
settles in the fall
Aug. 24th 2020: Quar
Illness and death in a pandemic can become common place, as “Barkers” praise the immune; at the grave site of the families and friends in grief.
flowers fall to ground
as insects chew thru the stem