Category Archives: Poem

Biker Wedding

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Biker Wedding

Though I’m just your uncle and backward at that,
I’m exceedingly fond of my sister’s sweet brat.
I hear there’s a  biker you’re eager to wed
and though I’d suggest  a nice banker instead,
I’m here not to alienate, but advise
(since I am your kin who’s most apt to be wise.)

Instead of a veil you’ll be wearing your patches
and learning his lingo by listening to snatches
of biker bar gossip and those conversations
spawned over road talk and major libations.
You’ll be in your flannels and Kevlar-lined denim
(I’m sure that no bride ever looked better in ’em.)

You’ll whisper “I do” and then exchange your patches
before you head out for a ride down to Natchez.
But, first things being first, you have asked me to aid
in getting your wedding invitations made.
I’ve checked out your spelling. The words are all fine.
Only the printing may be out of line.

Though responsible service may not be impossible,
are you quite sure that leather is embossable?

Prompt words today are uncle, alienate, backward, responsible and service.

Everything is in the Shape of a Bird, a Fish or a Woman

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Everything is in the Shape of a Bird, a Fish or a Woman

Look how they frown in the old photograph:
my grandmother, her sister,
her two daughters and her granddaughter.   
All of the women are very stern.
Grandma looks out of her element,
her eyes shielded against the sun.

In the yellowing photo,
“Taken at homestead” written on the back,
They stand, stark house behind them.
From the porch overhang, a sparse vine hangs,
but on the hidden tendril of the vine,
in the dead tan prairie that surrounds the scene,
in the summer grass bent low, I imagine birds.

It is a drying photo—brittle, cracked,
of three generations of prairie women.
Although none there knew it,
a waterhole is in their near future,
and in this stock pond that my dad would someday dig,
would swim perch and crappies,
sunfish, northern pike.

And although none there will ever see it,
in my house, everything is in the shape of a bird, a fish or a woman.
On the wall hangs an earthy goddess–
stolid and substantial. 
Birds perch on her shoulder, arm and knee.
On the hearth, a crow formed out of chicken wire.

A soapstone fish swims the window ledge
beside that aging photograph
and on another window ledge
 are two ancient terra cotta figurines.
The small one kneels in her kimono, playing pipes.
The large one stands wide-hipped
with arms narrowing to points
above the elbow.

In my studio,
a still-damp terra cotta figure
holds a fat plum.
On drying canvasses,
Women recline in their vulnerable states–
layers of wet flesh tones, yellows, purplish reds.

The house in the photograph
has been long-felled by rot and fire and rust.
All of the people except the youngest are dead.
Yet still in the grass, the meadowlark.
and in the muddy pond the minnow.

In the glass of the photo frame, I see my own reflection–
thinning lips pulled into one straight line.
around me is their house, their sky, their prairie grass.
In the glass, my face
turns into the face of my grandmother.
I flinch but do not falter.
I look deeper.
Reflected in one eye, a perched bird.
in the other eye, a swimming fish.

for dVerse Poets Open Links

(To enlarge all photos, click on first photo and arrows.)

 

The Comfort of Old Men

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Photo by Jan Abellan for Unsplash. Used with permission

The Comfort of Old Men

Children are sleeping sound in their beds,
inured to the missiles launched over their heads.
They’re used to the discipline of a cruel world
where bullets are served when the flag is unfurled.

They call it allegiance their country to serve
Old men sit at tables displaying their nerve
by setting out battle plans whereby the young
provide the chests where the medals are hung

that they earn facing death so the old men can gain
more gold that the young men pay for with their pain.
They posture and pose. They salute and they brag.
They call it a privilege serving your flag,

but none of the old face the bullets and fire.
It is not the aged men marked to expire.
Their rigors of battle are all of the head.
None twist to the impact of napalm or lead,

but war’s golden rewards are amassed in their pockets.
Munitions and guns and bullets and rockets
are the fruit of their plunder and part of the fun
they will buy from the profit they make from each gun.

This generation’s blood sweat and tears
will pay for the yachts of the rich and the gears
of the factories smudging the skies with their waste.
Air chokes on their vapors, the oceans all taste

their lethal remainders and sicken and die.
We have poisoned our water, our earth and our sky.
What is left once the old men have all had their say?
They will live life in splendor and the future will pay.

Prompt words for today are inure, twist, golden, privilege and discipline.

He

30 Replies

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He

would have married the girl and had children
and been less overt with his teachings
of peace and love too radical
for a world immersed in their opposite.

He would then not have changed the world, perhaps,
but  only lived in contrast
to that power popular among those who needed it
and effective in keeping those averse to it quiet.

If he had married the girl, the world would probably have ended up
pretty much how it has anyway, but he might have had a different ending.
Grown old, had his cronies over to talk about the good old days,
converted water into wine and served them loaves and fishes.

Mary Magdalene would have danced for them in their memories,
and all of his grandchildren would have listened in awe
to hear the tales of how he walked on the water,
bade Lazarus to rise from the grave.

He would shush his cronies as they started in
with tales of how he smashed the souvenir stands
and threw the money changers out of the temple.
Not stories for young ears not quite ready to learn revolution.

And all of the ill done in his name might have happened anyway,
but at least he would have had a good life.  Would have suffered less.
And some other savior might have found a way to save the world
that would have worked.

 

FordVerse Poets Pub: Write a poem about a deceased person.

 

Jumping to Conclusions

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Photo by Ashwin Vaswani on Unsplash. Used with permission.

Jumping to Conclusions

She’s a lady of distinction. You can tell it by her walk,
in her whole deportment—her manners and her talk.
It seems it is a given, since she has a lot of dough
just where, in November, her vote is bound to go.
She lies back on her chaise, even graceful while recumbent,
but quickly springs erect when you mention the incumbent.  
If you ask her about politics, she’s apt to tell the truth.
She will not give allegiance to the stupidly uncouth.

 

Prompt words today are distinction, apt, allegiance and walk.

Guru

12 Replies

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Guru

So many worship at your shrine you should consider syndication.
You could make a pretty penny if this queue’s an indication 
of how many have decided that you are a modern prophet.
I believe you’ve found a sure way to turn prophet into profit.

Is it central to their growth that your followers contribute
all their worldly goods for their guru to distribute? 
We’ve listened to your bark, so now we’re ready for your bite—
that you need a bigger mansion to bolster your insight.

If only you had taught your hordes to look through their own eyes,
they might see their Messiah as a shyster in disguise.

 

Prompt words today are: bark, central, worship,  decide and indication. Photo by Hal Gatewood on Unsplash. Used with permission.

Picky

9 Replies

Picky

“Prompt” does not associate with “tardy” or with “lazy.”
Those that are more “languorous” think “quick” people are crazy.
Life is made of opposites. The “sad” think they are right
and “cheerfulness” a symptom of someone not too bright.

“Smart” does not associate with “dull” or “dense” or “jocks.”
“Artistic”merely hangs around with other folks in smocks.
“Stolid” does not socialize with “lissome” or with “breezy.”
“Health freaks” eschew contact with folks “drippy” or “sneezy.”

It seems to be a symptom of our modern day and age
that “with-it” folks just hang around with others “all the rage.”
“Breezy” jogs with breezy. The “stagnant” prefer bars
where other stagnant people hang, or buzz Main Street in cars.

Knights hang out with their orders while polishing their lances,
giving men less “chivalrous” condescending glances.
Thus do the cliquish congregate, each thinking it’s the rightest,
not seeing that the hoi polloi are actually the brightest,

accepting the diversity that mixing-up can bring,
seeing what life offers and trying everything.
Life is not a single dish hoarded at the table,
but a mixed buffet where one should taste all they are able.

Prompt words today are breezy, lance, quick, symptom and associate.

Daily Diatribe

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An acquaintance recently commented on Facebook that I should “Give it a rest, Judy!” My answer is that I’m not rioting or burning buildings or occupying state capitol buildings with guns or expressing my feelings by licking meat in grocery stores or coughing in people’s faces. What I am doing is saying what I believe daily, hoping that somewhere, somehow, I’ll sway at least one person to reason. Probably won’t happen. Our country is so firmly divided now that even something catastrophic just seems to pull us more widely apart. It is perhaps the era of our decline that all great cultures in the past have fallen to, but there are ways to fight other than stubbornly and violently standing up purely for one’s own needs and this is my way. So here it is—my:

Daily Diatribe

I’m on permanent curfew, and I don’t give a darn.
I’ll sort out all my closets and finally sort my yarn
by strand size and by color. I’ve been wanting to for years.
I’ll attend to all those “To Do” lists I owe on in arrears.

I’m respecting all the rules—wearing face masks, washing hands.
I’m not rioting or protesting or taking racist stands.
I’m staying home and hoping justice will have its day.
I’m not quoting out of context but I am having my say!

For those who say it’s patriotic doing what you want to—
coughing in people’s faces in an effort just to flaunt you,
I want to say, “How infantile.” If you were mine, I’d spank you.
But for those living with reason, I want to express a “Thank you.”

Those led by a fool with be drawn to foolish action.
If you glorify a sociopath, you’ll be joined in that faction
by white supremacists and bigots. Kindly look around you.
How can the folks who share your views not shock you and astound you?

It’s said you may be judged by the company you keep,
and the seeds that you now sow will be the harvest that you reap.

Prompt words for today are curfew, yarn, respect, justice and context.

No Hints Given

17 Replies

 

First the five-foot high undergrowth had to be dealt with.
The state of the lot in July, 2021.

Click on photos to enlarge.

No Hints Given

Outdoors is bright and sunny. The rain has ceased its patter.
The pecking birds are pecking and the chattering birds chatter.
Butterflies stage a homecoming around the tabachine
announcing the retirement of the big machine
that worked the big lot next to me with giant rolling claws,
For eight long hours, it it scooped and scraped without a single pause.
It trounced the giant boulders and put them in their place,
crushed the weeds and tree limbs, leaving not a trace
of all the weeds and rubble, the stones and the debris,
burying it within the earth so we cannot see
all the ugliness of nineteen years’ accumulation.
of our neighborhood’s detritus, so here’s a small ovation.
What new event will crown this lot? What may be coming next?
I guess you’ll have to read about it in upcoming text.

 

I finally got my lot next door cleared of all the debris neighbors have been piling on it for 19 years. Wish I’d gotten a better photo of the “before,” but here are a a few Johnny-come-lately shots.

Prompt words today are outdoors, homecoming, sunny, trounce and text.

Animal Voices

12 Replies

 

 

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Animal Voices

My cat is very subtle, so I named her Innuendo.
Not so for the dogs, who always speak in a crescendo.

When they feel romantic, cats may wail an eerie tune,
but dogs need no testosterone to prompt their nightly croon.

Cats vocalize for grand events. Dogs blather on at small things:
a squirrel on the garden wall–literally all things.

Every passing siren causes canine howls to bloom.
They seem to herald catastrophe–to signal the world’s doom.

If cats should chance to dream a tune, they keep it in their bosom,
but I think dogs release their songs simply to amuse ’em.

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Word prompts today are: innuendo, bloom, bosom, blather and tune.