Penumbra
My father the sun,
my mother the moon,
I was that edge
created by their union—
that category of child,
partially obscured,
who cast a lighter shadow.
Just as much of them
as either might have wished,
I learned to shed my own light
by tracing the patterns
of theirs.
Click on photos to enlarge and read captions.
For Cee’s FOTD
Click on photo to enlarge.
Isidro Xilonzóchitl and Greta McLain are painting this wonderful mural on a wall along the malecon in San Juan Cosala. If anyone else would like to help to contribute for the cost of paint and to recompense them a bit for their labor, I will match contributions up to the first $100 or 2,000 pesos. They’re working on it now, so come see the project as it happens!
This call for contributions is my idea, not theirs, as they have been funding the project themselves. If you have a venmo account, contribute at venmo@goodspacemurals or drop by the maelcon and drop your contributions off there.
I left my blog just before posting to go feed the dogs and cats. Then, an hour later:
(To read the story of why my poetry post was late today, click on photos to enlarge and read captions.)
For Cee’s Flower of the Day Challenge. See her post HERE.
Click on photos to enlarge.
Again, no color modification has been done. These are the actual colors of this outrageous sunset!!!
Rice-Burns
After the engagement and the wedding bash,
after opening the presents and putting out the trash,
the groom fell into reverie, staring at the dark
waiting for revelation to ignite a spark.
All his cache of memories no longer served their function.
He longed to hear his bride murmuring words of tender unction.
But she retired early, exhausted from the stress
of all the machinations since she had answered “Yes!”
Thus did another wedding night turn out to be a dud
as wedding over-planning nipped romance in the bud.
“That” Girl
I imagine her a gabble-ratchet, such a vocal child—
talkative and stubborn, clever, loud and wild.
Loyal to her friends, solid without a glitch.
It was not her way to waffle or to snitch.
All who entered her domain followed where she led.
If they were her arms and legs, surely, she was their head,
ruling her world with personality and *wit.
All her minions swarmed around to be part of it.
If her town had had a castle, she’d have been its resident.
Instead she had to just make do with Vice-president!
*”Why is KamalaHarris the only person that laughs at her jokes… always way to long and way too hard?” Mr Trump’s son asked. “You wouldn’t know a joke if one raised you,” she wrote back.
Prompt words today are president, snitch, gabble-ratchet and personality. Image by Kiana Bosman on Unsplash, used with permission.
GABBLE-RATCHET. As well as being an old English dialect word for a noisy child, a gabble-ratchet is any nocturnal bird (particularly geese) that makes a lot of noise at night, once considered to be an ill omen.
