The Sun Hat
Her hat’s broad brim shadows her face,
discouraging his fond embrace.
He removes the hat and then
plants a kiss where it has been.
Both actions—kiss and hat removal
have the lady’s full approval.
So, with no further ado,
he makes it two!
We Cannot Surrender Her
Try as I might to urge her on, she will not go.
She sends me on to test the water
but remains on the shore.
Ankle deep and then no more.
Fingers trailing and then no more.
Having once found a false bottom,
she trusts no foothold.
The falling is the thing, I tell her, yet she holds back from the fall.
Let me go down, I beg her.
I will always bring you up, she answers.
This is the role we alternate being the stand-in for.
What I want she keeps me from.
What she fears I pull her toward.
How many of us, children of the fifties,
find ourselves on this seesaw, wanting to control the ride?
Relax, I tell her, but she can’t relax––fearing what relaxation brings.
She cannot surrender herself. I cannot be content until she does.
Two-in-one, we rail against each other, then hold hands.
Comforting. This is enough, she tells me.
Nothing is ever enough, I tell her.
This is my third major rewrite of this poem originally written in 1976. Only three lines still remain from that poem. It is perhaps finished now.
Here is the link if you’d like to participate in dVerse Poet’s Open Link night and here is the link to read other poems for dVerse Poets Open Link Night
For dVerse Poets “Connections” prompt.
Hairpin
He rolls over,
pinning her
by her long hair.
He sleeps on it.
She draws his dreams
through its long shafts,
works out his days
into her web.
Her hair,
black raven coal
falling down the chute
between his hands.
Her hair
to be pulled down.
Her hair
his fist
coiled
in each other.
Her hair
his mouth
the cave
a feast of hair.
Her hair side-winding on the ground.
Passion.
Her hair whips
his face until he weaves
a bridge of it
to cross the high crevasse.
Her hair
drying
with a baby
swinging from it.
her hair woven
into bags and harnesses,
yet when a strand
slips from behind her ear,
it makes necessary:
fire,
bronze,
iron,
steel,
rubber,
factories,
the assembly line
just to invent
the
hairpin.
Oops, sorry… I missed that I was supposed to start with “This is not a . . . . I was in a hurry because I was afraid the posting time was about to close! For dVerse Poets Prompt: An object.
Shy Cynic
I find your droll smile curious.
What’s more I find it spurious.
Your skewed lip, its mocking curl
as you address that certain girl
cannot hide the truth that you’ve been smitten.
By the love bug, you’ve been bitten.
In your heart, I see a lake
more moist than that dry smile you make.
Your truth’s exposed there in your eyes.
Please lose that smirk your glance belies.
Number 9 Blues
Those eyes,
that song,
a bird the color
of the moon
we met under.
The wind
a ribbon of sadness.
Cold hands,
broken heart—
all the hue
of a trumpet’s lonely staccato.
The theme of the camp is “When you Wish Upon a Star.” This camper has taken the theme seriously on his mask.
‘STRUTH
Your computer shares
whatever you choose for it to share.
If what leaks out is happiness,
then you’ve enriched us all.
Let humor be an infection you spread.
Share files overflowing with empathy,
documents that are the organs of kindness,
And above all,
Truth.
For dVerse Poets Quadrille Challenge: Happiness
I wrote this intending to edit it, but when I counted the words, it was exactly 44 words, so I am going to try to let it be. In itself, it formed the star shape. I only discovered it when I centered it.
I changed two words because I had totally left out humor and had truth called for twice. So it was justified. I also switched “have folders” overflowing with empathy.” to “Share files overflowing with empathy.” The reason for the change is probably obvious. Okay..I am also changing “stores” and “store” with “shares” and “share.” Really need one letter more in line two, but leaving it alone. For now. Stay tuned.
Crazy Shirley Writes with Her Teeth, Lips and Tongue
When? says Crazy Shirley,
is the dreadlock on that bucolic
hot-giggle
Samson man
gonna just fall off?
He’s been dipping it in
beef stew and sugar
all day,
fahrenheit been hitting the top of the bulb!
He’s in a ubiquitous position,
’cause Bob Marley’s not in the general vocabulary
of this fraternity.
He’s kinda mucous-tasting and fecund.
His face? Chalk-white and he uses
a kitten in the morning for a wash cloth.
Hippopotamus?
Yeah
They’re heavy.
Sure.
And a goldfish is gutteral
while an owl
sorta chortles and
whooooooos.
I’m not that keen on bucolic,
but
I got a Ticonderoga tintype
that’s got the most fantastic hue!
A “sound” poem for dVerse Poets
Harvest Moon
Peeking in the window,
blanketing our dreams,
It is a welcome harvest moon
whose straight and narrow beams
filter through our window blinds,
bathing us with light,
coming once again
to fulfill its yearly rite—
a calm and soothing presence
that mitigates the night.
Not the blue of a heart before forgetting.
The blue of the sky above Colima Volcano,
no other clouds in it except one puff
of earth’s hot breath becoming visible
in the cool morning air.
Like blue caught in icicles.
Give me that blue.
A personal note of interest. The water in my house is heated by this volcano!
For dVerse Poets Quadrille Challenge: Sky
