Day 24 – One Day, While Sprinting to Check the Mail

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One Day, While Sprinting to Check the Mail

I spied a nonagenarian

struggling to our mailboxes,

sluggish enough

to be considered

still-life.

 

I offered to help him.

 

He unhurriedly

glanced my way.

 

“Young man,

don’t worry,”

 

he said with a wry

twinkling smile.

 

“None of us are getting out of here alive.”

** *

Written for dVerse Quadrille #31, hosted by Grace. The word for quadrille Monday is still.  

Drop by and check out everyone’s contributions to this prompt.

Day 23 – Meditation Revisited

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Meditation Revisited

Breathe deep, feel yourself dissolve into peace

Fill your lungs with air, let the healing grow

Settle into now, silence your mouthpiece

 

Feel your pulse slowing, heart pressure decrease

Allow you to be, unclench the ego

Breathe deep, feel yourself dissolve into peace

 

Don’t fight the tempo, throw out the timepiece

Inhale the moment, the turbulent flow

Settle into now, silence your mouthpiece

 

We are to suffer, until we decease

Exhale the poison; gift to the willow

Breathe deep, feel yourself dissolve into peace

 

Do you ruminate? Just breathe and release

What was staccato, now leveled tempo

Settle into now, silence your mouthpiece

 

Imagine oneness with null masterpiece

Soft summer current born from undertow

Breathe deep, feel yourself dissolve into peace

Settle into now, silence your mouthpiece.

***

This poetic form is called a villanelle

Day 22 – The Trouble with Meditation

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The Trouble with Meditation

Harmony eludes me

tranquility and calming sea

“come”

opaque at the surface,

questing,

staring through shallow

into cavernous shadow

pulling the soul

from white meat

toppling temporal balance,

body teeters into terror

jerking me back into

here and now,

“forth!”

shaken and sullen, I

sit, gasping in wonder

at what softly,

firmly

pulled at my mitochondria

could be possibly made of

other than filaments of

pattern-recognizing, bias-confirming

imagination

and not the gentle whispers

of the depths chanting

a single phrase until

my subconscious soul

heard and almost complied

with the amorphous command

“come forth!”

***

via Daily Prompt: Harmony

Day 21 – Memo to a Black Woman I Know

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Memo to a Black Woman I Know

You are

magnificent, beautiful,

magnetic majesty,

magnanimous, poetic,

magical alchemy

 

You are

radiance, radical energy

and grace-amazing,

spontaneous, valuable synergy,

outpace-appraising

 

You are discreetly cared for

as one who soothes scars,

the secret shared with

the sun, moon and stars

 

You are life, and light

and larger laughter,

rife with fight,

regarded rapture

 

You are

the knowing look

that knows of brutal reality,

the glowing brook

that grows the fruitful family tree

 

You are not

the hateful screams of the heartless

you are not the hurtful schemes of the artless

 

You’re not of the words

they’re wielding as weapons,

you’ve got songbirds that yield sonic blessings

 

You are a blessing.

You are the magic.

You are impressing.

You are fantastic

Your soul’s refreshing.

Your worth’s galactic

 

Never forget

you’re a love stream; a fateful fountain

cutting through seams of hateful mountains.

** *

Written for a friend of mine who had vile racism visit her at work tonight in the form of a hateful, insulting customer. Don’t let it beat you down. We got this.

Day 20 – Midwatch Apology

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Midwatch Apology

Sir, so sorry for my outburst.

Unprofessional, no excuses.

But with good reason, you see…

 

I was training the new transfer on radar.

I explained weapons-lock on primary…

He told me his spirit-guide was the wolf.

 

I dunno, sir. Seemed like personal shit to me.

But I moved on, described secondary lock…

And crows tell him when his lady wants to talk.

 

Now that’s just damned peculiar, sir, isn’t it?

I’m not one to poo-poo First Nation Mystics…

But a lady usually wants to holla at her man, right?

 

I mean, isn’t that true, like ninety-percent or so?

If someone needs a crow reminding him to-

I’m sorry, sir. Way off topic. Not my concern.

 

So I showed him how to use track-while-scan

to keep tabs on surface contacts to take with guns…

He told me he had a six-and-a-half-inch long penis.

 

Hell fuckin’ naw I didn’t ask about his schlong!

 

Sorry, I mean. No sir. I didn’t wanna know.

I never wanted to know about any man’s tackle-box.

He just volunteered that shit, like it was normal.

 

Like he was proud of his little bishop or somethin’.

Like that’s some shit you tell a shipmate

who’s trying to train you to help defend the ship.

 

Anyway, I guess that was my breaking point, sir.

That’s why I shouted, “Aw HELLLLL naw!”

and asked to be relieved of watch for a few minutes.

 

Sir, so sorry for my outburst.

Unprofessional, no excuses.

But with all respect, sir,

 

please instruct the first-class petty officer

to refrain from discussing his girlfriend,

his spirit animals, or his sad little rudder

 

while the second-class petty officer trains him

to operate the weapons control console

so the Lone Wolf can qualify for the midwatch.

** *

Written for imaginary garden with real toads prompt involving a crow, or crows. I’m not sharing it there though, as this poem-a-day thing is really kicking my ass and I don’t have time to enjoy others’ poems as much as I’d like.  

I’m sad to say, this was inspired by actual events. I… should probably see a therapist.

 

Day 19 – Nature of Our Cosmos

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Nature of Our Cosmos

1.

Each day

I pass

the Russian woman.

She never acknowledges me,

except for a rare annoyed scowl,

annoyed at my interruption of her

spirited debate with

nobody, her glare

fixated on a

specific corner

of nothing.

2.

In the beginning,

there was nothing;

no God, no Devil,

no good, no evil,

no free love, no mass-murder,

no sailing ships, no rocket ships, no spy satellites,

no chocolate, no truth, no lies, no bigotry,

no chicken soup, no science, no poetry,

no gas giants, not even a single molecule.

3.

Each day I pass the Russian woman

talking to trace molecules of barely nothing.

Some days her tone is soft, conciliatory,

other days, defiant, demanding.

I can’t see who she’s speaking to, but

part of me hopes she wins the argument.

4.

Science

makes the airtight

argument that Cosmos

was birthed from a bang long ago,

but shrugs when asked what came before

the cosmos, why She came

to be, what’s Her

purpose,

where’s the

verse preceding

Her, what entity or

mechanism banged Her into

being.

5.

The Cosmos exists.

She has amnesia.

6.

The Cosmos birthed herself with a big bang,

all the energy that ever was

or ever will be

was dispersed,

filling the void with Her molecules,

seeding Her realm with energy, matter,

and later,

something called life; Her messengers

and investigators scattered

to every corner of the firmament.

7.

Finite in nature,

the end of life

is not the end.

8.

Matter that was life returns to Her,

having never left Her;

the energy fueling life’s soul

returns to Her collective,

helping Her piece

the puzzle together.

9.

The Cosmos exists.

She is learning about herself.

10.

Select few lifeforms are born with

more pieces of the puzzle than average.

They are typically persecuted,

executed

just before they can share this knowledge

with the willfully sightless.

11.

Some become enlightened all at once,

stepping across the ethereal plain,

gasping in wonder

taking their secrets

directly back to Her.

12.

Others become enlightened,

but stubbornly refuse to cross over,

instead opting to address Her directly,

ignoring those without vision,

knowing we lack the knowing,

the dimension of perception required

to convene with Her.

13.

The Cosmos exists.

She is a Russian woman

holding communion with Her nature.

** *

Written for NaPoWriMo’s day 19 optional prompt: write a poem that recounts a creation myth. This is my creation myth.

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Day 18 – Greetings from Blessing My Heart after Your Betrayal

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Greetings from Blessing My Heart after Your Betrayal

Hi you, grinning with gentle malice

Vile intentions known, veiled thinly

Hiding behind wide-eyed finnocence

And letter of the law, perverted

 

Sup, you, symphonic syphilitic cynic conductor

I’m compelled to commendtalieate

Impressed, I will pat your twisted back

Before kicking you down the fucking stairs

** *

Written for NaPoWriMo’s optional day 18 prompt: neologisms (made-up words) and dVerse Tuesday Poetics: Wish you were here. (postcard prompt). Let’s just say that I’ve had to deal with some interesting personalities recently.

Drop by and check out everyone’s contributions to this prompt.

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The Black Napkin: Now Seeking Poetry Submissions

ATTENTION POETS! This looks like a great opportunity. Click the link below to learn more. ❤ “The Black Napkin, an online poetry journal launched in 2016, is now seeking submissions for their upcoming issues. They are looking for poetry penned with urgent strength, poetry that needs to be heard. They like writing that disrupts the […]

via » The Black Napkin: Now Seeking Poetry Submissions — Colleen Chesebro ~ Fairy Whisperer

Day 17 – Maritime Confrontation

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Maritime Confrontation

“Be careful,” my Workcenter Supervisor cautioned me before removing the cover to the seawater strainer. Training had begun on what was to be a monthly task in maintaining the ship radar’s heat-exchanger. Steve was stepping me through the process for the first time, cautioning me against the possibility of a poisonous sea snake popping out the strainer, biting me, liquifying my heart, making my blood boil, and writing a swastika on my lifeless forehead. (I may have imagined a few sea snake tendencies.) After I undid the last bolt, Steve slowly removed the lid. “Oh cool!” he exclaimed. “A tiny crab! Look, Barry!” On-cue, out popped a four-inch crab, claws brandished aggressively.

Fear is my lifelong companion. I don’t overcome it as much as I learn to live with it. My earliest memories involve being afraid. Of the dark. Of being different. Of being the same. Afraid of being teased for being afraid. Of the inevitable violence married to racism. Of getting my ass whupped over bad report cards. Afraid of dad beating mom. Of mom nearly killing dad. Of dad leaving and never coming back. Of mom nearly killing me. Of nearly being killed in gang-fight crossfire. Of mom nearly killing my brother. Of possibly being killed during nearly every pointless police shakedown for “fitting the description”. Afraid of failing. Of not trying. Of not being strong enough for Navy boot camp. Of drowning. Afraid of possibly becoming an addict like dad. Of possibly being a schizophrenic like mom. Of failing my wife and kids. Afraid of being exposed as a pointless muthaphucka with nothing substantial in my soul worth sharing.

But none of my fears prepared me for squaring off against a four-inch crab angrily defending his new saltwater strainer home.

“Aw HELLLLLLL naw!!!” I wailed, wheeling around, tearing through the hatch, through the junior-officer jungle, my slipstream waking the ensigns, narrowly avoiding turning my division officer into a speedbump, out the exit hatch, trying to control my rapid breathing, hearing my bemused Div-O ask Steve, “What the fuck was that all about?!?” which, after a beat, was followed by uproarious laughter.

The navy trained me to rely on my training when confronting fear, but my hilarious fight-or-flight antics must’ve hit Steve square in his empathy chip. He never even tried to assign me strainer duty again after that. And hell naw, I sure as shit never brought it up.

And crabs are delicious. Except for when they’re alive. And bite-sized.

the sea gently rocks

I breathe in her promises

centered and focused

** *

Written for dVerse Haibun Monday: The only thing we have to fear… hosted by Toni Spencer (kanzensakura, hayesspencer). Drop by and check out everyone’s contributions to this prompt.

 

Day 16 – Backyard Conversations

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Backyard Conversations

And we’re climbing, growing, in nature

Within her bosom we blossom, crossing, in nature

And we’re climbing, showing, in nature

Portraiture, nomenclature…

 

I’m just an ivy vine

it doesn’t take much to climb

the backyard evergreen pine

my every scene is fine

feel every sunray is mine

the humans they gripe and whine

they say I’m invasive grime

but I’m just in spatial prime

 

And they spray controls and herbicides

to fade me back into the margins

because I’m not beholden to their designs

they made me crack without a bargain

They think they have dominion

as if they live far apart from it

They think they have dominion

as if they are not a part of it

 

And we’re climbing, growing, in nature

Within her bosom we blossom, crossing, in nature

And we’re lilting, wilting, in nature

Portraiture, nomenclature…

It’s probably just in our nature

 

The blackberry bush leaps

the manmade divisions

in plant’s lightspeed, he creeps,

plans laid, sapping provisions

from the prettier life

causing humanity strife

strangling the wildlife

indifferent to pruning knife

 

Sometimes I catch him watching me

watching him doing his thang

we share a knowing laugh,

knowing absurdity of our silent hang

They prune him back with difficulty,

but he comes right back with ease

They prune him back with difficulty,

and he returns despite their pleas

 

And we’re climbing, growing, in nature

Within her bosom we blossom, crossing, in nature

And we’re flowing, showing, in nature

Portraiture, nomenclature…

It’s probably just in our nature

 

Humanity’s its own disease,

it poisons its dominion

pristine degrees and gentle breeze

fall in dissenting opinions

they deplete the very things they need

to sustain their own species

they delete their many precious seeds

to maintain their racial feces

 

Our timeline is dynamic,

but while their era is comical,

the punchline is quite tragic

as they can see their coming fall

They think they have dominion

over nature, over all

They prune her back with difficulty,

failing to hear her call

 

And they’re lilting, wilting, in nature

Within her ruins we lost them, falling, from nature

And they’re lying, dying, in nature

Denatured legislature…

 

Was probably just in their nature

** *

Written for and shared to the climbing WordPress prompt.

via Daily Prompt: Climbing