River

From an ancient place where once glaciers kept 

A small spring sprouts from loins of Earth Mother. 

A birth of pure, clear fresh pools forms a waterbed 

Over small pebbles that were once source to mighty mountains. 

The baby spring strengthens into a fountain of youth 

With a curiosity that spreads out into riddles of a brook; 

Seeking knowledge and wisdom to flow and stream 

Over the ground into rivulets; forming path and way 

That will someday channel itself to a beloved bay 

Far to the western coast; at the edge of a continent. 

The River Johnna, will find the ocean

Where both her beginnings and her destiny - fulfill life.

Distention of Apprehension

Distention of Apprehension



There is a moment when all dimensions seize

To maintain their expected condign within human seas

Where right and left; up and down are not brought to question

That is, until the peccant crown orbs bring apprehension

With their tendrils of tiny protein capsids wondering

Seeking to invade by evading the platelet’s plundering.



You have now entered the twilight zone.

Where strangers are best left to be stranger; affinity is not a condone

Keep a distance by distention of six by six

Time no longer holds to the clock face’s fix.

No flowing; no gathering allowed without hiding behind a casque

Otherwise, you will be assimilated; breath taken by a death in red mask.



And the whole of the planet shall stop

While the dead are counted daily like the corn crop.

Why does the nurse collapse in exhaustion and fear?

Why do they regret lack of a healthcare warrior’s gear?

The twilight zone is no place -

For a beautiful angel’s uncovered face.

#atrociouspoets #poetrycommunity #poetsofinstagram #artistsofinstagram #woodstockil #collaboration

A Still Painting

#atrociouspoets Prompt 25
#nationalpoetrymonth
#aprilpoetryprompt

A Still Painting


Standing; stilled at the mountain’s ledge
The extreme height and depth below strike
Fear at the gut - like a sharp knife’s cutting edge.

A 2 AM ringing call alarms awake
The slumber as stillness flees into fear
And each word forth strikes at heart ache.

Two tall military men dressed in blues;
Arriving Marines strike at the door
Fear stabs the mind still; a-son-is-lost-news.

A silent room frozen in time;
Mobile hangs still; a lone bassinet
Stands empty - life has lost all rhyme.

Fear looks like the lost in darkness;
Fear is the tender heart held to stillness:
Fear is the vacant eye lost in madness.

Rhyme Alaska - Alexa

#Atrociouspoets Prompt 24

Rhyme Me Alaska - Alexa

Spake to me dear Alexa!
My dearth hearth is dark
And my thoughts are in a lark.
Give me warmth; that I not be wretched.


Master, what relief do you seek?
Free verse, Old French ballade, love poem or prose?
Do you seek a sonnet, a quatrain, or a couplet of repose?
Should there be golden orbs or a dark mystic?

Matters not - ye foolish gutless voice!
Just give me words of wisdom or advice
For my skin crawls in fear of unseen lice.
Know you not a helpful rhyme choice?

Would you prefer served in Cartesian dualism
Where replete in abstracts of a living Tree?
Or set in concrete forms of what is to be?
Shall I facilitate the poem into existentialism?

Just do it! You cylindrical formless beast;
Give me comfort and joy
Without further respite or employ!
If need be - “Alexa rhyme Alaska”, at very least.

Very well, seeker of solace and cheer:
   There was once a man of trumpery
    With quite a dumpy way in his buggery
     With affairs and slump around in leer
      He sold his soul for the bestest robbery.

The Care Room

The Care Room

When life seems empty and annoyed

Making the mind flutter in tilts

Gather wits and sew lilts

Into covers that fill the void

The Ever Tree

The youngling came to be with the moment

Questing had begun on its path to sage

As a precious child laid to rest torment

For time urges race into adult cage

“Tell me Mother, how will I grow - ever

To be as old; as noble as Pando

The Quaking Aspen that loves forever?”

“My child, mycorrhizae is life below

Love is life, what you see above - fingers

Reaching for the sun; I never know time

I understand moments for growth lingers

Until the sun’s light eases warmth sublime.”

   “Oh my tree! The face of the dreaded clocks!”

   “Fear not, join ever here – free of time’s pocks.”

Conversation with the Universe

A Conversation with the Universe

Master of Ceremony:
Welcome Universe to this grand gathering of minds
We have a panel of poets and other scions of misfit
Seeking answers to peel back the Cosmo’s rinds.


Universe:
Ask away – where do your quandaries sit;
Do your eyes deceive the notions you cherish
Or, is the immensity of me - beyond a small wit?

Past tense:
I was a writer, lived long ago and now perish’d
Though I am since gone - past my agony’s skit;
Are not my poetic words alive whence life has relish’d?

Present tense:
I am a profound poet and master of rhyme
My words are fresh, timely meals for the soul’s nourishment;
How can words in place mean thoughts beyond this present time?

Future tense:
I am the waters of hope and replenishment
Will the future be less or more or if, it even exists;
For those who measure time - will they be forlorn by banishment?

Universe:
The answers to your quest is within midst.
Only those who hold tense to time’s meanings
Are tasked to explain how past, present and future lie in tryst.

Each of these is only real if they are given a time’s leaning
Otherwise, all is contained within one existential key;
The universe is; as real as is dreaming.

A Bad Actor vs A Good Question

Good Morning fake news questioners – my kingdom is very very much gooder today.
Red governors are my besties and so great in being smarter like no one can say!

Mr. un-Precedent, what is the death count today?
How many people did your miracle save – can you say?

I do very tremendously good because me is a wonder of a sable genus that can ever be
My faithful trumpers here on this stage can make this crisis so more than I can see
It is really all those blue old people to blame – why can’t they not die, the living numbers are about me!

Mr un-Repentant and chief deceiver with sharpie pen in little hand
Why must there be a pointless signature sent across the land?
Is your ego so large that you require praise shown - even on every funeral arm band?

Why must the fake newsies be so concerned about what is true?
Whatever I say is for MAGA red - not the failing blue.
I am doing so beautifulest – you know - it is just a little flu!

Mr. POTUS of Discontent what is the COVID count this day?
What is your strong view of testing today?
How many can count on your virus testing to begin – can you say?
Helllo –
Hello – Mr. President
where did you go – don’t you want to play?

I S O L A T E D

Isolated behind the window muntins

Dreaming of the many Colorado mountains

Still to be conquered

Yet, held stilled in shelter – sequestered

From normal daily life

By the horizon latitudes of the world’s strife

Personified by this lonely empty street

Where now - only a fleeting sun’s retreat

Is left for darkness to reign

Returning to rule once again.

Sleep – is the only respite.

Will we ever be - all right?

Solitary Path

Is alone the epitome of solitary -

or is it a sentence in isolation?

Does standing in nakedness change either?

You Are Here

The title says it is your life
Such as it is – the roads use to lead everywhere
And yet, you are here.
Where the crossroads always ask
“Now where?”

The contours show the heights you have gone
And too, describe the points when life
Went so low –
Only the oceans could understand its depths
Nevertheless, the color scheme does include swatches of green too!

The legend lists the many things that were important:
Childhood toys left behind in a wooden box;
A red dog collar of the best friend ever;
Blue track meet medal for 1st place;
A wedding picture that now seems so antique;
A baby picture that makes you smile and pain at once;
An old love poem written when the heart was still young.

The scale has changed now as the road lines seem unclear.
What was once a short distance to somewhere; to anywhere
Are now daunting and so hard to see the way there.
What is the measure for doubt?
Where does it end?

Why a Clock

It is understood by all who walk by that it moves -
Somehow?
Although, it never leaves its place on the ivory tower
And it is said that it has a face that reads!
However, it knows not how rhyme works in time…

Shamefully, someone stole its one hand - probably the church mouse
Looking for a second meal as the day was getting late.

How does it portray numbers yet, it can only account for twelve not twenty-four?
Unless of course, the bells sing out the call – “it is the middle now!”
And only then, can the heavens explain – which side falls on the black or the light.

So, who knows who moved; or why the numbers are scattered around?
How is it- that 12 is at 3 and 3 at 5 and now, 9 is at one – it’s so crazy!
Oh my, what is to be done!

A second becomes a minute and a minute becomes an hour
And too soon, those hours, become days that turn into many calendars
Like buckets, some may bring cheers while others – carry a date with tears.

My! what happened to my face it looks so old now
And memory has forgotten what time is -
While my heart so much wants to linger there
When the clock still ran young
And the future – was a thing –
To long for and wait.

Don't Take This Old Fool

What have you done - you old fool?

Gone off and lost your mind

Somewhere near where memories pool

To slowly evaporate; it's so unkind.

How the world has become so closed

And left you alone and confused

If you could only run - do you suppose

What you could catch would be of any use?

Your eyes do not follow along much anymore

Although an old song still makes your toes tap

While waiting for something; someone once more

Before the night takes you into that last nap.

What have you done - you old fool

Have you broken the one last rule?

This Manifestation Box

This blue object in the universe thrives

With organisms both immense and small;

Mother Sun’s favorite planet of them all.

Three of nine albeit poor ol’ Pluto had the jive

And was thrown out from the milky way hive!

Within this orbiting revolving sphere,

Named earth and defined as ground,

We rockin’ at 67 thousand mph ‘round

The hot sun while spinnin’ and a rollin’ with cheer

Better not stop, better not step in without a beer!

The human manifestation anthology is an old juke box

With notes from little children who wonder

Asking: is there little green things out in that black yonder?

Is the black box an entire universe filled with questions of clocks

Spinning backwards and a blinking constellation that tells of a mansion of ox?

Dinner is served at eight

The table is always set to wait

For family, friend or guest date

Come hungry for talk of fate

And please - don’t be late.

Just Another Cliche

The universe coughed and the world stopped

Neither the immense skyscraper nor the miles of concrete

Could repel the tiniest of tiny intruders

And a prayer was heard:

What doesn’t kill me – makes me stronger?

And a voice answered:

There is no time like the present.

The supplicant further wondered:

Is ignorance bliss – when I am wiser?

The universe moved on without parting advice

Because actions speak louder than words.

And the pleading songs sung:

Why, oh why - is love blind?

And an ethereal voice whispered:

Can’t please everyone – so go please yourself.

And the brethren all gasped in unison: What?

When Small was Big and Trivial was Kept in a Box

I miss my army of little plastic green soldiers
that won so many wars against the dreaded red ants
and wish I had that convoy of trucks and cars
mapped out into a web of roads in my boyhood backyard.

I remember teasing Mary Lou’s pigtails
As she sat in front of me in the fifth grade.

I long for those moments, that seemed endless,
Back in the mid sixties waiting the Beatles next 45.

I yearn for the power and stamina to run forever
Without anything but the morning air to know my thoughts.

I can still hear the giggle of my daughter’s play
And how she always wondered “Why” this or that -
And, I had an answer that she could live with - for the moment.

The distinct sound of coins falling though the bus collection box
And feeling the bus move forward as if responding to my coins.

The smell of rain when the desert was young with a new day
And possibilities were yet to be on anyone’s list.

And I long for the time when surprises were adventures
Where any next turn might be nothing less than amazing.

The Silencer

The Silencer

It entered my room in quiet innocuous ways
And slyly began to hide little unimportant things and plays
With lost words; 

  with a forgotten poem’s line – once a familiar friend.

Then a favorite recipe went missing; mangled in memory’s forays

Into the massive stores of unfiled tidbits and important dates.
It stole away the eloquence of thought that once pirouetted on skates
Gracefully flourishing, gliding and spinning wonderful figure eights.

Now the silencer exits and turns out the lights so to wait out my days;
Sit with me now; hold my hand and remember for me the names at the end.

Night's Hallow

Were the hour not so timid

Were the horizons not so livid

Waiting dusk to swallow

the day’s last hour
  and me, falling into the night’s hallow