Ephemeral

It’s another sunny day here in blue-sky America,
and everywhere you look there’s a dome of sky
and a patch of grass that’s perfect for everyone.

Morning’s a whitewash; all things move, swimming
across open spaces without any visible effort:
These are the birds, small, fragile but resilient,
without which morning could not exist.
These are the lupine and zinnia, swaying in the birdsong.
This is the cat, sitting in a window, watching.

I am the I, recording. I move about the space
like air, but less substantial than air, seeing
and touching what is seen. I cease being. I cease.

Sun floods in, warms the empty space it touches.
All matter, everywhere, catches some of its fire,
reflects back some of its heat.
I move about the space like sunlight,
I fly out the window, I lift the shade from
under the trees, I warm the lupine and zinnia.
I become the lupine. I become the zinnia.

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RDP Monday — Ephemeral
———[||]———

Under The Awning

It’s just past Solstice up in Vermont,
one of those few early summer times
when the temps gets up over eighty
for more than two consecutive days.
He’s acutely aware of all the hot girls
on Main Street in halter tops and shorts,
in sandals and sunglasses; and he’s
glad to be alive, an old man
in a shady café, sipping iced tea
and still breathing, seeing the sights
in the just barely summer air.

—————[|||]—————
Imaginary Garden With Real Toads — Solstice
———[||]———

Peace Talks

amid shattered glass
aggression in the kitchen
but in the bedroom
neither was invincible
they both surrendered quickly

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Originally written for NaPoWriMo in 2010, revised and presented here in response to today’s prompt (“Peace“) at Ragtag Daily Prompt.

The Cure

Slap

it’s a slap
in the face
in the morning
(another morning
not unlike the last)

it’s the slap
of coffee
leftover
cold
and two-day old
Chinese

it’s the slap of
rusty tap water
greasy stovetop
trashcan
overflowing
no cigarette butts
long enough to smoke

oh but I am the rose

—————[|||]—————
RDP Friday — ROSE
———[||]———

Ron.’s Corpse

Don’t know if you’ve ever played the Exquisite Corpse game and I’m fairly certain that—like me—you’ve never even heard of the Solitaire Version. But that’s what the Real Toads are asking us to do today, so…

(If you have no idea what the hell I’m talking about you can check out the rules by clicking the link below.)

Meanwhile, here’s my attempt:

Attractive books live long. Words:
beautiful facts. Slay unsightly worlds!
(Dazzled eyes behold muscular stories.)

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Imaginary Garden / Real Toads
———[||]———

real toads

Into The Light

cropped-the-cabinet-of-heed-header-image1

Power Outage, my poem about being caught in coincidental but non-simultaneous blackouts, is up starting today in Issue 21 of The Cabinet Of Heed, ably edited by Simon Webster.

Read ‘Power Outage’ Here

This is my 2nd appearance in The Cabinet. My short prose, Coyote, appeared last year in Issue #5 (February).  You can read Coyote HERE.

My poem finds itself in great company (which is always the case at The Cabinet) and I hope you’ll take time to check out the entirety of this and all previous issues.