when the dead are invited back
on Halloween and All Souls Day, Dia de los Muertos and Dia de los ñatitas,
during Bon Festival and Qingming Festival, Araw ng mga Patáy and Gai Jatra Chuseok
on these days in the many places
on the crest of our mingling with spirits
at burial sites and among dappled silver-gray stones
and the blue and emerald of sky and sea
around the bend of alabaster bays
and the rough-barked redwoods and stripy eucalyptus
in the damp green of the moss
in the pungent cempasúchitl or pale bamboo shoots
and the raucous discontent of crows and sea gulls calling,
among bales of cotton clouds and symphonies of rain
among the hot tears and cool baptisms by salt water,
between the viridescent living and
the remains of the dead, the compost underfoot,
in the wind wailing past the bowing cypress
in these landscapes and littoral zones
our ancestors visit in cellular memory, our blood
sings their songs and they hound us; hounding,
not into death but into life, into blessing
into peace, celebration and joy ~
one life to live or many, what do you give?
what do you leave behind, what will you have
to say when, for just one moment, your spirit is
called to share again this wild rumpus of life
Remember “Let the wild rumpus start!” in Maurice Sendak, Where the Wild Things Are? Such a wonderful book and that exclaimation has stayed with me – probably you as as well – and I always wanted to do something with it. This poem is what came from that inspiration. So, my challenge to you this week, is to use “wild rumpus” in a poem. Enjoy the exercise and if you are comfortable doing so, leave your poem in the comments section below or leave a link to it. All poems shared will be featured here next Tuesday.
by 
Sorry this is late Jamie. I am getting ready to visit my son soon but did write something. You can view it at https://reneejustturtleflight.com/2017/06/13/he-was-pandemonium. Again, my apologies. Be well.
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No apologies necessary. Enjoy your visit. 🙂
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jumperwear
my child a sump is
the coming of plumbing
and mycroft a plump whiz
and speeches undumbing.
but times lately jump us
we show unpreparedness
and fate may then trump us
unto our assbaredness,
so let us don jumpers
to join the wild rumpus
our rumps warm as dumpsters
our bumpers full bumptious.
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amendment. ‘we walk your district quietly’.
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Thank you Jamie. A splendid prompt, set me to thinking.
Here is my first response.
‘the shelter’
I will
quite like a wild rumpus here some time,
a make shift band, a straggled procession
down the lane, chanting, scaring the neighbours.
it is often quiet here, though Kenny’s voice
carries.
there will be four of us, costumes and laughing,
happy knowing who we are, comfort in skin.
we used to push you in the toy pram, your legs
spilling out, our selves the show.
it is often quiet here now, you have grown, this
is not your area.
we walk the district quietly.
wait in the shelter.
I will
quite like a wild rumpus here some time.
sbm.
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Morning Jamie,
Here’s my submission:
This Psychonaturalist Notes
reedflare flamereed flickerflicker emberkernels lap air, conflagration without heat
in the lap of the grain as it breaks against gust
wild rumpus
amongst reedsway, cootcall, waveruffle, barkgangsign, trunksundials
amongst Geese and Seagull echoes perfect reflections under a halfmoon and quiet blue
evensong of last bell before eyeshorizon darkens and thought
sinks into eyes well to fetch waters reverie into light.
winter colours layered weather bittercoldflares inside skin, cloudsputter sharpcinder ice crackles faces.
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