savor the counted days and
the thousand nights, the wealth ………………..of timed gifts …
this singular moment,
a million souls dancing,
reflecting something larger
like the moon’s glow as it
flames in your eyes by night
at the grocery ~
Meeting accidentally in the wine section
you sip me shyly with gentle conversation
and read the label on my selection,
your hand brushes mine, a sensual appeal It’s for drunken pasta! I explain,
you laugh and say you’d rather drink than eat it
your eyes are Wedgwood blue and hold a wistful smile
you imagine I’m something fine, a vintage port
you’re flushed with the fancied sweetness
I could drink you too, a sturdy Bordeaux
but I no longer deal well with hangovers
To the Frog at the Door
if you kiss a frog, so I’ve been told
there’s a chance he’ll turn into a prince
a frog prince, which means you have you absolutely have to love him
and i’ve loved a few frogs, at least
i think i have, they never became princes
nor did their love morph me into a princess
i’m still a cranky old crow, we are what we are,
loving frogs and crows isn’t transformative ….why should it be?
one woman’s frog is another woman’s prince
Because love poems are elegies (if you don’t agree, pretend you do for the sake of the exercise), write an unRomantic poem.
If you feel comfortable doing so, leave your work or a link to in the comments section. Responses to Wednesday prompts are published on this site on the following Tuesday.
never saw my father’s living room,
but i imaged it, cut kitty-corner,
end to end, into triangles, like
mom’s grilled-cheese sandwiches,
hope dying on the one side
despair thriving on the other
“There’s only one great evil in the world today. Despair.” Evelyn Waugh, Vile Bodies
A screenshot for “Duck and Cover” (1952), early cold war era propaganda film for children (U.S. Public Domain)
If you weren’t there
you can hardly imagine the beauty,
the exquisite peace of those hot summers
Sun as bright as a child’s heart
Trees thickly leaved and old as God
Heat rising off the nubby concrete
in mighty rainbow waves and life
moving in time to the music of paradise
Or, so it seemed to preschoolers at play
At the dead of noon
a stillness
Even the child sensed it
that transcendent moment,
nature in quiet meditation
no breeze
no sighs
no butterflies winging
children stopped playing
grown-ups stopped working
the Hudson Bay stilled its roiling
when suddenly
the beloved city choked on the swell of an air-raid siren ….
…. testing
just testing
just blowing a chill wind into
languid days of childhood dreaming
toddlers crying for toddler reasons
well-trained grade-school children
diving under oak desks for the required
The cold war: there was so much revealed by the singularity of that time. What crazy quirks do you remember or have you heard about from those you know who lived through it?
If you are comfortable, leave your work or a link to it in the comments section below. All shared pieces will be published on this site next Tuesday.
Hangover
Jamie Dedes' THE POET BY DAY Webzine 