Today Yolonda declined
a rejoin invite from ladies of the day,
because the absurd notice said,
“and no damn masks” is as close
to a dis as she is willing to concede.
My writer’s guild also discussed
timing and protocols for safe rejoins
at face-to-face meetings after
we’ve all had our shots. It’s complicated.
But no one even mentioned wearing masks.
Look both ways for both wise choices and illogical tropes.
Mind the gaps as the CDC warns of yet to come.
Morning Cat
Sometimes, in the morning I stretch like a cat.
It feels good to expand my arms into the air,
to feel my body push against itself,
to feel my life physically trigger another day.
It feels good to stretch my arms into the air,
quietly announcing my arrival before dawn upstages me.
I want to physically trigger another day in my life.
before dawn steals my self-awareness, that “I’m alive” feeling.
I enjoy quietly announcing my arrival while
admiring the cobalt blue and sunny pink sky colors,
as sunrise steals my awareness, an “I’m alive” feeling
that makes me want to make the best of the day to come.
I admire the cobalt blue and sunny pink morning skies
and I want to feel my body push against itself,
as I hope to make the best of the day to come.
Sometimes, in the morning I stretch like a cat.
Look both ways when you’re feeling a bit catty.
Mind the gaps. Especially the ones behind the eyes.
Moon’s Grace
What about the moon?
I see it and can feel something
unlike the Sun or stars.
Mona, Selene, Luna, or Mwezi,
a nameless orb.
The Moon is
Waxing, waning, or full;
in orbit, playing with tides, waking
creatures of the night,
inspiring music and stories,
the moon relates to us.
Look both ways.
It is the same moon it’s always been and always will be.
Mind the gaps when it’s new and dark as night.
Should you want to read my mind,
and I yours? Do our thoughts matter?
And what of dreams?
Are they in our minds, barely clear,
unseen reverie of thoughts, only real when we sleep?
If you could read my mind, could I then read yours?
Would we share thoughts, and each be of two minds?
I’m often with two minds while claiming one—
more conflicted than confused. Do you see through eyes
that are like windows to a witness,
seeing my thoughts,
or are they mixed with yours in me?
If I could read your mind, would a new universe
be revealed to me? One with background and rationale
to justify your thoughts. Would I understand you better?
Or is it true that you and I are what we do?
If you read my mind, do you see my thoughts
through the lens of yours? If not, are my words and actions
filtered through your mind and thoughts? Is that truth?
Are you able to separate you and understand me alone,
entirely without you, your life, your experience, your own thoughts?
“I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try”
“But that was just a dream
Try, cry, fly, try
That was just a dream
Just a dream
Just a dream, dream” *
Forget my mind. It’s crazy anyway.
Read my heart. Listen for my soul.
Judge me by what I do. Ultimately, that is who I am.
I am not a poet. I’m your poet. And you’re mine.
Look both ways. Believe the real, the truth. We are what we do.
Mind the gaps and the pullbacks, the maybes are filled with deceit.
(* Lyrics from Losing My Religion, R.E.M.)
Delusion of Truth
Were they so deeply deceived?
Is companionship enough?
She was beguiled by deception, he by
love and trust, they by knowing.
Truth was given freely, and the cost
was death, maybe. How simple.
The book deceived me, tempted
by eternal heavenly bliss,
Dishonored by knowing morality.
Then I read the book.
Look both ways.
Doubt lies, believe truth.
Mind gaps for deception.
My Factitious Fog
Galère thoughts compete with factional voices
as divides within my indeterminate mind sway opinion, always—
competing thoughts contending for favor,
seeking confederates with logical knowledge,
either knowing or not knowing.
What difference does it make?
I’m haunted by TMI.
Look both ways and mind the gaps for tricks and trips,
or steppingstones,
but don’t expect it to be easy.
Anarchy Unmasked
Let dogs of anarchy desecrate
this history of earned heritage,
as shameful palls shake
souls of long defended freedom.
Withstand this crucible of vile hate
set deep in mindless true believers,
followers waving flags of folly,
in vulgar disgust beneath daemons.
Let us all stand tall and proud,
defending democratic doors
and windows to fearless hearts, trust
this legacy; let it be, set it free.
“Stand ye calm and resolute,
Like a forest close and mute,
With folded arms and looks which are
Weapons of unvanquished war.”
Let tyrants dare, in agony of despair,
to dislodge righteous love for freedom.
***
Quotation is from The Masque of Anarchy by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1819).
Look both ways. Say never to tyranny.
Let us mind the gaps but withstand our tested love of Liberty,
that masked delicate lady in scrubs who defends life.
Favored Bonds
With nothin’ left to lose, they closed their doors.
Perennials, long past thirty-seven point eight median years,
they lived what’s left of life.
She, an unwilling anchoress,
he a happy troglodyte of hopeful health.
With preeminence declining,
they stood their ground.
They shunned from their bubbled bastion those
who denied reality or died in denial
of reality’s science, as plagues of nonsense
took many from loved ones.
Together, they danced ‘till the end of love,
touched by mature minds.
Happy to be alive in a new world, until
the end of time comes for them.
Look both ways crossing life’s boundaries.
Mind the gaps and keep moving.
Expostulated Love
“I love that man,” was what she said to me,
and “I hate that other one,” her follow-on, bait-switch statement,
that morsel of red herring to mislead my unwanted retort
to her bleating caterwaul. I knew this kvetch ranked
behind turd infected punji sticks in heart and soul.
Niggle not. Poetry is sycophantic art when inoffensive kindness
and socially sensitive ethics are euphemisms for hidden truth.
Look both ways, if he can tell it like it is, I’m also justified.
Mind gaps for expiration of truth.
She laughed. Called me romantic
After I read a poem. Insulted? Quixotic?
Me?
Defender of truth and reality?
Kiss my ass, Bitch! I have feelings, too.
Look both ways when crossing romantic hearts.
Mind the gaps for the barbs of the insulted.
Our Literary Journey 