Poetry: See No Evil (NaPoWriMo Day 1)

The day one prompt challenged me to write a poem inspired by watching “Seductive Fantasy” by Sun Ra and his Arkestra.

Click link to watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bX_xh2do3eM


See No Evil

She asked permission to paint her room.
We agreed without knowing anything.
The nineties were pointless trips to nowhere
without boring rhythmic sounds of psychedelia,
like coos of Mexican doves
invading my ears, dulling my brain.

As with straight lines and square corners in nature,
nothing made sense without the age and drugs and booze
opening accepted altered states understood only
by artists who painted strange images upon
home wall canvases in rooms to sleep, to dream.
Unaware of, but fearing, impending nightmarish doom.

Why did monochrome pointlessness happen?
I want to cry. Sometimes die. Because life is a lie.
None of that is possible for the imprisoned people,
unable to see whatever reality there is or isn’t,
when certainty is a soundless death
after a meaningless life of pitiful existence.


Look both ways, but never look back.
Mind the gaps where the music stays.

Sammi’s Weekender #202 (yonder)

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Book Up

Perhaps the most prolific
“Minor Regional Novelist,”
memoirist, and
cowboy de-mythologist
has told his final truth
and attended his last picture show,
over yonder,
in Archer City, Texas.

Two days ago, that
gringo who told the
truth about
drug-store cowboys,
closed up shop.


Look both ways as you measure success,
especially of vanishing breeds.
Mind the gaps wherein hidden depression lasts for years.


Larry McMurtry, a prolific novelist and screenwriter who demythologized the American West with his unromantic depictions of life on the 19th-century frontier and in contemporary small-town Texas, died on Thursday at home in Archer City, Texas. He was 84.

Read more about this by clicking here.

 

Poetry: A Pantoum


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.

Sammi’s Weekender #201 (orbit)


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.

Poetry: Sammi’s Weekender #199 (element)

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Petrichor Remembered

Loved the feel as I stepped down to the trail.
Recent rains changed everything. I loved the smell
of dry leaves and trees and soil,
natural elements like the scent of petrichor,
a feeling that gives me chills today,
just thinking and remembering. All in with nature.


Look both ways. All is nature, a mistress to everyone.
Mind her gaps for secrets to survival.

Poetry: Winter Spring Water


Sitting on a bench
beside this small lake
on a warm, sunny
winter March day,
in Texas, not yet Spring,
but it feels good.

A golf course
on the opposite side,
with carts silently
moving, following, stopping,
going nowhere
to find a ball.
Golfers swing clubs,
ride to find balls.
Some call it exercise.
I gave it up
in college. No
regrets.

What is it
about the water
that calms me
and I want to
write a poem
about feeling
peaceful, calm,
listening without
hearing brave birds?

Soon it will be
Spring, and
I’ll return here,
to find calm.
A nice day, this,
in many ways.


Look both ways around the water.
There’s the natural and the not.
Mind the gaps where golfers lose their balls.

Sammi’s Weekender #198 (kitsch)

 

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What’s Cool?

Is kitsch quality or poor taste?
Are minimalists monotonous?
Are sandal’s socks courageous?

Do pink Flamingos
promulgate plastic?

Is Bahama Mama racist?
Are Brazilian Beauties sexist?
Is bland better than spice?
Is culture copy complimentary?

No fuzzy dice on mirrors,
but the green turtle on my dash
and a little yellow rubber duckie love me,
without some good god’s crucifix
or prayer beads.
I admit. I’m a bit kitschy.


Look both ways with taste and preference.
Human nature dictates, human nurture personificates.
Mind the gaps between and among us.

Sammi’s Weekender #197 (call)

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I wrote two poems because I liked this prompt.


Happy Raspy

The young, talented, beautiful Irish busker’s angelic voice,
unique and indescribable, called to me from Grafton Street.

Her glancing smile and raised brow calls all to pay homage
to the gift that brings me to resonated tears. My raspy old poem.

***

Yo, Billy Boy

When we said, “Call for me,”
we invited a friend, always a boy,
usually Jimmy, to stand outside and yell,
“Hello, Bill (or Billy)” loud enough
to be heard from any part of the house
and responded to, if anyone cared.

***


Look both ways on Grafton in Dublin.
Mind the gaps in such a marvelous voice.

Sammi’s Weekender #196 (possess)

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Half of One

Her possession complete,
their synergistic power became
magic greater than ever.


Look both ways because life is short and comes with a price.
Mind the gaps for inspiration and answers.

(I have no idea if she is the possessor or the possessed. I was thinking the former, but the latter works too.)