Wink hated me,
and I him,
the same.
Because
I had his number.
Look both ways when reflecting on all relationships.
Mind the gaps for problems and power handicaps.
Sammi’s Weekender #344 (wink)
Poetry
Sammi’s Weekender #343 (window)
The Side I Never Met
Floating through darkness
I saw a light
in the black universe, one
dot, then
I determined
it was a window.
A woman was there.
She seemed to look but not see,
her blue eyes were calm.
I sensed
honest love, like a mother.
I could see longing—expecting
in her moist eyes.
Then I saw
the window was
a mirror of reality.
She was my reflection,
able to see into my past.
She was the image of the real me.
See both ways when looking through windows or into mirrors,
especially as metaphors of life.
Mind the gaps, the cracks, the wrinkles, and the patina of age.
Everything means something.
Sammi’s Weekender #342 (ocean)
Two Earths, land and
ocean
perfectly disguised above.
Deadly.
Needed for life.
One Ocean. Four names. Only one.
Awesome is insufficient.
Look both ways when lost at sea.
Mind the gaps in the Marianas Trench.
The third line alludes to the song, “A Horse with No Name” by America (band).
Sammi’s Weekender #341 (rhythm)
Rhythm is fascinating
to humans, animals,
even natural things
like rain can capture
the human heart and soul.
Even now, the natural pat-
pat-pat of my foot
absentmindedly comforts
my mind and soul.
A cat purrs out sounds
as birds sing their tunes
and the dancer begins
to move her feet.
Some days
the lyrics move me,
Other times,
it’s the beat
and I move my feet.
Look both ways at the lyrics and the music.
Mind the gaps where one saves the other.
I do so enjoy watching these dance videos with a step or two of envy. 🙂
Sammi’s Weekender #340 (wobble)
The bow-legged woman
wobbled like a lady
doing the boogaloo.
Kind of a James Brown
LA stomp
with an old bag
of swag.
I just try to get by,
she said,
with an audible sigh.
Then I saw them leave,
the lady and drummer,
whose name was summer,
wobbled hysterically
out the door
just to move their feet.
Look both ways and write your song.
Mind the gaps and the sounds between the notes.
Sammi’s Weekender #337 (scribe)
Been a student.
Learned and been taught.
Forgotten most of it by now
like Algebra and French
except the writing. And
some things
that can’t be taught.
Other things
I didn’t learn in school
like telling stories and jokes
that are learnt by listening.
Sitting around campfires
when some was truth,
some memories,
and some was downright lies.
When they ask
I say I write.
“What do you write?” they question.
What should I say? Words? Stuff?
Letters or poems?
Will novels and memoirs
resonate with my interrogators?
What does any writer write?
“I am a scribe.”
Sometimes.
Look both ways for self-identification.
Know the how’s, when’s, and whatever’s.
Mind the gaps and watch for traps but try to be what you say you are.
dVerse Poetics November 7th, 2023
This was a complex prompt, so it is best to go to the dVerse page and read about Lisa’s Time Machine Bucket List: TMBL and the subsequent prompt with options.
I think I sort of did Option 1, but this comes from my heart. I know Lisa said ten and cull out, but I can’t do that. I focused on both the stars and the venues because, seriously, I would try to go.
Coming Around Again
Forty-five (or more)
albums later, fifty years
of water under two bridges,
if we could go back.
Back to when you opened up
to your kind, to your fans,
and friends and family,
your folks, without
a care or anxiety
for either of us.
Long over now except for
the forever connection
of Ben and Sally; I still
love to hear you and James
sing duets and harmonies.
Save me seats so I can go back;
back with my beloveds
with you to concerts like:
Live from Martha’s Vineyard,
or from Grand Central,
or from aboard the QM 2.
Can we meet at the Eagles’
Sad Café? It’s been fifty years
Carly. What do ya say?
Listen,
mock, yeah,
ing, yeah—let’s sing!
Look both ways, but when the more is in the past,
we can wish for times to go back to for just a brief concert to visit,
to sit and listen, to applaud, perchance to take in a toke.
Mind the gaps until time travel is perfected. Our goals are very specific.
Click here to enjoy more TMBLs.
And Carly—
Sammi’s Weekender #336 (search)
The Maelstrom of Combat
Hunt and kill missions,
search and destroy—S&D,
sick and disgusting.
If it’s them and dead, it’s VC.
Body counts win wars.
Ask GM-azon.
Euphemistic defense profits for all,
but not the warrior, the solder,
dead and maimed
they suffer, kid-killers—all,
they hate and love battle.
Combat. Killing.
I die. Why?
Look both ways, toward the light and the dark.
Mind the gaps for hints of denial.
It is yours to reason why.
Sammi’s Weekender #335 (dissociate)
I tried.
George Carlin said
he tried.
I was———
then was not.
I left,
then came back.
Then,
left again.
Later, I went
back again.
More redux
than reborn.
I recommitted.
United
one more time.
I was a long time in,
way over my head.
Finally, slowly,
I surrendered
to what
I’d long resisted.
I’d never
be them.
I didn’t believe
and
never would.
Truth
forced me.
I dissociated
from all things
religious.
Look both ways on the continuum of faith.
Mind the gaps, but when you are done, take your stand.
***
My book of poems is available on Amazon (as paperback, e-book, and/or Kindle Unlimited).
dVerse Poetics: Why war?
It is not difficult for me to write about war or things military. My difficulty is to not.
I wrote this as directed by today’s dVerse prompt.
His Secret War
When he emotionally told me—
he confessed, he squirmed—
with the guilt and shame
that had long lived in his gut.
For him,
it was a hard story to tell.
Surrendering emotions,
“If evil were evil enough;
if good were good enough.
“I would find the courage.
I would fight for right,
one war to end war—forever!”
He was conscripted. Drafted!
It was what he could do
for his country. To serve. To kill
(or be killed).
Maybe he’d find glory. Heroism.
Maybe death.
But wait.
He opposed this war.
He was to fight and kill
but he hated this war.
“Is there another war
more to my liking?”
He felt that killing and dying
were not in his peacenik milk nor
cup of tea.
“Send another,” he protested.
He was ordered to report.
But he was too good for this war.
Too smart. Too woke!
Too compassionate.
He was above it.
But war he did.
And he killed so as not
to be killed. To survive.
And when his war
was no more,
he came home
to discover
that he too,
was no more.
Sadly, he missed it.
Look both ways in war and peace
because each is merely the absence of the other.
Mind the gaps, the traps, the mines, and bombs.
Win your battles to lose the war.
***
Inspired by “On the Rainy River,” a section in the book The Things They Carried, by Tim O’Brien.
Click here to read more poems based on the same prompt.
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