NaPoWriMo 2021 #17 – a moon poem

They say there’s a moon
Overhead at night.
I couldn’t tell you truly
As I haven’t been outside at night
Since the lockdown came.

This poem’s about the moon
In theory. The prince is dead.
How did he die? He died like this.
A waxing crescent moon guides
A lost navy man back home.

The queen is now alone,
With her lady in waiting, smiling,
and bank accounts galore.
But the Beatles already told us
Money can’t buy me love.

I could never be a royal.
Their lives are open books.
Except when there’s an eclipse,
and darkness and cold surround
For a passing moment in time.

NaPoWriMo 2021 #16 – Off the rhyming prompt

Today’s optional rhyming prompt
is just not my cup of tea.
All my poems used to rhyme
but at some point they stopped –
I freed myself from that
requirement when I could,
when I learned why it was
merely an optional prompt.
Now I lean towards fourteen lines,
these days, though I vary
the lines’ length. The main thing
is the telling of the story –
the pleasure of the text,
the deep love the words convey.

NaPoWriMo 2021 – Shadorma

Shadorma #1

the lockdown
has folks real grumpy.
Murder rate
is sky high
in the city and nearby
villages and towns.

Shadorma #2

the mayor –
obsessed with statehood –
dropped the ball
on crime stats.
Criminals get a free pass –
the streets are not safe.

Shadorma #3

the crisis
on the south border
is Biden’s –
no matter
what gets televised tonight
on 6 o’clock news.

Shadorma #4

do not fear
their threat to cancel,
to deny
your freedom
of expression. This is still
the land of the free.

NaPoWriMo 2021 – #7

Three years from now, as the crow flies,
We plan to make our trans-Atlantic relocation.
My favorite coffee cup has a hairline fracture –
It may not survive the rigors of the journey.

There’s a lot to plan, to organize. Why are
So many folks developing pancreatic cancer?
Can living in Washington DC kill you directly,
(Let me check my thermoluminescent dosimeter)
Or it is the bad habits you pick up trying to cope?

Knowing what goes on behind the scenes
Is a curse, not a blessing, not a benefit.
I’ve always hated American-made B movies.
(What is Morgan Freeman selling? Please? )
Studio actors, musicians are living on borrowed time.

SAG awards their lifetime achievement trophy
To Joe the rapist, the bad dad, and his first mate,
Who literally screwed her way to the very top –
(Betrayed by laughter that seeks to shields her shame)
Proving to women everywhere that it can be done.

The Academy Awards are taking a different tack.
Joe gets best costume design for his mask
That grins and lies. The rest of the crew (including
those I use to know and respect) share
Best ensemble for dramatic imitation – a new award

This year. They imitated a white house. Imitated
A cabinet. Imitated a government. And all our
Adversaries know it. And all our allies shiver
In fear for what might happen when they turn
The lights on and turn the cards over on the table.

(“Damn, what happened to the Americans?” They ask
Me in emails that self-destruct in thirty seconds.)
It’s way past time for this one to end. Please, no
Overtime, no keeping the crowd in suspense.
Two minute warning. Leave early and beat the traffic.
April 6, 2021

NaPoWriMo 2021 – #6

Day #6

Prompt:

A book I love was the easy part.
Moby Dick, or The Whale.
Picking a sentence was harder –
There are so many good and godly ones.

So I thumbed through and considered
Passages I had already underlined,
words that spoke loudly to me
when I first read them.

“The Loom of time”

So here is the poem.

With these hands I weave my own destiny.
The threads I twist and spin together form
The basis, whether cotton, wool, or silk,
For weaving every cloth and tapestry
That results. Color and texture inform
The ultimate Design. Repetition
And precision make the underlying
pattern strong. The crosswise stitch overlaps
to reinforce borders of interface
With new threads introduced. The surface fills
with dust for a moment – I blow it off
And continue. I reach a point where I
can see the end. I may undo a stitch
Here and there for a more complete outcome.

Then change the title.

Memories from Rope-Yarn Wednesdays

NaPoWriMo 2021 – Work day at the community garden – #5

Work Day at the Community Garden

It was work day at the garden.
My ask was to clean out the tool shed.
Mirna was my work partner.

You could tell it had been closed up
For the winter – there were spider
And their spun homes everywhere –

Especially on the handles – spiders
Must know the smell of human touch
To put their webs there so uniformly.

The shovels had been put away
Dirty, clogged with dirt and clay.
We cleaned each tool with wire

brushes to knock the old dirt off.
We pulled out every piece and cleaned it
Then we cleared the floor of debris.

I closed the tool shed door from inside
To clean the groove that housed
the sliding door. I experienced a taste

Of claustrophobia that cleared
as soon as the door was reopened
And light poured into the space.
– April 5, 2021

NaPoWriMo 2021 – off the prompt and for the blog, only. For Gil Scott-Heron’s birthday party.

For Gil Scott-Heron’s birthday party

I skipped off my boat
And slipped into my car
For the show at ODU.

I was so close to the stage
I could smell the Afro-sheen
In his afro-ed hair.

The guys in the band started
Warming up. Always my favorite part
Of a concert or performance.

They played all my favorites.
But there was something missing.

What is it about the stage
That steals your art, robs you
Of its ritual value?

Or is it in the reproduction
Where the purity gets distilled
Out and discarded?

It’s winter in America – the empire
has fallen, crashed under
the weight of its own corruption.

You got your exit strategy?
I got mine. There’s still time to plan,
to jump off this sinking ship.

The final act won’t be televised.
it won’t be on the 6 o’clock news.
But you will know.
Yes, you will know.