Offering other-wise

At night

I did not know love

in darkness,

as if sleep-walking and dream-

making could be seen

with a naked eye.

I remember warmth

on my bare skin,

raw at sunrise 

near the hibiscus

holding its dew 

until it too 

opened

when the suns first 

rising rays 

touched its clasped red buds.

The grey-brown finches, twenty-four

or more knew just when 

to join around the fire

of a new day,

swarming in sync

into the tangled branches 

consuming this light

that pried us open.

I remembered then,

when this dawn rose

with my presence long gone

a self perched 

outside

consuming the same sun

and sharing the infinite moment

of opening

to love. 

Artwork (woodblock) by Katsushika Hokusai (1760-1849), 'Hibiscus and sparrow" c. 1830 in Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons.

Ear worms (Annelida aural)

A rare blue stillness awaits me at three
electric sleep and low idle
hums

This scissored presence moves
closed and blunt
under roof, between walls,
muffled in cotton

picking
up soft words, I sort them,
line up and accumulate these
in stacked strips

with varying lengths-All
leaning against the left
alone

to translate for the birds
already practicing
their mock speeches and weighing the scales

like me, less
to say, we both prepare to navigate

afloat on the surface
cast in the floodlight of suns rays
songs again
tend to dissipate.

Illustration for Dante's Purgatorio 09
by Gustave Doré

First image By Shibata Zeshin [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Casus belli

It tasted yellow.

Woke up with it . Had to put it together.

Same as artificial light, that blaring first horn,

TAPS and organs now must stand up

to gravity, though the deaftone stomach resists this

verticality nestled in leaden refusal to churn over.

When focus comes on strong, this tangible sting,

bite of blink and swallow, is pointed.

And knowing the acid brewing

is not best for breakfast-as a rule-

according to the orange juice

and strong brown coffee,

I am delusional.

They rest their cases. The resting still,

they are bloodthirsty, at the ready,

palms rubbing, rabid from a distance,

the young smoking.

Look at the mess they made last night.

They are poking around for War.

It will be found. Instigators have a chronic itch.

Admixture to weak sauce with whatever 

is lying around.

And all make green, except mine, faintly

in flesh tones and tossed in peach stones.

   

A tree, like bravery, builds itself up slow

like this gathered heart, low and labored.

Rather not swallow.

The blue early bird, first notices me;

gorging on gravel and gathering sticks

to replace broken bones, he does not blink back.

I think could never forget what the birds taught me,

this was no dream,

the heart still beats itself

without a body,

And I throw up 

this empty stomach. 

Image credit By Sol Horn (4/1939) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Add ages

Don't let them tell you

You had just one job,

they always expected more.

They say, Just be yourself,

as though given a choice.

Stand up for yourself.

Don't believe enough is ever enough,

it is only enough.

The first bird and the last owl

awake

are equal aviators

afflicted with (chronic) fomo-curious-itosis.

Silver bullets and linings should help save us

before things change anymore.

We have nothing better to do

than keep busy, make haste and donate

to causes

we make no effect on reason

such as why the wherewithall has

deteriorated and became dilapidated into

three-wheeling metallic adages.

Don't ask. Don't listen. Don’t look Back.

Don't do them.

Reason is revived with hind-

sight. You will see later.

The Truth

will set you free

to follow your heart,

to do what you love,

to be mindful,

to forgive and forget

Thyself

and rest in peace

lying down.

Take it.

Your Time

is up.

Painting by Édouard Manet [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The man who cried False Alarm

Every morning this week

the neighbors car alarm has gone off-

beeping, blinking, blaring, whining, wailing-

in the darkest neighborhood of morn.

Parked across the street

it goes on and off for two full cycles,

at least,

someone is trying to snooze.

Already awake at that time,

I am still disturbed by the ruckus,

my tail feathers are ruffled,

and the worm has been scared off.

It could have been an accident-

if it wasn’t a recurrence.

And it could have been a real robbery,

since much sleep has been stolen

in our neighborhood.

Or perhaps it's petty theft-

left bereft of quiescent courtesy...

Likely, a case of false alarm was set

to scare the wolves away, 

(the wrong) buttons have been pushed-

not all alarms work the same. 


Image credit By Internet Archive Book Images [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons. The second jungle book., 1895.