Bugging me (Tanka)

The paper hits the
floor, under the fold it says
loudly, a purpose,
look inside, between
last words: splat, flat, gnat, take that!













Image by Yva [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Afloat tonight

Light,
           light               feather
                       as a
chit for chat
idle, chew the fat
                                 nonsense
weather
                   whether
I fear
                    I cannot hear
(the talk is too small)

-It's your call-
(don't answer)

rhetorically,
                     what if...


           light-ly
Light
                      as an **IDEA**
wham-bam
                     Thank You
                                         shhhh
(snores
ignored tonight)
          Up      like             the moonlight              
I'll be

Light
             light
                         as ignite
(that's right)
Incite-I might try
                         to light your fire
a spark
gleaming
in the dark
                        Light-years
                                    away...
(Please,
keep your beacon bright for me).



Image By NASA/Scott Kelly over Italy from ISS[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The story goes...

Loose ends and what-nots

(for now)

                  Left out

An antennae for articulation

Feelers for the unfinished

Business                

               of this

                          Busy-ness

Buried in

Piles of slush

Blue bergs on my shoulder

                          Peeking like turtles,

the Titles only protrude embossed edges.

Forensically, youth is represented by shades of Green.

Golden leaf mulched for hi-res imagining

And this

is precisely why

                          Starting only feels new once

Again like re-occurring recurring

serial coincidence becomes easier to predict.

     Like weather

once

(in a while)

upon

and the ending never comes after-

a Time

Happily.

Image in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, State Library of Queensland.

The Monarchy of October

From my quiet pitch in my pj's

the dawns dark fire rekindled

under the coal clouds

embers embracing day 

remembering and warming

their undersides

pink lily liver bellies 

waiting for white to shine on...

The shadows never slept,

spoke the moon softly

who watched 

the menage a trois

of Mars, Venus and Jupiter

atop the altocumulus stage

late and lascivious at this hour-

A hush and the sky gives way

to orange, Octobers delicacy

indulgent, licking glad and warm, 

Indians wave

at the passing warm breeze 

the kindred Monarch

of summer reborn 

taking the Santa Ana pass

linger now

A black phoebe cracks

shells in the slow stir
of rise and shine

human voices splinter

lips labor for slivers, 

making first words

untruth

whispers and thoughts

are better for the butterflies

already dressed 

for Octobers occasion. 

Image by By Lisafern (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

One on One, or Eleven

I.

It is only breaking the rules 

if you are playing the same game.

II.

They are called Higher Truths

because they go over the heads of those looking down.

III.

Popular and award-winning are not goals,

they are only endings.

IV.

Despite the reflection in the mirror,

you've only met in passing.

V.

Success is doing what you're good at every day,

even when it is not successful.

VI.

Education is a service, learning is a luxury,

and comprehension is a privilege. 

VII.

A nest egg is for your children's future.

VIII.

Spend your legacy in your lifetime. 

IX.

Real love is pure selflessness. 

X.

Dreams are conversations.

XI.

Art tells secrets.

Creativity is light and light.

Image By Internet Archive Book Images [No restrictions], The world's history, a history of the world.  via Wikimedia Commons.

One thing at a time

Looking at parts of the hole
I see
minuscule matters
and things such as these
meta seek and micro zoom
You said and I said
We mean
the small pieces, by letter
one
It's hard to hear
the echo is blurry
what do you see
in the closeness?
One
there are clouds
clods of dirt and minerals
gems, fools gold
made into shiny clay
by the minuteness of
concentration
pulled into Virga
amounting to nothing
but the pressure to become
one
haboob
passing through
what was
once
a lush landscape.


Image by Grant W. Goodge, NASA, in N. Caroline, Virga from atop Flat Top Mountain.

Scratching the surface

It began then,

I used to practice on voodoo dolls

Aligning with the pencil first

But even then, something jerks the wrist

As my thoughts grow, futile

To chase after it

Vexing and curses said

I feel the weight

Of an eight-ton boulder of granite, leaded

Asserting its antiquity

On my shoulder, I can still try to erase

Rely on random distraction

Bolts are bold sparks-there I said it-

Losing my place

Lets me go

I fight with me

Incessantly, and yet words escape

Somehow-I’ve always been this way

Scribbling furiously, relieving pressure, dying inside

Without a place to put

What I no longer have room to hide

Scratching the surface with graphite

I hope the day comes when

Ink doesn’t remind me 

of my own blood.

Image of drawing by Carl von Bergen (1891) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.