It creeps up on me as the judge grills.
I search in my heart for the right answer,
for having failed as a good daughter.
Being so far away, seeing her sporadically,
the pink-flowered Hanbok she made
for me for the first day of my kindergarten,
the warmth of her hand that held mine,
in the deep ocean of memory,
I weep, wishing I could go back and
give her a hug.
What was born of the old selfishness?
Nothing, not a thing, except, gaining
some insight to see beyond ordinary.
This dragon fire had not melt even
a little sliver of the ice of the world pain,
merely flying ’round, singing the song
like a bird heard by few.
Let the salt water brim the eyes,
listening to her soothing voice,
He settled on the branch called home, his little feathers flirt, beguiled by the passing wind, dormant selfishness, understanding absent. Wife’s feminine fit would be clashed with his teeth, clutching his off spring, he’d fly to his dad’s. After many days, would return home, irrational act, defeated by his intelligence, still, he blames the law-mother for lack of daughter-and-mother talk–his ignorance of the fact that they text message often. “Do your part,” she tells the couple. “No one is fault-proof. Say sorry and work it out.” In a fit he vanishes into the night. In the wee-hour, he turns into an owl and returns to the usual tree. Her heart beats normal for now, hopes he stays as the new one.
Mountain creatures, little and big, settle down In the home of the summer-lady, After the cease of the spring fanfare Of the loud creek and heaving earth. Her smorgasbord richer and stronger in taste Than the season before. Young ferns’ curls loosen to reach the stars, To learn the unknown, Skinny legs of the offspring got stronger, Mamas and the youngsters roam the hills and valleys For the berries and whatnot, The moon guides the strayed fawn, Till she smells the doe. Squirrels and chipmunks eye on the people picnic Under the pine trees. They welcome the popcorns Left behind but scurry away from The dirty napkins and empty cans, And the like. Irate wind kicks them ‘round, rages at the sloppiness, At the disrespect for the rec center of The Mother’s Home. Waterfall guffaws at the frolicking trout below, Hawks cry above the tree-tops, sensing the Stealthy autumn beckons from the distant mountain, Warns the hikers for the elfish snowfall On the high mountain, then they Shrug it off, dance to the tree-wind-song.
* This poem first appeared in The Avocet, Summer 2020.
* It has been over two weeks since my husband and I returned from our trip, and we are fine, which means we didn’t catch coronavirus. I thank my god!
Honeyed Words By GregoryTullock—firstname.lastname@example.org
Nectar Like liquified sunshine Golden, pure, sweet Gathered by the Industrious tongue Of the honeybee Transformed through Apian alchemy And received by The appreciative tongue Of mine own Tupelo Sourwood Basswood Clover Honeyed words Spoken straight to my tongue Whispered to my soul
Deep inside ourselves By Charles Portolano – Fountain Hills, AZ – email@example.com
Deep in the sea, oh, deep in the sea where darkness rules the warming waters are percolating causing great grief, changing migration patterns, killing our coral reefs.
High in the Alps, the Andres, high in the Himalayas, and on both of the Poles the warming snow flows down their crying faces of the once frozen ice, now escaping into the warming seas.
Rising sea levels, oh, rising sea levels now leaves so many homeless as she takes back her land, where we all came from in the beginning of our existence with our first breath of oxygen.
Breathing in deep is a struggle, hurts each breath taken for the young, the old, the sick, all feel the burn in the back of their always sore throats, the endless coughing, just trying to catch their next breath.
Deep in the back of our minds where we keep secrets, we know the end will be coming for our refusing to choose a new way to live sharing fairly all the resources Mother has to give to all of her children…
* It is free to download The Weekly Avocet. This will hide after a week.
Good to be back home to Wyoming. With the Coronavirus
lurking everywhere, needless to say, it was a cautious trip.
I feel fine so far. If this continues for a week, I’d say I am
free of the virus. Thank God. 😊
My young-blood used to drive me to dare to do Something more than my body can take: Lift heavy things even he barely does, Mow the steep hill in the back of my house, Indulging in the pleasure of ceasing the wild things, Ignoring the groans of the blood vessels in the legs. As years go by the body rebels. The vessels have enlarged, bulged in silent cry, I ignore the brief, sharp pains in the leg. The broken valves, blood pools in the low, The legs swell, pregnant with a trouble. Doc suggests I have a surgery to remove The ailing veins, before getting worse, But he can do it after nearly two months, Meanwhile, the molar starts aching, Wave of painful years of past Drowns my head beneath the sea blue. Antibiotic taken lessens the pain, But the core is still there. The dentist will remove it after two months– One of the inconveniences this pandemic brings. He wants me to join him in traveling north. Reluctantly I agree, glimpsing The blot of a bird in the pale sky.
I’m going on a road trip for two weeks. With my god’s help, everything will be fine. ♫ : )