Tag: free verse

Wheel of Fortune as dystopia

I am in no hurry

to pack my things

because staying is a malapropism

and there is always room in the tarpits

if you don’t mind swimming slowly.

.

A turn of phrase, of cheek, of light

bending through water

is magic, non-weaponized

and as stoic as a conifer in March

watching over sleepy hills.

.

Let’s dress up

for a 100-year-old picnic

where we can spell croquet

as we play

and tread lightly over whatever’s broken.

.

More tea

and it’s time for a new hour

with the same crickets on parade

though this time I’ll harmonize

humbly yet grand.

.

(title credited to my son)

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Trusting

I sat just long enough
in one spot
to know the message of leaves
as they sang in the wind:
nothing is certain
but Change will come.

I forgot how old I was
as the breeze brushed my skin
and my Faith pushed forward,
making the steps smoother.

The light flickered
and years flew back and forth,
a timeless search
abandoned, let go
for a contented Chaos.

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Artifacts

Kicking a bottle cap

accidentally

an echo in the alley an aural portal

to a dusty and hot place

somewhere in antiquity, somewhere desert

where women’s bowls, cracked,

left deeply embedded beneath

many feet walking miles and miles

to and fro, like we do now, for nothing

than a few coins, a few grains, some fish

Men molded dream women

even then, now we find them buried

missing a limb or a digit, like now,

we’re all missing something

though we think it’s heavy and important -like time-

but how much time does it take to laugh

or sniffle at a flower?

Horace would laugh at our tweets,

earnest influencers’ odes to prosceniums

full of silicone and chrome

we compare mud and silver

and kick a pebble down the dusty road

like we do, like we did, like we will.

…

(City Poems prompt, @UutPoetry. “Artifacts” published on Substack. Check out the relaunch of UutPoetry at Substack, with poetry, process, and prompts to peruse.)

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My shape

I’ve mostly been comfortable in my skin,
sure of what my body could do
even when I felt like an emotional hurricane.
Mostly the damage stayed inside.
I’ve wondered over my mental state,
the numbness that comes with surviving,
the ever-present swirl of thoughts;
I am my own worst distraction
and best source of entertainment.
It’s been that way since I could first daydream.

I’ve felt a shift with aging,
less sure of my body, more sure
of my thoughts. An adept changeling
-but with emotions still all over the place.
Mostly the damage stays inside.
Maybe I’m not meant for balance in this life,
which is terrifying and exciting
but still wildly entertaining.
The daydreams are more fantastic
and age is a figure shaped like me.

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A quick jaunt

Measured movement, feeling every step
(heel-toe, heel-toe)
the locomotion a means to no end
losing count, trying again,
tripping up… again (heel-toe)
willing the chin away from the chest
to look up as curiosity holds sway
the sway of a clock’s hands
the sway of hips propelling forward
a body too tired to think on its own,
following a bird’s flight
as a guide upward into light
or at least less darkness where we are.

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