S.E. (e)

S.E.(e)

From cool crystal canada

to the tuscan sun

shines a voice

lilting through

cyberspace

bearing witness

with wordly words

whirling

dancing

challenging

decrying

exploring

poking

stroking

loving

laughing

crying

living

life

poetic

in that

shining

unparalled

voice

songs are sung

ringing through air

to float

land and lodge

in the heart

forever…

this mystic gift

all begun on

this day February

twenty-second

some years ago

in some magical

incarnation

this gift from the

universe

S.E. (e)

Happy Birthday Sharon Ingraham 

Still under construction

Galaxy

by Petr Kratochvil

Galaxy

Still under construction - Lesson from the Universe 

Ah I enjoy being
peacefully mindful
not busily mindfull
that is
I actually think I'm good at it
if not a grand-master whiz

Watched a film yesterday
Achingly titled Amour
Of dignity, death and
love - grand canvas perspective for sure

Perspective that did not
quite last through the day
As the floor men arrived
Finally finished they had gone
last week on their way

One day after they left a
main line backed up and out
and left puddles of sewered
water a grand might mess without doubt

Through it all remained sanguine
Just one spot after all
Could have been worse some folks
not back in homes not by a long call

Today was all set to begin back to work
Tomorrow upstairs repairs to begin -ha am I such a jerk
To think that I control the Fates that would be
As the floor men they came and yes, did they see

They saw what they saw and what that was - was this - said with a serious face
The entire level must be resanded and stained all that had been put back taken out of the place
So, we'll start not quite from the beginning but almost it does seem
Like a queasy night waking from an uneasy dream

I was losing perspective gained from the heart-wrenching Amour 
then phoned the florist to order something for a dear friend whose mother just exited this earthly door
I began to vent just a little in a gentle mindful (ha-not!) way
Until the sweet florist responded to say

"Anything that can be fixed is no problem you see"
My daughter out of the blue has just had a double masectomy
She is well, she is fine, she is recovering now"
And, this poet here listened as the Universe smacked me upside the head
and clearly whispered "Mindful? - Really? JUST HOW?"

We find what we need to put us back on our course
And so I put up a pot of coffee, add cream and go with the force
A reason for everything that comes to be
How ridiculous to need a reminder when it is so plain to see

The Burrow

Greening by Teodoro S Gruhl 

The Burrow


"Quickly!" she calls in that crystal
pealed voice -"Hurry!" and he, little
brother drops his socks in
the grass and follows his confident
sibling, scurries, wriggles on naked belly into
the burrow, mind squinched shut against
what he knows is only an imaginary filthy-root-
munching-troll hiding, sneering in subterranean soil,
only an imaginary door into which he will be pulled

He must have cried out or moaned, as small
snakes or large plump blood-sucking slimed
worms slithered against his soft belly, reaching
for him with hungry suckers from the soil beneath

He must have cried out, for his sister hissed "Sshh!"
in that silent would-be- grave as her bare foot grazed
his cheek at her sudden stop, 
as she in church-struck wonder whispers
"There."

in the candlelight she lit from who knows where,
who knows how, there they were
as she had promised, two tiny cubs nestled one 
into the other, new fur, soft as the just held-dawn 
with a surging lack of all fear he reaches 
his now steady pointer-finger and touches -

They, his sister and he, sit
on bare haunches, transfixed faces
bathed in shimmered flickered light,
as the cubs sensing the same majesty
first one, then the other,

opened new eyes
and for an instant that
will survive the boy all his years
all eyes lock in liquid
pools of fathomless eternal depth

They, these four, in this springtime birth-burrow
are as one set of undifferentiated newlings,
hidden from all in the cool, calm velvet safety of the earth
as the World dressed in shame, artifice, aggression and disguise
rushes above them 

the naked bulb

the naked bulb

under the naked bulb

the pair scurries

from the imaginary flashlight

of the father, or the cop, or

the jeering faces of friends

under the naked bulb

the pair in hiding lock

the car door, fix their clothes

one friend turning to the other

hearts pounding at the root

mystified at the lack of all they had

held known before this night

under the naked bulb

when everything changed

forever

under the naked bulb

playing around with a newly invented form

4-6-2 with repeated refrain - first 2 stanzas

action driven -  final 2 lines 

resolve or explain the previously described

intensity, repeated refrain and title set mood 

and must be identical. 

fear flown -

fear flown

panic thought-scurries

flicker as neon-blind-flashing

fears flame from their hiding

in soft incandescent candlelight

shatter through the coping frosted glass

smashing mind door upon door upon door

pure rampant panic thought-scurries

root blossoms wildly rioting unbridled through

the rich loamed soil of long held imagining

hidden until this naked

moment under this crisp

white sheet draped legs spread

eagled in this cold-compassion-lack-lab

waves of pain pull me under

and then

I emerge with you wet and tumbled

in birth

and panic scurries across the floor as a billion

filamented vipers to vanish

already forgotten vanquished by the chorus

of our collective cry

  

My Sweet "Baboo"

My Sweet Baboo

I had a big card years ago
A Peanuts card to my Sweet Baboo
I used it year after year on a stick
in the center of the table
out in the garden
waving from your pillow
all sorts of places did it appear
I had a big Sweet Baboo card
through twenty five years or more
until it simply vanished one year
I see it still as February draws near
In my heart
Hiding
In plain sight
Smiling on planted stick

School Valentine

George Hodan

For D.J. - My forever Valentine 

School Valentine

I remember those days of Valentines
in school
tiny paper cards
drawn from a hat
on teachers’ desk
as apart from love
as anything could be
and yet set each small
heart pounding
each small hand trembling
as we waited our turn
to be called and pick
our love
signed Yours Truly
in large
block letters

and now there is 
you
and only you - inscribed
forever with a smile
picked and signed 
with a steady hand

Love  

Shall we court?

Shall we court?

No, I cannot open my heart
nor float the thought within my head
if so we did  an incident
surely would occur which
would bathe us both in dread

Shall we court?
Why the plume of repetition?
Puffed again into the dancing whirling about me compressing air
We might very well land in court
Does your mouth not, as mine go dry?
How can it be you do not fear, how rare for convention not a care

No!  I do not share your worry
I think you have been seriously, mystifyingly, misled
Your love has been sown - thrown
Through the eye of a previously unseen needle
Hole in my heart, tightly sewn now with irrevocable sparkling  thread

We shall work out complexities
Clear a path for you and for me
And forever live in brilliant spun sun
Bobbing safe in a mythic, mystic, rare sailing ship
In a crystal bottle ball on the great aquamarine Coral sea

Yes!  We shall court and fear no
Waggling robed fractious fallacious finger crooked point
Take my hand, along with my heart
And let us for all that is sacred
In love, finally, finally, finally, leave forever this joyless, jaded,  joint 





http://sundaywhirl.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/995.jpg

Aw Ma must I go?

Aw Ma must I go?

I do not want to make a fuss

But I really, really have no intruss

Okay “in-te-rest” – Aw Ma must I go?

We went last week and now again?

You know I’m miserable times ten!

Great-grandma has a smooshy bust

She grabs me straight into her for the hug-I-must

Aw Ma! Must I go?

When will it be enough to prove to you

That I am a sweet boy through and through?

It smells in that place there! No, Ma it really does reek!

Why must I go and kiss her wrinkly, crinkly, papery cheek.

She, Great-Grandmother does not even know my name

Eight years she’s seen me and it is always just the same

Okay Ma – someday maybe I will get my wish and home will stay

What is that Ma? What did you say?

My wish will be granted when she leaves forever? Any day?

I know that is supposed to sad and guilty make me, my dear Ma

But honest – all I want to do is say ....bwahahahaha-har!
Okay, Okay!  Don't make that face.  I am getting into the car!

****  NOTE TO ALL READERS:

this poem was meant as a departure from my usual fare -  light-hearted riff on some of the little one's 

of today - who seem to feel no compunction about voicing their innermost (albeit 'bratty' hence the inclusion of Brenda's bwahahahahaha feelings)  In no way is this writer endorsing such behavior:)

Finally morning...

Finally morning

Finally it was morning.  Finally.  She had met him at the BookStore, the on-campus bar that was the shared joke among the students.  That night was no different, she supposed from others, although Becca had spent most of this first month away at the actual book-store or in the library.  He had a nice smile and soft brown eyes and the music was loud, and the place smelled of what she supposed was beer, a warm yeasty, uriney odor.  Over the music she heard a girl laughing "Yeah I told my parents I was at the bookstore too."  Maybe it was just her, maybe she was just too serious, but the joke didn't seem all that funny, the music was too loud to enjoy and that smell.  Well, she could tell herself that she had done it, she had gone to a bar and met a guy and so when the boy with the nice smile and soft brown eyes leaned over she smiled back at him.  She had promised herself she was going to have this night - just so she could be able to say the next time she turned down going that "YES" she had actually gone.  And when he asked, well actually yelled over the music and the general shouting "Do you want to get out of here?" well, she did.  It was October and a little chilly - they walked through the campus toward her dorm and he asked her if she wanted to go somewhere and have some coffee, and the lights were shining on the lawn, and glowing on the cobble stones leading to her dorm and the Student Center was shining straight ahead and wasn't this all part of it?  Going to a boy's place and having coffee.  They had been talking about Contemporary Poetry, he was a TA for the same professor in a different section.  It would be one of those memories that she would collect and pull out when she was much older from her college days section.  "Yes" she had said, and he took her hand.  It was going to be a great memory.  She could almost taste the coffee feel, the heavy mug he would have in his apartment just on the edge of campus, and if the building when they got to it looked a little dark, that was the way a graduate student's apartment should look, wasn't it?   It was going to be a great memory. She was still thinking this in some sort of stunned deluded shock as he opened a door to an empty room and pinned her against the wall - the only sound the ripping of her shirt.  And for some reason, through most of all that followed through that long, long, cold, pain filled night, even when she curled on the floor and he in some sort of sudden rage kicked the wall leaving footprints - she kept thinking that she could smell coffee brewing - somewhere.