Bands

Bands keep coming

as they did night before 

last 

I sit out in it  

remember the precursor
to what is now

green sky all day deluge

been wind raging

we’re homebound

I click on the cursor

my world lights up

connected to the internet

Yet, I can’t leave the storm

for it is all around us

swirling the ficus trees

Thunder abounds and now

sirens and I wonder who

would be out there in this

Thunder echoes

wind shakes trees to their essence

they hold

So do we

Operator

Operator

Dusk is my favorite time of day

I put on music, whatever my mood

pour a glass of rose wine, find a recipe

hunt for the essentials in refrigerator

spice closet, the sage is empty

I remember  she took her pencils

left no trace of her whereabouts 

I try to find her, there is an internet link

we know each other forty-eight years

we once had a bond, we once gave

to each other, then she moved on 

it hurts me I am no longer welcome

in her sphere, though once I was 

her lifeline with nothing to be forgiven

Written for  The Sunday Whirl #71 with these words:

Spot On

Spot On,

I'd like to be spot on
but I always fuck it up
perhaps that is my spot on
to be who I am what I be
not spot on and happy

Andrea

Anniversary of 1992 Andrew, 2012

No one can tell me what just passed

isn’t an outer band, thunder still roils

tropical storm of great magnitude

thunder has given up roiling

it is legitimately roaring

The rain is a deluge, thunder

still roaring, an angry beast

this is no small storm, can’t believe

they were so naive downplaying it

It is coming on strong, raining hard

slowing down, dripping, roaring

roaring, pouring, I think we might

float away it is a magnitude storm

you’ll read it on the news in the morn

with coffee due to electricity

Wind is roaring through the ficus

the gutters are pelting down

the news says its unrelated but I

know they’re wrong, we are in 

for it one and all

This poem is linked to Poets United: Poetry Pantry.. 

  

My Neighborhood

Niobe

Narrow black snake

meanders the valley

sinuous through town

one store, our store

we were the big banana

Railroad tracks bound

each end of town

no parents checking

on anything

free

In school we did air raid drills

hide under your desk

arms over your head

our parents spotted for 

enemy planes

The world was not safe

we were good kids

played good kid games

in the land before time

baseball, hide-n-seek

blind man’s bluff


Written for Mary's Mixed Bag: Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, where the prompt was Neighborhood.

Nickers

Preludes to perform

I fix their tinted wings

at just the right split                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

Drifts of vivid butterflies

gentle waves of limbs 

tinny dance insidious

they make their rounds

sashay between seats

be careful of their nick

For Sunday whirl: http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2012/08/19/wordle-70-a-bakers-dozen/
words: tip, fix, tinted, preludes, vivid, tinny, drifts, nick, waves, gentle, limbs, insidious, split

Downtown

She sashayed underneath her crown
with skeletons beneath her feet
she wore her gem ancestral gown

for what was going on downtown
with skeletons beneath her feet
she danced and danced and danced complete

she thought him nice beneath her feet
she thought him sweet with every frown
she liked his mustache sweetly brown

she thought he had the best in town
and he could brush her real sweet
whenever she would lay him down

with skeletons beneath her feet
she liked to dance the dance downtown
she sashayed underneath her crown

Not my Song

I want to write a song

a psalm to fill the loss

living my life too small

yet I lived life zealously

my life was quite large

not my song

Support Group

Support Group

Twice a month we meet

for an hour we have a facilitator

we learn about all the things we did wrong

and how to do things right

to make life better

It is a class in letting go

of how it was and getting real

with what it is

its still hard to get it emotionally

what I know intellectually

Manhattan

Manhattan

An island

thirteen miles long

two miles wide

of skyscrapers

one would say

densely populated

yet people get along

you have to get along

in the city

Manhattan is magic

microcosm of the world

from rats rich or poor

to the multitude

Manhattan is horns

from the outer lands

impatient to get home

whether from work or art

that disturb our peace

We hate horns, but drop

hate because it only 

accentuates aggravation

as we walk the street

try to sleep

I grew up on Manhattan

my Mom lived there

I wish she had lived

to join me

revisit her dear city

Beat

Beat taut skin

two fists  one fist

hands raised high

imitate the sound 

thunder reverberating 

pressure releases

against black sky

Tap skin   finger tips

ba bump  ba bump

softer  slower  softer

substance of anger

dissipates beating skin

arms above head

drops explode 

http://www.threewordwednesday.com

Let Us Play

Let Us Play

The game we play and why   

mostly I think I’m real

I catch myself mid-sentence

it is always about game

never real  

Gaming the game is the best fun

the game, the gaming, the gamers

always I think I’m real

the game we play and why

written for Poetry Jam: The Games Poets Play.

Alcoves

My dwindle hands

ricochet over curvaceous lace

then back again

past invisible warp and spin

inside flooded alcoves

Value

Value

I value life

I hate war

I disparage hate

it causes war

I drop hate

I value essence

orange of a carrot

zing of a pepper

veined leaf of lettuce

pin prick of blood

I value vision

everything I think

everything I see

color, form, freedom

from constrictions

I value nature

in its myriad forms

animal, vegetable, mineral

the magic of existence

how can there not be God

God is

God is everything

everything is God

I value God

God is life

life is God

God is a coat of many colors

a magic carpet on which to ride

woven by skilled hands 

Godly hearts

I value love

God is love

love is God

I am not a religion person

I believe in the spirit

Religion is like government

it has its own agenda

This was written for the prompt "What do you value?" over at Poetry Jam this week!

Against the City

I sit to write my thoughts

hear the hum of the highway

no its the air conditioner

that just shut off

I sit to write my thoughts

hear the hum of my MAC

turn on the radio

that just shut off

I sit to write my thoughts

hear the hum in my head

no