Rising before dawn
first cup of coffee
staring out the window
at the dark
where the birds sing
for future light and present seed
need not yet snuffling at the door
Scraping ice off car so Lady can go to work,
I knock off what looked like
small rectangular piece black plastic.
Couldn't figure out what it was
so put in pocket for later.
Upstairs I reach for broken bit
and it's gone,
and inner pocket wet and squishy.
The good news—it ain't car plastic.
It was frozen bird poop
which thawed and slimed my cloth wallet.
At least it's laundry, not car repair.
Plant eats sun
meat eats plant
Monkeys lie about bananas
eventually everything dies
is eaten by earth
And monkeys lie about bananas
Fruit or flour, pie or cake
if you don't know, you must yes
Because monkeys lie about bananas
From winding river’s run
she comes discrete
completes her Tarot mutant in desire
I can’t play nearly normal
she cries from shadow
rippleless in time and obsession
Self seek solution
ancient in execution and repair
THE BREAKDOWN BOOGIE
Sitting in dappled sun and shade
breeze and blossom
watching river run round bend
knowing it's going
but gone unknown
Moment of joy in soup of sorrow
squealing down road
highway hell going home
We shape the dead to shoulder living
Less peer pressure
than pure profit
Is this real, or happy ever after land?
My psychotropic trauma began before my Mama
cloned in chromosome the she in me.
Back before my Poppa anted up in oughta
spared my need with better seed of he.
Genes for seeking others
genes for tricking brothers
flow from seed to breed to heed or flee.
Being nice or naughty isn’t all about me
but a creed to be properly unscrambled
programmed reassembled leaving bleeding weed
on bead of thee.
To rise above my wiring I try to tame desiring
willfully by letting Eden be.
Original sin Ma may be to our current crazy
more than lately hazy leads from sea to troubled see.
So seize ya on the downsize hope you see in upside
the making of our maybe lies in we.
WHAT’S IN IT FOR ME?
Can't count on reason
Can't count on intention
Can't count on destination
Can't count on accumulation
Can't count on actualization
So it's the living
The life along the way
Friends, family, feline
That makes or breaks
I swim the past,
add my tears
Court the future
with reason and ritual
But now is now, always,
does not listen
Rock is rock, mountain mountain,
near top or bottom no matter
It's said time tumbles in cycles,
or runs down forever
That we're accident, or purpose,
or chance in design
Or side bet forfeit, forgotten,
inside fool dream reside
What's clear lies in shadow,
in perceptual collapse
And lie, or knot,
it's not forgot
We sleep for tomorrow,
pay today's rent
Old uneasy cockroach coexistence
Exilic, yet extant
Contingencies of space and time
Many thanks to Smith (Steven B. Smith) for his playful poetry—as always, full of rocking rhymes and other mischievous musings… !
I've received no word about whether Poetry Unplugged at Luna's Cafe & Juice Bar has been cancelled tonight; you might call Luna's and see (916-441-3931).
And welcome to the Vernal Equinox! Michael Brownstein sent the following poems to celebrate—so here is our bonus half-post for you while you're stuck at home due to COVID-19, with thanks to Michael!
FIRST DAY OF SPRING
—Michael H. Brownstein, Jefferson City, MO
All winter the lilies broke through earth,
an easy winter,
splashes of snow now and then,
a few mosaics of frost,
houseflies did not know to die,
ground hogs did not know to hibernate,
everywhere great bald eagles over the Missouri,
the early caw of crows,
a grand scheme of geese,
ponds did not freeze,
and today a worm surfaced,
a robin dropped from a tree
and the wonder of life began its renovations.
("New day": Northern Hemisphere's Vernal Equinox)
—Michael H. Brownstein
the first day of springshine,
the mirrors polished
rose water as centerpiece,
Smile into the mirror,
Smell the water of roses,
day conquers night,
soon seas of blossoms,
good friends and family,
wonder and awe,
one hand in another’s,
the sustainability of life.
Today’s Bonus LittleNip:
—Michael H. Brownstein
I went out without a coat
into the warm bath of wind,
a small white butterfly,
a smaller blossom opening—
everything springing into sun.
—Medusa, and thanks again to Steven and Michael! Nowrus is the new year in much of the Middle East, and it coincides with the first day of Spring. More about that on Sunday.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.