—Poetry by Sam Barbee, Winston-Salem, NC
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of
Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
TWENTY-SIXTH MILE
I measure the morning’s calm ocean,
and recall a human’s natural eye
can see twenty-five flat miles
without telescopes or magic.
Earth’s curvature—white clouds
like bored brooches on a blue lapel.
Still I wade in, swim and swig,
plunge through wave hearts—risk
drowning to tread bold currents.
Baptized and ordained to rebuke
rainbow’s heartbreak. Float
against the next tide, backstroke
into curiosity’s turbulent edge.
I imbibe brine and rethink my array
of depths. Question distances
past a twenty-sixth mile—
smooth dawn to chase marvels
beneath western clouds.
Naked eye pursuing what splashes
beyond the expanse where colors fade.
I measure the morning’s calm ocean,
and recall a human’s natural eye
can see twenty-five flat miles
without telescopes or magic.
Earth’s curvature—white clouds
like bored brooches on a blue lapel.
Still I wade in, swim and swig,
plunge through wave hearts—risk
drowning to tread bold currents.
Baptized and ordained to rebuke
rainbow’s heartbreak. Float
against the next tide, backstroke
into curiosity’s turbulent edge.
I imbibe brine and rethink my array
of depths. Question distances
past a twenty-sixth mile—
smooth dawn to chase marvels
beneath western clouds.
Naked eye pursuing what splashes
beyond the expanse where colors fade.
THE DOVES
No flock replaces love forever lost.
Without her farewell, no option remains
but to accept white wings at rest.
The bevy curtails its song, keeps to eves.
I abide refusals and wrestle with my
peck of prayers and faith in language.
Whether from forest or field or park,
I long for the doves’ response, but these birds
abandon me. Fail to pardon my betrayal,
a slightest indiscretion, but love, delicious
or coarse, has been known to gasp. I now
choose sorrows with care, tend each bruise.
False-pledge’s glint must be pigeonholed,
truth remain sealed. I will keep to the good side
of duty, appease seraphim and cherubim,
recuse myself from bright diversion’s comforts
compelling to love again. I will chant
with friends in a near-heaven’s quiet industry.
But a new dawn, and wings in flight sing.
Their dole spills green seeds into my palms
charm a yellow parrot on my shoulder chanting
hello, hello.
No flock replaces love forever lost.
Without her farewell, no option remains
but to accept white wings at rest.
The bevy curtails its song, keeps to eves.
I abide refusals and wrestle with my
peck of prayers and faith in language.
Whether from forest or field or park,
I long for the doves’ response, but these birds
abandon me. Fail to pardon my betrayal,
a slightest indiscretion, but love, delicious
or coarse, has been known to gasp. I now
choose sorrows with care, tend each bruise.
False-pledge’s glint must be pigeonholed,
truth remain sealed. I will keep to the good side
of duty, appease seraphim and cherubim,
recuse myself from bright diversion’s comforts
compelling to love again. I will chant
with friends in a near-heaven’s quiet industry.
But a new dawn, and wings in flight sing.
Their dole spills green seeds into my palms
charm a yellow parrot on my shoulder chanting
hello, hello.
NOIR
He eases her cellphone into a pocket.
Advises refuge in embrace.
Her cigarette’s tip glows at dusk. Boughs
applaud with gut-screech like tweaking violin;
like teacher’s hard pink nails raking a chalkboard,
scratching open dark knowledge.
He kisses each butterscotch tear
from milk-white cheeks. Off chin’s tremble,
soft freckles sweet on his abrasive tongue.
It is late, but will make it all better.
Her bleeding lip stains Pinot Grigio
into Noir
EMPIRE
I glimpse far corners of the orchard.
A sparse crop tumbled
along the hickory fence.
No need for slat baskets.
Truth’s rasp
debrides all claims. Attacks
like a coiled serpent.
Once seeds, then stem,
a season’s oath,
colors no longer vivid,
like a dejected whisper.
Work songs and raw loyalties
expelled by choice.
No covenant to fear.
Meager payoff
must be near.
Disinvited
to a bountiful kingdom.
Before the day’s exodus
scant harvests now preferred to hunger.
A BONUS, OF SORTS
Southern sky obliges Saturn and Jupiter.
Conjoins them, if just for a night.
Beyond their Holy promise,
we see icy comets veered too close to sun.
Smatters spun off like sparks.
Dwarfed sky darts between Ursa Major
and Minor. Meteors as astral dapple.
Thawed scribbles in hushed orbit,
cosmic particle’s gamut ingrained with fire.
Luminescence as streaming eulogy.
The planets’ light smothers any flare.
Squib for the devout.
Tonight’s litmus daunts me
into debate with my gaunt faith.
Salvation in reckless arcs
across our eyes. Falling stars ignore
wax or wane to rendezvous
behind the moon, Bethlehem star
out-shining all incandescent dots.
__________________
Today’s LittleNip:
The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff.
―Carl Sagan, Cosmos
__________________
Welcome back to the Kitchen, Sam! Sam Barbee has a new collection, Apertures of Voluptuous Force (2022, Redhawk Publishing, https://redhawkpublications.com/Apertures-of-Voluptuous-Force-p463083759). He first appeared in the Kitchen on Oct. 7, 2020 (https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/search?q=sam+barbee/). Thanks, Sam, for today's starstuff!
__________________
—Medusa
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