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Wednesday, January 11, 2023

Curiosity's Edge

    
—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.  
 
 
 
 

 
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.
 
 
 
 


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 
 
 
 
 “… wings in flight sing… hello, hello”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 



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