Alone Together

 —Poetry by Joshua C. Frank
—Public Domain Artwork Courtesy
of Public Domain

 

 

ALL THAT’S LEFT IS YOURS
Based on I Kissed Dating Goodbye
by Joshua Harris

The bride walked the aisle to her husband-to-be,
Who gently took hold of her hand.
They started their vows, all to hear and to see,
When a woman there started to stand.

She boldly but quietly marched to the altar
The groom’s other hand there to hold.
As he in his solemn vows started to falter,
Five women walked up, just as bold.

The groom then repeated his vows to his bride.
Tears welling, lip quivering, she spoke:
“Just who are these girls here who stand at your
side?
Is this your attempt at a joke?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, staring down at the floor,
“I should have said something to start.
These girls, they mean nothing to me anymore,
But each has a part of my heart.”

“I thought it was mine,” said the bride, now in
tears.
The groom said, “Love always endures.
I vow here and now that throughout all our years,
What’s left of my heart shall be yours.”


(First published in The Society of Classical Poets)

 

 

 

 

NAMES IN INK

‘Marriage is one thing... but a tattoo is
permanent!’
       —From a Reader’s Digest anecdote

I saw a man with four tattoos:
One “Karla” underneath the place
Of paint rolled in three streaks of blues,
Each trace of exes to erase.

When Karla saw herself replace
The women’s names inscribed in ink
(Cassandra, Jessica, and Grace),
I wonder if she stopped to think...

One day, their hearts won’t be in sync,
And his commitment’s not too strong.
Hence Karla’s name within a blink
Will be rolled out and moved along.

Too few these days can see the wrong
Or what the world is forced to lose
When marriage doesn’t last as long
As people’s names in old tattoos.


(First published in Snakeskin)

 

 

 

 

ALONE TOGETHER

Narcissus, in the days of old,
Fell in love with his reflection.
He knew none greater to behold
And starved while staring at “perfection.”
Now we’re enamored with our phones
Reflecting worlds of our own minds.
We sit and stare, as still as stones,
Bound by the modern tie that blinds.

At beaches, churches, concert halls,
Campgrounds, parks, and county fair,
We shut ourselves in online walls
As at our phones we stop and stare,
Side by side with closest friends.
We shun and snub each other thus,
And our relationship descends
To that of strangers on a bus.


(First published in The Society of Classical Poets)

 

 

 

 

ARLINGTON

Vast fields of graves, in grass arrayed—
How many times had Taps been played?
How many families lost their heads?
How many sons left empty beds?

They gave their lives to save my land,
Each by an officer’s command,
And yet, myself?  What had I done
To be my country’s worthy son?

The image never went away—
The grid of gravestones, here to stay,
In ranks and files, neatly lined,
Still marks a lattice in my mind.


(First published in The Society of Classical Poets)

 

 

 

 

THE BANNED BARBIE

For a little girl’s birthday, I shopped at the mall
With my mother to pick the most suitable doll.
We went to the Barbies and searching we started;
Pink boxes stood high like the Red Sea when
parted.

A doctor, a teacher, an athlete, a nurse,
A corporate executive, options diverse,
The bewildering array still was missing one other:
I noticed that Barbie was never a mother.

No baby, no stroller, no pregnancy belly,
No children around but a sister named Kelly.
The boxes said, “You can be anything,” but
The noblest career as an option was cut!

Yet I’d love for a little girl somewhere to learn
That her motherly wishes aren’t cause for concern
Or a childhood phase she’ll be leaving behind,
But a dream to encourage, and how she’s designed.


(First published in The Society of Classical Poets)

 

 

 

 

YOUNGER SELVES

I have you leaning up against my side,
Our boys and girls around us on the couch.
Below the window, watching from outside,
Our younger selves, age twelve, crawl up and
crouch.

The boy and girl each took a time machine,
The dial set to travel here today.
We met below that window, saw this scene,
And learned that you would be my wife someday.

The woman here whose head leans next to mine
Was also she who you’d grow up to be.
Our older selves thus showed the clearest sign:
No need to ask you, “Will you marry me?”

Back home, they’ll seek each other out and meet,
And here we are—the circle’s now complete.


(First published in The Society of Classical Poets)

_____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

I don't want to be married just to be married. I can't think of anything lonelier than spending the rest of my life with someone I can't talk to, or worse, someone I can't be silent with.
 
―Mary Ann Shaffer, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

_____________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Joshua Frank for his fine formal poetry today! Check into Medusa's Kitchen next Friday for some more of his formalist work.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that today is the
Black History Month Festival
with poetry readings at
Crocker Art Museum in Sacramento;  
and Sac. Poetry Center will present
CB Davis and Francoise Coulton
at 6pm, also in Sacramento.
For info about these and other
 upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
 during the week.

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.

Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
 into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
 to find the date you want.

Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!