Thursday, March 28, 2024

31 Days On The Tip Of My Tongue [Nos. 16-31]

 —Poetry and Photos by Robert Lee Haycock,
Antioch, CA
O Magnum Mysterium

From the back of my mind  

to the corner of my eye 
the moon swims to the surface
And I climb ever so high

* * *

Of A Most Horrible Magic

For an audience that
hasn’t been born yet
I just pretend to care
look down my book-bent nose
and smile silently

* * *

Can you make out the words

Can you make out the words
that should catch in my teeth
spilled sentences
falling from my mouth
 no fog no flu not a flipping bit of work to do


Out of reach memories play blind man’s bluff
The rain embroiders little blue stars all over the
rosemary bush
I can only wonder
Under a maiden moon

* * *

E Coupon

The rolling dark carries you toward morning


and the rest
a frenzied rightness

* * *

Dreams Decocted

Take heed
I was never a giant

As The Sparks Fly Upward

Flags of cloud unfurl toward sunrise
My boyhood bleeds
and never touches the ground

* * *

The Paraclete

This dream wasn’t meant for you
Moonlight puddled everywhere
Nothing but this pile of words
Maddening the night

* * *

My Blue-Bearded Heart Notwithstanding

A pyred orchard
the parting gift
of cherries we see
through memory’s eyes

A Self-Addressed Envelope

Every stoplight sings a song to me
of who I once was
to tell me why my hair keeps catching fire

* * *


I hold morning in my singing hands
Those clouds followed me all my yesterdays
The angels drew lots to decide which of us would
Near Courtland

Chicharrones  and Licorice

Like a morris dancer doing the samba
my mind is given to wander
with a smirk on her lips

* * *

The Sweet Tang of Incipient Decay

I’ll weave a song with calloused tongue
to the tumult of butterfly and flower
and all the silence between our fingers

* * *

An Acquired Taste

the noughts
the crosses
live behind unseeing windows
the shooting stars

the broken people
Most Home

Almost One Of Those Moons

I dare not touch the ground
tumble down story upon story
with guttural noise and smeared ink

* * *

Dreams of God

Vainly trying to conjure
A man I was once
She banged out Two Timing Woman
The hammers covered in tinfoil


Today’s LittleNip:

A little talent is a good thing to have if you want to be a writer. But the only real requirement is the ability to remember every scar.

—Stephen King


Today’s post is a continuation of yesterday’s from Robert Lee Haycock, and many thanks to him for these two days of poetry! The photos are ones I have gleaned from some of the first pictures Robert had posted in Medusa’s Kitchen back in 2013. Thanks, RLH, for 31 flavors of your days!


 —Photo by Robert Lee Haycock

A reminder that
Molly Fisk 
will present a workshop
on Writing As Activism
in Nevada City today, 4pm.
For future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
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
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Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
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"I can only wonder
under a maiden moon..."