Haibun: Smudgy Moon

For Real Toads, Margaret’s picture prompt of retro-paintings and for OLN at dVerse Poets Pub.



Haibun: Smudgy Moon

“She had a beautiful laugh which was like rain water pouring over daffodils made from silver.”
― Richard Brautigan, Sombrero Fallout

Yellow in the sky. Is it the moon setting or is the sun rising? The trees are a smudged backdrop to the moon. Birds are twittering, a distant dog barks. The flowers in my yard bloom boldly in the half-darkness, reflecting the moon.
daylight savings time –
daffodils don’t care about time –
they bloom in their own time

Truth is Empowerment

Truth is Empowerment
“I’m never a reliable narrator, unbiased or objective. Anthony Bourdain”

This poem speaks truth,
it does not imagine something.
it does not say,
this is what I imagine addiction,
murder, prostitution, or farming to be like.
This poem opens its mouth and says what really happened.
my mother told me years ago:
always speak truth, never tell a lie.
color it some if you must, the way you
color a page in a coloring book but
never tell a lie.
I was in a spelling bee and ended up
facing off a 5th grade boy.
He couldn’t spell “psychology”.
I spelled it correctly. I won a big blue ribbon.
I took it home and told my mother
I almost didn’t spell it because I liked the boy,
he had always been nice to me.
That is when she told me to always be truthful
my father nodding in agreement.
So years later when a lover gave me a wakizashi
I was proud. He taught me how to wield it.
Once I used it to defend my home when someone broke in.
My husband did not say,
you could have killed yourself.
He smiled and hugged me.
Truth is empowerment.
A sword is empowerment.
Spelling a word correctly is empowerment.
Truth is empowerment.
This poem speaks truth.

Sunday Muse #47

Sunday Muse #47 Posting also on Poets United Poetry Pantry. Also on March 27, the Sunday Muse will expand to the Wednesday Muse with prompts. Sunday Muse will remain Pictures.

I Hate St. Patrick’s Day
“You can open for me the portals of death’s house, for love is always with you, and love is stronger than death is.” Oscar Wilde, The Canterville Ghost

In the same month of the same year,
My grandmother, father, and grandfather
had all died.
By St. Patrick’s Day
three of the people I loved dearly were dead and buried.
I hate St. Patrick’s Day.
And as I am neither Irish
nor Catholic,
I only love the natural greens,
the greens of trees, grass, birds.
Sing me a sad song birdie.
Sing me a sad sad song.
Today I will wear blue,
the blue of my loved ones’ eyes.

Flowered Flourless Cake

For Magaly’s Prompt on Real Toads, using homophones.

Flowered Flourless Cake
“Your body is not a temple. It’s an amusement park. Enjoy the ride.” – Anthony Bourdain

This quote comes to mind whenever I cook something –
decadent, stylish, awesome –
few things are more satisfying
than a flourless cake
frosted with dark chocolate ganache
and decorated with real flowers
especially on a spring day –
I prefer flourless to gluten free,
especially made with ground hazelnuts
and almonds and a lovely shiny ganache.
Placing the flowers about is such
an easy and joyful task!
Decorate your temple on the inside.

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

For Shay’s Friday Prompt…Ask a question The question is from one of my favorite books ever by Philip K. Dick. It also spawned two of my favorite movies – Blade Runner and Blade Runner 2049.

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
Gaff: “Its too bad she wont live, but then again who does?”

Do flowers dream while they sleep
curled up in cold winter’s soil?
Do cicadas dream while waiting to hatch
seven years hence?
Do birds dream as they sit on their nests
waiting for their eggs to hatch?
Do stars whisper secrets to each other
as they glide in their courses?
Is the moon sad when she goes dark
and reflects not the sun in her darkness?
so many questions I have.
Yet no answers do I receive.
I beg the sky, the night, the dew for answers.
Yet no answers do I receive.
Do Androids dream of electric sheep?
Only Philip K. Dick knew the answer to that.

Boundaries

For the prompt at Poets United – Neighbors.

 

Boundaries
We live out in the country on a deadend,
cul de sac’ed road.
There are eight different families on this road.
The houses are separated by thick hedges, not fences.
We wave when passing a car or each other
on our morning walks.
We keep to ourselves.
It is a quiet road with no children.
Pets stay in the houses or in their yards.
But when my mother died,
somehow they knew.
A jar of homemade jam tied to the doorknob,
A bouquet delivered to my door,
several cards stuck in the mailbox.
I share tomatoes when I have extra,
they share extra cucumbers and squash.
My favorite kind of neighbors –
unobtrusive, quiet, polite,
casually friendly –
but there when you need them.

 

Haibun: March 6, 1984

For Amaya’s prompt at dVerse, Mardis Gras mambo.  Let me tell you cher, the times were wild in restaurants back then.

Krewe of Zulu Throwawy Coconut

March 6, 1984
“There’s a thing I’ve dreamed of all my life, and I’ll be damned if it don’t look like it’s about to come true — to be King of the Zulu’s parade. After that, I’ll be ready to die.” — Louis Armstrong

The restaurant was empty of customers. They were all in the streets getting wilder and crazier. My sous chef looked at me askance as I was a little bit high myself. One only one waiter and two runners had come into work along with one dishwasher.

I looked at them and said, “Hell, let’s close it up and go outside.” My sous laughed and pulled a small brown vial from his pocket and laid down a line. The dishwashers pulled out their vials and a joint and we all had a party, right then, right there. The noise outside ratcheted it up. “We are missing Zulu Krewe. Y’all go. I’ll close it up. Tell Carl the place was locked when you got here.” Mardis Gras in the Crescent City. Zulu Krewe was lambasting past. I laughed and shook my hips. I threw my apron on the counter, did a couple of more lines,turned the security system back on and headed outside. If I ran, I could catch up to Zulu Krewe. Who knows? If it took off my shirt and shook my tits hard enough, they might just throw me one of their prized coconuts. Laissez les bon temps rouler! Let the good times roll!

fat Tuesday rolls hard –
sex sin and dirty dancin’-
tomorrow we pray

Krewe of Zulu

 

 

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