I’m a weather slut you know

“Everything Has Color”

gentle tap of showers on aluminum, the muggy morning chilled with atmospheric globules, the crack of the starter, engine chugs, click seat belt…

rest of ritual best left to thought, 6:30 and clouds everywhere, western skies black with salty air collected from Gulf, different than Atlantic, one is hot and furious, the other cold and merciless but water it is and water it remains

twenty-two miles ahead, roads damp, traffic light, lighter every day as jobs are lost, families move, money once flowed here, now weeds grow in foundations of dreams… seven long years this commute nothing changes but time and still the road unravels beneath my feet, black, black to match the mood

no sun but high in the western bank a flash of color, a short stub of a rainbow, barely there, but a screen pulls back, frequency by frequency white light hurled in pulsing waves to intersect with rising humidity now weeping at terminal velocity to strike my wandering eyes

darker the sky moves down and light from the east slips by high above, the vibrant color arcs slowly by degrees, up, up… around the bowl of forever it etches in glorious livid bands, doubled and reaching to encompass the horizon of the now…


why can’t i find someone?

“Conversation Stilted”

past lives in the tarot – future unrolls in weighted dice – spinning in place – behind – ahead – behind – ahead – memories unceasing in each and every word spoken by family – friends – lovers – work in progress – grasping for logic in reactions – behind – there lies danger and fear – ahead – there lies opportunity and happiness – advice should always be positive – reflection should always be negative – there lies the success of fortunetellers – the client is always right – when always wrong – chicken bones – tea leaves – bloody entrails – none are truth – in each present – each single moment of living – we are reborn – remade – remolded – reincarnated as a different person that we were a moment ago – advice is free – so is pain – so is love – so live in the moment – reinvent your story and abandon the horoscopes – the I Ching – the Magic 8-Ball – luck is no coincidence – neither is coincidence lucky – we make our presents out of flawed pasts and fantastic futures – that’s it? – I’m not paying for this – this sucks! – where’s my fortune cookie?

umbilicus electronicus

“Girl: Phone: History, there of”

text[her] emojis tactile silica
snap #tease thought you loved
test limits
selfie – nude – score
trade – nubile save screen
bubblegum cards replaced

email[her] lots of CAPS!
GOT IT! my own computer
and!!!!!!! a SECOND LINE
call me pleaseeeeee
it’s dial-up, have to log off :=(

call[her] petticoat ruffled
over sill- spills night
pretty princess pink light
party line- giggles muffled

swing[her] PE[nnsylvania] 6-5000
war footing – Bakelite – rotary dial
rows and rows of
secretaries grow

bell[her] instead of Meucci’s telettrofono
dissect apparatus, electromagnetic,
diaphragm, wire coil- voice
vibrates – 140 years first test
“I want to see you”
Pentatonix channels Bieber

Authors note: The d’Verse prompt is to select an object, write about it from different perspectives and link together contrasting poems in a Cubist fashion. This is my second poem, the first “Laid to rest under Patterson’s needle” is here. The Daily Post prompt is ‘Test’. The Pennsylvania 6-5000 and Pentatonix links go to YouTube.

Laid to rest under Patterson’s needle

a: wide white pine, grayed
generations – scuffed mountain folk,
boots, torn shirts darned, steel
needles hand-sewn, cushioned rocker
taps – fiddle echoed whistle,
coal, mills on the Ohio

b: home from war, late nights
oil and candles flicker,
foot treadle machine, wedding gift
grandmother needles sharp – memory sharper still
mother’s bridal gown

c: midwife attends labor, needles flash
front parlor – stoic cries
banished third shift father
women gather
booties, caps and shawls
men at pool hall

d: Bing Crosby plays phonograph
needle rides Andrews Sisters
vinyl grooves – 33 1/3 – corporate
Christmas raffle – union strike

e: family plot, black lung scourge
all in white, laid off, seam played out,
IV – blood draw – inject needle
#mother works #music #free love
rips apart teenager
#mason jar
lost father

f: guardrail crumpled, no match for
Detroit muscle, speedometer needle
per sheriff, touched ninety

g: DOA at ER, six kids + one, just kids
driver high, vehicle in, needles found

h: grandparents embraced/entombed Cynthia,
cedar saved booties,
clothes, her unborn in coffin,
half-completed needlepoint
Bless Our H

Authors note: The d’Verse prompt is to select an object, write about it from different perspectives and link together contrasting poems in a Cubist fashion. When I woke this morning, ‘needle’ was my first thought and the Appalachian coal country was the setting. Whether this linear story fits the prompt I’m not sure, but my Muse needled me until I wrote it all.

Having read this far, “pen, {de:constructed}” this poem by De Jackson (Whimsy Gizmo) is incredible.

always tired since 1998

chronic fatigue rules waking life deeply with aches into fabric of my being
pain never recedes but ebbs and swells despite still face showing stoic
hurts to move even more to think and devise needed changes
even wild and urgent desires rarely rouse my temper much
when vivid images don’t match the smoldering fire within
doing nothing becomes the norm for good reason
little steps loom large and feel hopeful
that gives brief passion and energy
now dimming only to flicker
every day that passes
night follows soon
always so

This poem is three poems in one. The lines descend from 13 words to 1 word. First I wrote the word ‘tired’, then the two word line above that, then the three word line and the four word line. Then I wrote the words ‘chronic fatigue’ and wrote the thirteen word line. Next was the twelve word line and then the eleven word line. I then finished the two poems within the main body. I added the words on the left margin to complete a descending thirteen word poem and then on the right margin as well. The last portion I wrote was the lines of ten words, then nine, eight, seven, six and five.

On the corner soapbox

Ten years ago today I moved my blogs [not this one] from Blogger to WordPress. At that time there were less than 400,000 free blogs hosted; now over 37 million free blogs on WordPress.

Bible gripped in upraised arm he’d been dubbed the Melodramatic Preacher Man by the steel-toed workers kitty-corner across the intersection. All through the spring the building frame slowly rose and the mocking salutes with aluminum thermoses gradually turned to lighthearted respect. Near the aestival solstice he’d been kindly invited to lunch by several carpenters. Asked why he preached when so many seemed to daily disagree he replied he was simply following ordained orders. In fall, before the last beam was hoisted, he was humbly asked by all to bless the topping tree and place his signature upon the bare steel.

The Daily Post prompt
Three Word Wednesday prompt

If you’d like to read more of my short fiction click for the page.