Skip to main content

After Wanderlust, Finally Land

I have jumped the couch cushions of Mount Vesuvius,
Tiptoed above lava floors. The carpet was
Smoldering.

Then we landed on a hammock ship,
It swayed along the wayside, the waves waiting
For pirates.

I wanted to pass the years under oaks,
And oaths, but life changes and you find yourself
Under ash.

Separated and out to sea, I lost and I
Gained. But the sea wasn't full of familiar faces,
It churned,

Waiting for another rock to mosey into view.
But mostly there were just shells, tossed
By the waves.

I took out my cutlass, thinking I might use it
As a harpoon, and out of the salt soup of life,
You parried.

I didn't see the excursion. I just felt the efficiency
Of your blade against mine, as if equals,
well-matched.

When the sails came down, we used them for blankets,
You said they were the softest illusion you'd ever,
Ever held.

But when we reached the lighthouse,
You hoisted the skull-and-crossbones,
Eyes afar.

Peering elsewhere, gold filling your hull,
You sailed and sank to the bottom, of the
Dead Sea.

Rowing hard, I found more than an island.
I saw the branches of family in his eyes, an oak, an oath, a tree.

--

Mad Words List 8.14.18

Pass
Mosey
Wanderlust
Journey
Separation
Afar
Lost
Efficiency
Excursion

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Bonus Poem: Look Up!

Looking down, I read the priceless pages, Someone else, sweetly, precisely, Had written their drinkable life on. And I drank in the appreciation Of her words, one sentence at a time, A good, fresh white. Sensational, the clouds were Pouring in, filling my cup,  Easing in, with a soft voice that said, "Look up!" My eyes glanced, only peeking At first, toward the sky. Those rain-bringers harnessing My irises with glee. And as if it had been there All along, the whole long while, A sparrow drifted into the Watercolor before me, soaring. It glided on the currents That were my own world, too. And we shared the view, Him up there, I, eyes lifting further now. And then the wind found itself Playing in the cottonwood's hair. And I smiled, thinking About how good it probably felt, Those wind-fingers, sifting through. 

I Don't Know How To Be An Ocean, She Said

"I don’t know how to be an ocean,” she said. To become an ocean, Don't drown in yourself. Reflect the sky, as above. Feel the pitch black of night And the torches of stars, the only guides Until morning. Welcome those who would tread, And the urchins, and feel the trash islands Press you down. Press back, harder. Know the temporary. Be a receiver of boats, of Ships passing in the night. Don't let high tide Have any more strength than low tide. It's all part of the process. When the rage surges through your waves, Know the stillness that once caught you Breathless at the shore. “I don’t know how to be an ocean,” she said. Don’t hold back. Overflow, and Recede when you’re ready. But go ahead, Taste saline. And feel the wind against your back. Know you can be destructive, a force of unpredictability, And also the peace someone else is looking for. Do you feel your depth? There are pieces of you, so below, no one has ever seen, even

The Protagonist

She was more of an idea Than a person, yet Her arms reached through The wrinkled pages As I was planning Her defenestration. “Don't,” she said, holding My hand steady. Her typical loquaciousness Gone in a moment - being At the rim does that. Her desperate idea-fingers Grasping, trying to stop The Dusk. I brooded over her Resistance. This story Would be knee-deep In hardship, in never-before-felt Pain. How could I put her In the middle of this Vast dystopian wastebasket And hope she clamors Out? Perhaps I could give her A companion, a slobber-filled Canine or a not-so-kindred Spirit? I could fill her days With synchronicity, with a This-leads-to-that purpose, to fight through The drawl and the drudge, The beginning. In this oneiric world, More nightmarish than The last, she would find Herself at the cusp of Her Self. First demure, red lips Parting only for candy-laced words, And then later, only To respect a humble god or command Her hunger-ridden army To live. Yes, I see the smoke