Wednesday, July 21, 2021

Apodictic

How calming the fading songs 

of birds at mid-morning merging

 into the edges of silence lingering,

waiting for the songs to end.

 

So all beginnings wait for the ending 

of what has invited them to arrive,

 the certainty of the constancy of change,

the sky above, the ground below, the middle

 

like some center point where the fulcrum           

leverages silently what has been into what

is to be.  I often wait for that moment when

song goes into silence, silence into song.

 

I don’t know when it happens but words 

and rhythms come as if they’ve

been waiting for just the right moment,

whispering, “We’ve been here all along.”


-Byron Hoot

http://hootnhowl.com/

Thursday, July 8, 2021

Pick-up

I wish I had something like a garbage 

truck route for my life where week 

by week I bag the garbage, put it in

a garbage can, walk it the end of a 

driveway and see the truck take it

away.  All the trash taken from my

life.  I wouldn’t mind if I missed a 

week or two knowing the truck is

coming around and what I’ve thrown 

away can be taken away, put in 

some landfill of eternity.   I’d pay a 

lot for a service like that to take away

the trash of my life. Today is Tuesday,

the lid is open, the bags gone,

the process begins again.  

I wait for that other garbage

truck arriving – even once every two

weeks would be just fine – just let 

me know who to write the check to.

-Byron Hoot

http://hootnhowlpoetry.com/


The Cowboys of Conviction

Crowing on the roof
they were crowing
on the roof
the cowards and cowboys of conviction.
On Saturday nights
they would row to the movies
to parcel out spittle,
the little merchants.
But I am not mad
at the disregard
so apparent in
the shirt-sleeves
of Marshall McKayhan.
We're just on a mission of massive proportions
to tuck all of boredom
safe under the carpets
but
we always forget
and begin to cry.
Always ending the days
in self-reflection,
all
stuffed into a box, and bent
and sent cross-country
for holidays
and the satisfaction
thenceforth obtained.
It is such
a joyous
occasion
of sorts:
I think I'll bake a roast today.
And Hell,
tomorrow,
and the next day,
and the next day.
Baking roasts of joy
and celebration
of tradition
and trinkety-trumpets.
To tie your shoe-strings
carefully,
to not tip over
the snow-banks
and trenches
or the little grooves in tire-tracks
that pull your feet
in
in the mud.
So just sit up on the roof, instead
crowing with the cowbos.
We can make a contest out of it.
A little competition
of who can crow
clearest,
and closer
to the truth at hand
so dribblingly
spittling
out of our heads
and forcefully trickling
out of our hearts.
-clw
-C. Ward

THOSE HOWLS

They know I hide my howls in cheeky places
Always have
and no valid argument has dared me successfully
to stop
The playing field caters with vastness now
that everyone
simply subscribes to the bare number one
Epitomizing number one
Claiming it as a possession has shriveled to a bore
like roadkill
left by the night for the crematory foibles of the sun
or myself
when from my upstart dementia they proceed
to mine for hints
ascertaining whereabouts of those elusive primal screams
They don’t get it
Or perhaps I have just treasured those periodic
plumes of volume
more than anyone could fathom on their own watch
Maybe
they’ll accuse me of being miserly with my cathartic heirloom
So be it
Those howls were honed for dynastic residencies
not a one-hit wonder
or a one-night stand or a one-trick pony
They epitomize
Those howls of mine illustrate far too easily
for marketplace posterity
They’re my answers out there hiding in the wind
they will have
to catch one regenerating blow at a time
05 12 20

-Steven Fortune

The Cycle of Change

Its another chilly november morning
Fall has left the house
Due to come back in just under a year
Birds are flying south
Squirrels
In for the winter
The streets less filled with the laughter of children
Winter cometh
Snow
Falling
Freezing rain
On the horizon.
Days of warmth
Of sunshine
Now no more than
Past tense
As the season changes
So does life
Friends you have known
Now no more than distant memories
Christmas
Soon to be here
Gifts given
Pictures taken
To be remembered
As all memories are
But yet we hold them
We cherish them
For someday they too will
Pass by
And life like the weather
The cycle of change continues

-Patrick Daniel Read

July

Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,
April cold with sudden anger,
Ever changing, ever true --
I love April, I love you.
by Ogden Nash
My Take on July:
Incantate invoke and lie no more
If lewd July knocks on your door
July languid, July loony!
Humorous soft sweet and funny
July sarcastic swift to impatience
July surpassing all magical essence
Always deserting, forever true.
I love July, I love you.
(c) Amrita Valan 2021

Signature of Trust

Signature of Trust
I sink in water cold
Feeling the pain quickening in my mouth
Lonely in a wilderness where trees are silent
Thankful they do not speak
I tried to find you in my mind's eye
The image only vanishing like a dream
I can no longer remember
Where are you?
Who will call to the sky above me
And keep me afloat
On this river of solitude?
Come with me, to a far-away island
Adrift among imagination's inlets
A sanctuary where we can be truly together
We will float there face down
And you can release all your lies
Feel their dead weight drop
Your loss of love rediscovering itself
On the shore, you will tell me
What I have come here to know
What I have always known:
Create a new language
A new tongue that knows truth
A signature of trust
To make a clean incision into our hearts
© 2021 Alexis Child. All rites reserved until the worms crawl in…

Lauds

It is Sunday and I feel the futility of prayer in the air and the urge to pray as if each holds a danger.  I think of the infant Hercules st...