The Sky About to Cry

It is not quite full yet.

The yellow jacket nest is still.

The trees are awake to a grey brightness;

The still clouds are grey filled.

The last shower nests

On the pavement floor, but

The sun has not toweled it up in arms.

I am watching the moisture, which

tilting down to my feet asks me

to drink of fluids flowing

from another’s mouth.

HUMIDITY

My brain is 75% humidy,

which has seeped in

through my skin and

shimmied down to

nerve dentures

that found their mark

and traveled path

of least resistance

settling into the fog

of too much breakfast

on input

and shy conversation

smitten by counting losses,

but curtsied  too in the

fragrance of summer’s violets

on the output.

Coffin of Dreams

It was day, but it is night now.

Light is turning off

One Switch after another

Congealing the fate of the day.

I want to slam the door on those who sleep

Waking them up to finish our conversations.

My dreams have been like coffins

For unfinished business affairs

With the jury still out, but

The memories buried

And the coffin sealed shut against tomorrow.

Moss blocking a line of a tombstone’s

Melody sung in difference–

Go home again.

Go home again!

 

 

BACK IN BUSINESS

Everyone needs a vacation, I thought.

Vacation as in vacate one’s agenda–temporarily.

Give way to falling boxes and mismatched walls, 

or is that just a story we all made up, and

now we have to grow up to a new reality.

Weren’t computer’s supposed to save us work, I asked.

Ask the Koch Brothers someone replied.

A box just hit me in the head trying to wall me in.

©roseroberta.

Away for Ten Days

I am in a Masters Program (MFA) in Creative Writing.  Now is our ten day residency, so it is a very busy time, and I will not be posting until the first week in August.  There is so much on my site….take some walks on it, till I return. Hope you’re enjoying the summer.  

Bobbi

BRIDGED BY THE INVISIBLE

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(POEM FOR BARBARA)

We have walked on different paths,

And laid claim to different priorities.

Still, lingering in some of the same

Spots along the path to see the views

We caught glimpse of similar lookouts.

Sometimes, I was there in winter, while

You visited the spot summer or fall.

The scent of betrayals of our bodies

And along the borderlands of time

From those whose life stretched

To the breaking point of truth

Sheds stories–some we live with

And some we learn from.

There is in all of this

An invisible flight of wings

Touching the sky circling

And flying down to earth

To home again where we meet

On two sides of a bridge–

One recognizing the other

Bridged by the invisible.

Happy Belated Birthday

©Roseroberta

ONE DOZEN JUMBO BROWN

I like things dark

     Turkey, coffee and eggs.

Grandpa had a chicken farm.

        I was a Candler;

        I was child labor;

        I was paid in malteds

           Across the street at the luncheonette.

So rare a double yolk,

But this morning Sunday breakfast—

   An omelet with three eggs—

The first egg opened

   And out pours a double yolk.

   Long time no see—one was broken—

   Making me doubt, but yes it was double.

The second egg opened—another double.

History in the making, and me cracking

  A silent bet with the Gods.

  Was I on a roll with the Muses

   And their gentle tithings?

Reflection:  Yup, three in a row, and now I am left wondering about the rest of the box reminding me to respect my fortune and not go the way of the gambler.

P.S.  So far five out of 12.  

@Roseroberta