Ahoy, Scribblers. If you written 18 poems so far, give yourself a pat on the back. What the heck, give yourself a nice, slow French kiss. You’re hotter that Georgia asphalt, and you've earned it.
Today’s prompt: a lullaby, which reminds me of this song. I have four birds, and they love to listen to this at night. How can I tell they love it? Because I love watching them listen to it.
Translation: "The Balsam Flowers"
The Flower of Balsam, one dyes on one’s fingernails.
The words of one’s parents, one must dye in one’s heart.
Ships sailing the night seas take their bearing by the pole star.
The parents who gave me birth take their bearings by me.
One has to study and to master the name of constellations.
But the lessons taught by one’s parents are no mastered by study alone.
Even gems and treasures will rust unless polished.
Polishing my spirit night and days, I traverse this transient world.
When the sun rises, I shall go off to study.
Please plait my hair, my dear mother.
The Flower of Balsam, one dyes on one’s fingernails.
The words of one’s parents, one must dye in one’s heart.
Now onto the poems!
Dear Twentieth Century,
As a very small child in the Nixon years, even I was tired.
But there's ironic satisfaction to be found in Carole King's "It's Too Late" being number one the week you were born.
I wasn't your best citizen. I couldn't fix the business of the Panama Canal in my mind, try as I might, sitting in pigtails and watching the news.
And even though I knew about Ella Fitzgerald at a very young age, I thought her first name was "Ellafitz," last name "Gerald."
Dusty Springfield and Buffalo Springfield drifted unmoored for years for me, intermingling.
Roxy Music seemed important, but insidious.
It was all the disappearing sixties then, louche magic and hips.
All I mean to say is I miss my can headphones. Car window handles. Decaying Chevy upholstery. The smell of warm grapes and peanuts at Pope and Airey's grocery store.
The world had heft and weight to it then.
We had Charlie Chaplin and Richard Pryor then.
I was born at the exhausted end of a barbarous century, but we had the good people.
Stop children.
What's that sound?
Everybody look what's goin' down.
You don't have to say you love me,
just be close at hand.
Posted here.
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Ideas vs knowledge
I'm going to drop
wearing nothing but a paper helmet
I made just now,
when I crash the water
I'll sail my hat
like a slumbering bat.
I'll grow deaf
and dehydrate from loving leeches,
my sponged sight
will drench in world.
Posted here.
Love Poem
I've forgotten again what derelict means.
Desolate, abandoned, ruined, you say.
We exhale hot on the lenses of our glasses,
wipe them clean,
walk away from the future,
artificially bright.
When people hear explosions,
they hold on tight,
but can’t keep atoms intact.
What is there to say?
Nothing new.
You've already said these words to me.
I've already said them to you.
Posted here.
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Untitled
i know you’re upset
and it seems like everything sucks
but I’m so proud of you
no matter what.
and we’re gonna figure this whole thing out.
don’t panic
it’s not over yet.
i love you.
Posted here.
