This damned malaise,
Stripping cohesive thought
Reduced to moments,
Repeated, repeated, repeated
Until the next diversion,
The next humiliation,
The next terror.
How could a loving God invent such torment?
Or, with our limitless free will
Did we bring it on ourselves?
Blast this wretched condition to Hell,
With all the pitiful attempts to avoid it
And all the head games played to ignore it.
Blast it all to Hell!
Did you feel it, handsome, young runner calling good morning as you floated over the path through the open space in this glorious morning sun?
Did you notice, laughing couple nodding hello as you shuffled along the gravel walk?
And you, focused, sweating, racing woman, never losing a beat, yet still finding breath for a fast “morning!” How about you? Were you aware?
I plugged in as you passed.
I swallowed your smiles,
inhaled the air you exhaled,
stepped into the power vibrating in your footprints,
merged with your joie de vivre,
and thanked God for the power in community.
Well, B.B., the thrill is not gone,
but requires that I turn the desk toward the room,
the interior walls and nooks and crannies,
away from the window with all its distractions…
children riding bikes, giggling
husbands banished to their garages, puttering
strangers delivering flyers in the heat of the afternoon…
do feel free to sit on the porch
in the shade
for a moment
but do not knock,
do not disburb me,
I get to acknowledge you only when my work is done
which may not be soon.
Blasted purple eye!
I meant only to arrive,
not fly up the steps
Hail be damned! Lilies,
thumb their bright noses
Maxwell Gavin Phinneas John
went to bed with his Nikes on
and his Monsters Inc tee, and his Comicon cap
he set his chess board on his lap
squinted and pondered and stroked his chin
touched his nose, gave a very wide grin
then made a move ne’er before seen
in any chess game in any known scene
he jumped his knight up two over one
then moved very quickly until he was done
check mating the queen across the board
so smoothly he moved, oh my sweet Lord,
in just two more moves, yes, check mate in three
he threw out his arms and laughed with glee
Max made major history that day weeks ago
and now he is planning another great show
…stay tuned for more from our Max!
Ryan Elizabeth Abigail Rose
loves dressing up in her fanciest clothes.
Sometimes she chooses a bright sequinned top.
Sometimes she pulls on a hat with a flop.
Shoes made of jelly adorn her cute feet.
Small touches of lace make her look extra sweet.
But no matter what she selects to put on,
our Ryan ‘lizabeth never goes wrong.
She knows what to wear whatever the day
and wherever she goes you will hear people say,
“She is just such a cutie, and very smart, too!
She climbs every mountain in just the right shoe!”
Why were all the screens
on all the big houses
backing to the open space
fluttering like delicate lace curtains
in the mid-day hot breeze?
Every screen on every house.
Then it dawned on me.
The hail shredded them ALL.
Oh, Good Lord,
I suppose if the sun comes up at five, ten:ten is mid day,
an ill considered time to begin a walk
through the prairie grass stretching beyond the houses off Wildcat Reserve.
Blooming yucca and thistles just about to burst purple in the blazing sun
first catch my eye, then my legs,then my shirt – making me itch.
Show some sort of mercy, you bastards of the high desert,
mercy on me here without a hat to act as shade and fan,
sweating in sheets,
come too far to turn back around –
six of one direction, half a dozen of the other steps home.
‘Til now, at last, after an hour and a half,
taking step after step without pausing for fear my knees will lock,
wondering how in God’s name Mark and Sheryl
have walked a thousand miles and more along the Appalachian
without their own beds to fall into at night,
I stumble through my front door into the cool, A/C controlled air
and collapse with a sparkling water on my cushioned Eastlake settee.
I cannot see it, but
somewhere nearby stands a cottonwood
with rustling, sparkling leaves,
deep, spreading roots,
long, rough barked branches
and cotton snow
drifting through the air,
sticking to bricks on the front porch,
attaching to the back umbrella,
floating atop the sprinkler water filling the morning gutters,
catching in my hair,
packing into the corners of those screens not shredded by the recent hail,
and clogging drains,
clogging the breath of all those allergic
to the simple things of Spring.