As the southern
evening bells
rang,
I banged
the skin drum
and sang:
“Yah, yah hey yah hah!”
Then rubbed I
the dugout canoe,
and dreamed,
and cared not
who heard my chanted prayer,
nor that I got splinters
in my hand.
I thought of she
and he,
and that they
might be better.
But observational joy
is never a contest.
When I was with her,/
my life was full of joy and/
fun. But now I’m not.
Click here for the video that prompted this poem)
Driving through
the snow-covered high
desert,
top down,
sun in my face,
wind blasting,
splitting my lips,
running my nose,
rocking to the radio,
I can’t help but look around,
see the mountain vistas,
throw my both my hands
high
in the air,
surf the wind,
yell “YEAAAAAAAAYHHHHHH!!!!”
and cry with unspeakable joy.
Damn, I’m happy!
And look!
There’s an American flag :-)!!!
Why do I feel so funkified?/
Like the joy that lives within me, died?/
Is it just that I am overly tired?/
Or I got exhausted as I worked and perspired?/
Or would I feel better if I just emoted and cried?
Cleaning house
in service
for those who can’t
or won’t,
I play an old tape.
Hell yeah!
It’s Mahalia
Jackson,
Sleep in Heavenly Peace.
I can’t contain
the torrent of tears
as I clean
even more earnestly
because that’s all I can do now.
Now that I’ve left.
Now that I’ve ripped
lives apart.
This used to be
my city,
my town,
my house,
my family,
my life.
This music brought joy
down the stairs.
I have tapes.
I have videos.
This used to be everything
I lived for.
But now,
I’m cleaning the living room,
and
there is no room.
We threw milkweed pods/
and our hands in the air, and/
laughed like kids. They are.
——-
How this haiku happened: Someone posted a Meme saying: “You’re never childless, when you have a Husband”. I responded:
“This was offensive to me… until I started to look at it in a positive light.
Yes, I do act like a child sometimes. Maybe often.
This morning I turned off the bathroom lights and took a shower in the dark to the light of the setting full moon.
Yesterday my great-nephew and niece and I “put our hands in the air” and danced driving in my convertible all the way through town.
I bring home the bacon and am responsible (I have a mortgage that’s nearly paid off), but have a child-like glee in life. I’m kind, tender-hearted, and like to make jokes and have fun.
I’ll play in the sand with Tonka trucks, and stop to look at a bug on a sunflower.
Yesterday I showed these kids about milkweed pods, and as we drove away, we threw parachutes to the sky and giggled when they swirled around our heads in the wind vortex my ragtop-down created.
“For such is the Kingdom of Heaven”, Jesus said.
Maybe that’s not a bad thing.
She takes light and joy/
and sucks them into darkness,/
like some huge black hole.
OR
She takes my joy light/
and sucks it into darkness,/
like some huge black hole.
I shall not, today, go to classes
where old men wittily incite the masses
to laugh, with fake spirituality,
at jokes too oft said inappropriately.
I shall not go later to dessert
with those who smile, but often hurt
with backstabbing comments and bad advice,
(thought they’re only guilty of trying to be nice.)
I shall write poetry instead;
allowing sweet muse to clear my head.
As the train’s gentle rhythm rocks me to and fro,
into the joy of my creative mind I shall go.
For it is there, when I’m most dazed and confused,
that I can find my kindest refuge.
There are views which bring/
peace and solice. Memories/
of folks there bring joy.
The most wonderful/
transition I’m grateful for/
is strength to be me.
OR
The transition I/
like most is your example/
to shine happiness.