The new date and hour are as follows: SUNDAY, JULY 19, 5 PM ON ZOOM. Email Maja Trochimczyk at firstname.lastname@example.org, or the featured poets for Zoom details.
With eyes like emeralds…Its
voice blows fire until lives change shape.
Many are like clouds drug by the claws of the
wind, in new directions. Notice when a
pillow-like surface bears the tell-tale
pitter patter that something more lurks ready
to plant itself sweet as carbon monoxide’s kiss.
A quiver felt by one of the 5 senses while
completely undetected by the others.
It exists as a pre-warning and an aftermath
In the same casing. Pregnant with storm
Yet calm in appearance.
How many of us remember being part
of thunder’s story as it grew lightening?
Each new day-dreaded as gun powder’s scream.
Living through moments that cause one to feel
as muted and as an unfinished thesis
in a side cabinet.
The Dragon invites all to warm up
near the fires that will sting some into ashes.
Its promise presents a haven that is;
the “I” in team just out of view,
soft lips on a chicken and a bear that never
craps in a wooded area-believable.
Yet, pressure is one factor that grow muscle.
And, life is empty without the thrill of a
possibility to step upon the rocks that could burn.
So, we soldier on.
Published in We Are Here: Village Poets Anthology, 2020.
At this reading, he will present fragments from the memoirs, he earlier featured as a poet with work from The Desert Hat, copied below for your enjoyment.
Ode to a Fly
may I never see you
stuck to a glue strip
on yellow paper.
My sole companion
in Salvation Canyon
you cheerful orange-faced
Loyal voyager, we escaped
sand flies, slept on the black rock
and returned to the cliffs,
when my Mother in Law
woke up us both
screaming my name
under a black sky
The evolved one
you hovered to let me
apply lotion then sat
back on my wrist
Odd Couple Member
Skinny Legged Friend
I got to the place out of the sun after a three day search
the first day looking for an exit, the second hiding
under a tree, the third morning of survival
A cold moon follows the blistering vision of day
I went downhill for succor, for a friend to lean against
from sun and night wind
In short-sleeve shirt and shorts I had to hide
under a clamshell rock with a split orange face
till the sun slapped me to wake again
I ran in here to the blessed salvation canyon of shadows
Seeing I would outlive that day’s sun and maybe
only another, I turned my hat to a mirror,
my pen to my blood’s red artery
“My dear wife and daughter, I lost the trail of celebration
of deals. I may never see you, read my wish and will.”
Out in a desert canyon my love poured onto nylon flaps
inside seams and creases as the mirror turned into
a bouquet of pomegranates and apricots
for a circle of friends gathered by the barbecue of stewed tomatoes,
candied rice with roasted meats and broiled fish at my wake
of smoking and carousing, with the clink of vodka glasses,
per my will, written on my desert hat
to be executed by my beloved
for my only child.