King of Fools

The King of Fools is a fisherman

of that there is no doubt

because he fishes not for fish

but compliments to brag about.

 

No compliment ever caught

could satisfy an insecure guy

so he might as will fish for fish

at least then he can have a fish fry.

 

[Another contribution from JW.]

I have lived another day

I have drawn the world in dots and lines and created Society’s Storyboards.

I have danced with dreams in the pale moon light while Moon and Stars turned not away.

I have crossed the seven seas with Big Blue Whale surfing rogue and tidal waves.

I have flown with Eagle, Hawk, and Owl with Sky Father’s gift of condor wings.

I have conversed with Mr. Lady Bug, who has learned to love the name.

I have shared my den with two bear cubs when empty tummies made mama go fishing.

I have drunk a thousand kegs of beer and pissed a river of wine.

I have smiled to win a woman and sparked a war instead.

I have run with Wolf in the Great North Woods, and rode atop Turtle’s shell.

I have shot an arrow from cloud-to-cloud to sew a bridal veil.

I have painted face and beat the drum in the world of skin and bones.

I have ridden Pegasus to the land of sand where Wealth weds Poverty.

I have lived another day in the place of my birth: born in the Imagi-Nation.

 

[Another contribution from JW, as I continue to endure medical issues.]

Fluid emotion

Morning dew is evidence of sweet release upon vestal valleys and rolling hills of Mother Earth.

Passion spent now heat must vent, vapor rise and evaporate with tent while emotion bent, the off-shore fog rolls in.

Fresh spring flowers to while-away the hours, while coaxing green and budding things to cover Earth Mother anew.

Drizzle maybe happy tears if most the day still shines; but when the day stays dull and gray, and blustery defines it well, listen for the bells that tell the heartfelt pain of loss when nature-born is spirit-bound, and bids this world adieu.

Hurricanes and himmicanes bring spousal trouble to bear when Nature’s give-and-take has forgotten how to share; and nothing gets said easily, every word is an accusation till it peters out with sad frustration leaving a tail in its wake of mass destruction.

Steady rain is a time to dance, Sky Father is playful and giving; his candle is lightning, his music is thunder, his flowers the scent of the living… as he bathes his true love with sacred tears.

If you find your path is flooded with a deluge pouring down, you know mankind once more has fallen and the Creator’s wrath abounds; so don’t open your umbrella, stay behind closed doors, and wait for signs of joy before you venture forth, for many who tempt the waters wind-up drowning in their fears.

 

[Another contribution from JW.]

180 Days

Rejected at birth
like the runt of a litter
but it was a solitary birth
No bonding
Never taken to breast
no lips to nips
never tasted Mother’s milk
I still wonder why
How does an hour-old child
earn ostracism from his mother?
An aunt
thirteen
asked to play house
Surrogate mother
six-month sentence
till alpha mom returns
to her senses
or heart leak is dammed
Child
finally gets a homecoming

It is hard to feel connected
when you’re rejected
the first half-year of life
The bond that was made
with the aunt in eighth-grade
is severed
Familiar touch is gone
The unfamiliar
at times abrupt
at times timid
Silence
is profitable
when left alone
Solitude
seems better
than uncomfortable bonding
No affection
no rejection
Child wisdom
or wishful thinking
It’s hard to be a sage
wearing throwaways
at the ripe old age
of 180 days

 

[Another contribution from JW.]

Ghosts of lives lived

My father’s father survived a war torn land as a child but could not survive the war that raged within him.

My father’s mother carried the weight of a broken generation on frail shoulders and fed it with pockets full of imitation love.

My father perpetually relived the death of his dreams till Death finally came for him.

My maternal grandfather built the Interstate of Integrity through the Badlands of prejudicial injustice.

My mother’s mother was born to please Earth with her scent – like Night Blooming Jasmine – only to be gone by morning.

My mother lived her life for others except for a momentary lapse that left her a lone wolf without a pack.

I live as a ghost in a life of lies built on the expectations of others.

 

[Another contribution by JW: art and words.]

[For those who may be curious, Kat is doing much better, but is still dealing with some issues. But I’ve got months of medical issues still ahead in the near future. So we are grateful to JW for all he’s done and continues to do for us here.]