10 - future present past

For today’s prompt, write a future poem. The future might mean robots and computer chips. The future might mean apocalyptic catastrophes. The future might mean peace and understanding. The future might mean 1,000 years into the future; it might mean tomorrow (or next month). I forecast several poems in the near future to be shared below.




Future Past

I read that we never live in the present
even if we are paying attention to it.
By the time we notice it -
as we notice it -
we and it are in the past.


A bird crows outside my window.
Has crowed.  A traffic sound fills
- has filled -  the place of that sound.

The letters I type make their sound
and stop. I guess in the past.

So the near future must be the present.
The near future must be the reading
of this poem, which will only be
present just before I read it.

In any case, I will forget
almost all of these days.

I will have lived them
so I will think I can know them.
But I won't.

The crow was flying.
Flew.

It left no mark
on the sky.

Day 8 - falling behind

Today is a Tuesday, so two prompts:

• Write a violent poem. Could be person on person violence, person on animal, animal on animal, nature on person/animal/nature, and so on (insects, erosion, cosmos, etc.).
• Write a peaceful poem. I suppose this might be the opposite of a violent poem. But perhaps not.

Don't

What is it about squirrels?

They run across the street and when traffic is coming.   Stop.

Then run almost all the way back to the curb and stop

Turn and run right under the wheels of the truck.

I am in the car behind. 

I see this happening.

I pray it won't do what I know it will do.

It is back safe, almost to the curb

It turns, runs exactly right under the wheels of the truck.

I swerve, but look in the mirror.

I see it flopping in pain,

its front half, flattened,

its beautiful tail

waving

as if it is the hand of someone drowning.

I thought: I'll forget about this little fella

before long but my day is winding down

and I still see that tail, flag of hopeless hope,

lit flickering bronze in the light of morning.

His body has probably been run over thirty times since.

I think: this is what it has been like - loving those I need the most.

I see phantoms of them, one by one, 

waving in my rear-view mirror.

Day 9

For today’s prompt, write a shelter poem. Shelter might be a structure like a house, apartment, or hotel. Shelter could be a tent or cardboard box. Shelter could be an umbrella, overpass, cave, or car. Shelter could be a state of mind, part of a money laundering scheme, or any number of interpretations.





Shelter


I live in this one house.

I have five rooms I can move through,
Six if you count the bathroom
where I stand sometimes
looking at my face.

It is a nice house.  
It has windows I can see out of
and doors I can open.

It has a nice bed I lie on and
three okay places to sit..

I can turn in it,
like one can in most places,
and face north, south, east and west.

I can see out of the windows
and open the doors.

I can walk from room to room.
There are six rooms, or five.
I can sit.  There are three okay places to sit.

I can leave it and return to it.

Which I do.  I leave it.
I return to it and sometimes stand
looking out the window.

I am grateful.  It is all I need.
I will live my life in this pretty box.

Poem a day - 7

For today’s prompt, write a self-portrait poem. Pretty straightforward, right? That doesn’t mean there’s not a lot of room for creativity. Just look at artists and their self-portraits; there’s a lot of differences in the self-portraits of Kahlo, Schiele, Dali, Van Gogh, and others–and not just because the artists look different themselves.


In my yoga practice
I am supposed to look at myself.
For 90 minutes - to focus on myself.

Of all the things I do
kick, pull, stretch, rest, twist, breathe,
rock, sit up, be still, lengthen, reach

by far the hardest is to look at myself.

What kind of face is that?
Where did that come from?

I don't like it

If I'm honest
I don't like it

She looks humorless
and the features vanish
in a flat, fleshy field.

I forgive that face its redness
The dull, pulled back hair
the effort
or the opening mouth.

But why is it the hardest thing
to look just look at myself?

I can look somewhere else.
At my clavicle.

At my ear.
At him - that's better.

I will try again tomorrow
to just look at this person.

To keep looking.
To notice that we breathe
at exactly the same time.

to reach

and to love her
for her breath.
as we do
I can see
have that in common.

PAD 6

For today’s prompt, write a night poem. Vampires and werewolves? Cool. Clubbing and saloons? You got it. Lovers together alone? Right. Ex-lovers alone on their own? Sure thing. You figure out your night poem–and, yes, (k)night poems are fine too.



ugh.  have seriously six minutes again.   already behind.  tried to write a night poem last night in my sleep...
gone.


Camera - Night Sensor

I can take pictures now in the dark, or try.
The image still misses the three degree value difference between the shifting privet tree night shadow
and the stucco wall or its surface - suburban moon dust sparkle

The skytrees and phonelines line up under the wedge moon and make
as much sense as they can as place, home, context, frame
wanting clearly like I do 
 - if they can want -
to
blur to not 
wake for awhile
as always
to not ever be captured