Lunar Talk
I have lived with over 27,550 moons.
Weather permitting, I speak to them.
Occasionally one speaks back,
depending on my schedule and needs.
Tonight, he’s full, starts the conversation.
This is new and exhilarating,
he describes quite poetically that he
sees himself as an island of truth.
I am responsible for tides, time and light,
my phases affect your sleep, he smiles.
I help birds migrate, navigate, and now
I need to get involved; it is true that
truth is subjective, depending on the tides,
two people will see the same event and have
different recollections, descriptions, analysis -
a third comes along and says it didn’t happen.
He says earth’s aura is turning murky grey,
indicating that its credibility is burning out,
that the lying and hate have become normal,
and the universe, the galaxies are watching.
They’ve been watching, thinking man humorous until
the holocaust - killing your young isn’t acceptable.
Karma is in man’s horoscope; the planets are aligning.
You should leave, find a new home near humility.
The Poet
I’m not going to tell you who I am,
not going to proclaim pronouns.
I need to be critical without criticism,
want to walk in and not be identified
as the author of this, or any others.
My name, gender, location are not important,
the observations are too subjective
and so, the opinions can’t be pinpointed.
They are the eyes of the weary world,
watching humankind lose its humanity.
We are walking through Orwellian history
that will be told by only those in anonymity,
pointing out the irrelevance of their identity,
but their need to speak, to wage a rebellion
of sonnets from the underground.
The only poetry will be told by the faceless,
from the shadows, those that were there,
and then they weren’t, once again escaping
leaders and their robots scrutinizing
every word for propaganda resembling truth.
The Walmart Prompt
Received a rejection accompanied with:
53 Prompts Inspired by Poems,
Short Stories and Creative Nonfiction
Published in The Baltimore Review.
Quite a title, with some question of the use of capitals,
but appreciated it, read it, and used it,
everyone can use a prompt occasionally.
The best prompt is people watching,
and where better than Walmart,
second maybe only to Disney, but next door.
I start with clothing. I think back on
that sequenced skirt that barely covered,
and the black leather blazer with one button cleavage.
An all-time favorite was a warm, spring day,
Mr. linebacker in a full-length brown fur coat,
‘I killt a bar’, like the Daniel Boone Trees.
Fourth in line at checkout
I see Cinderella looking at mangoes,
turn and say to the woman behind me,
“Cinderella is in produce.”
She’s doesn’t look away from the
cover of the Enquirer,
like she knows something I don’t.
I’m at the register, feel something behind me,
turn around and freak,
as Batman is about to tap me on the shoulder.
It’s all for charity,
Frankenstein, Beetlejuice
and Snow-White meander by.
There’s a lady sitting by herself,
on a bench in a full black abaya and hijab,
looking down to avoid eye contact.
A blond crewcut, Brady t-shirt and cargo shorts,
stops in front of her,
and says so everybody can hear him,
“Why don’t you go back to where you came from?”
Pissed off by this crassness,
and, so everybody close including,
Mr. Quarterback can hear, I blurt out,
“What an asshole.”
Fortunately, Batman, Beetlejuice
and Frankenstein
come to my aid or there’s no telling.
People watching over for today,
contributed to the charity,
on the way to the car,
I think how this was one of the better Saturdays,
and I need to submit The Walmart Prompt
to The Baltimore Review as maybe no. 54.
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