Month: June 2021

 

Two Blue-hued Haiku 

two blue-hued kayaks

in the bed of the pickup 

we’re river ready! 

 

Quandary

How should one respond 

when an outspoken 

community member

dead set 

and vocal 

against masks

and tracking-juice vaccines

because the virus 

is a “huge farce” –

and just in case 

it’s not, he went ahead 

and injected that 

household disinfectant

in his veins

like some genius 

suggested –

gets it 

and is near death

and probably going to

exit stage left

leaving his wife and two 

kids with sky-high

hospital bills

two months later?

Does one contribute 

a box of masks in his memory?

or offer fresh-baked cookies 

to those in line to get the shot?

Because these responses 

and that Go Fund Me page

someone set up for him all

seem like things

he would not want 

to have holding him

in silent agreement

with a virus that 

he adamantly proclaimed

doesn’t exist. 

Asking for a friend in a quandary

who believes “I told you so”

isn’t quite appropriate here either.

 Diminished

Should one runner’s flatter mile be diminished by another’s more uphill?

Should we ask the elite runners to start at the back?

Should newlyweds in love 

quell their hearts for those divorced?

Should a new mother’s love 

be tucked under the shadows of a sister’s miscarriage?

Should a valedictorian feel shamed by scholars less honored?

Should school grade books even exist if some are less driven? 

Should those with strong legs sit on the bench while a teammate’s broken  leg heals?

Should the world stop smiling today to mourn all those who suffer loss? 

Should vacationers stay home because all cannot afford to go?

Should a kayaker stay home because there are those who can’t swim?

Should we all stop eating for those without food?

Should I take a lashing because my ancestors gave them?

Should professional athletes stop playing because teachers earn less? 

Should we dismiss our potential, ambition, and dreams for the missed opportunities of others? 

 

Unerasable  

fifty-four, like a 

teenager – writing our names

in a bathroom stall

along a Georgia 

Highway at a truck stop where

we bought boiled peanuts

on the backside of 

nowhere as we traveled home 

on a June Sunday 

through rural towns where 

ghosts of hateful cross burners 

in white hoods still roam

scenic roads haunted

rimmed with cobalt bottle trees

haint blue porch ceilings 

remnants of feelings

fears alive and real linger 

like names etched in trees 

someone has been here 

lovers and haters alike 

unerasable 

Beckham Cash Meyer

a new baby son

to snuggle, swaddle, spoil, love 

to the moon and back 

number four, third son

he’ll learn to stand his own ground

share and fight alike

protect Saylor Reese

share brotherly secrets with

Sawyer and River

personality-

dreams and wonders and interests

who will he become?

  

Echo Haiku 

Your new son sleeps in

your new home. He will

meet Nana today! 

 

PTSD 

I know he’s having 

flashbacks when he draws near to 

lock eyes and seek love 

dog PTSD –

when he needs reassurance 

and won’t stop asking 

18 inches tall 

fierce as a mountain lion 

scared as a kitten 

two searching black eyes 

and a trembling paw that tills

a patch in my arm 

abandoned by his 

former owner, left to starve 

inside a duplex 

the day a landlord 

turned him in to the rescue 

we made him our own

knowing he would be 

a challenge with such issues 

knowing we’d love him 

this is what love is: 

dropping all else to show him 

that he now belongs

Reconsider

I need to rethink

I need to reconsider 

I need my best pen

 

Good Morning

Awake. Muscles stretch. 

A tiny black nose meets mine

from under the quilt.

And another one.

Two boys, ready to go out 

and sprinkle the rocks.

Back inside for treats

Breakfast: yogurt, graham crackers

Jeans leg tug of war 

But not with dress slacks

They know the difference – pants 

mean there’s a meeting 

And Dad is thinking

all serious, so no play 

when pants are involved

Until time to leave

They sit on the sofa arm

Wagging tails ~ (more treats)

Little ways we live 

Dance steps of love with our dogs 

That make life better! 

 

Penny

My therapist died. 

She would not dye my hair green 

because she knew me. 

When things were beyond 

my control I would tell her 

to cut my hair short. 

Penny knew that when

a woman’s world spirals she

tries to change her look.

I’m going to miss 

my secret keeper and friend

who kept my head straight. 

Rest In Peace, Penny.