Ode to Last Flight

Ode to Last Flight

Don’t think we don’t appreciate
the fare that’s offered. We do
queue up from time to time,
but food trucks really aren’t
our thing. We’re here for the beer,
and you do know how to brew.
Few craft brewers bother
to have a dark beer on tap,
favoring IPAs, but your selection
is the best. It’s about time
we had a quality brewery in town,
so your fare is just fine with me.
We’ll take a flight of your finest.

This is my response Poetics: At the restaurant…,
the prompt from Merril at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.

With Resolve ~ with audio


With Resolve

Would I be that person again?
Am I not, still?
The anger that stewed within is gone,
resolved with understanding. Loss
weighs heaviest when dismissed.
Recognized, accepted, it still lives
within me, an empty space
never to be filled yet always holding
those who cannot be replaced.

This is my response to Reena’s Xploration Challenge #241, which offers this line as inspiration: “The only ghost that scares is a past version of you.”

Shared with OpenLinkNight #321 Blast Off!

Missed, in Any Weather ~ memoir poetry ~ with audio

Missed, in Any Weather

The farthest thing from my mind
when I’m chipping away
at the frozen layer on my driveway
on a chilly, mid-Missouri February morning
that, as usual, has as much rain as snow
is to wish for more of the same.
But here I am on a ninety-six degree day
in August crossing a Target parking lot
as I wade through heat waves
rising from the asphalt that remind me
of that Vegas hospital parking lot
in early June of ’93 after visiting Dad
and thinking he’d be flying home soon –
we know how that worked out –
wishing I could have one of those
ice-crusted snow days. Or better yet,
just one more minute working beside Dad
at Overland Express back in Buffalo
in the ’70s with the snow blowing
between the trailers and across the dock,
his face just as red from the cold
as it would get if he were here with me
on this hot, August Missouri day.

This is my response to Twiglet 290: ice-crusted snow.

As it happens this also meets the challenge for Poetics: Sometimes August isn’t recognized, the prompt from Sanaa at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.

Prismatic Pragmatism

Prismatic Pragmatism

Absent the agony of your companion,
the white heat of pain temple to temple,
my pleas for mercy falling on ears deaf
to everything but a ringing magnified tenfold,
you were a welcome distraction,
courting fascination with the pulsation
of lightning through a prism.

That you are now absent as well,
I wonder. Should I miss you?

This is my response to Twiglet 289: lightning colour.

For years, I was plagued with sinus headaches, often several times a month, that would start with a pressure buildup behind my eyes. A migraine would follow if I didn’t immediately treat the headache with ibuprofen and pseudoephedrine. These days, those headaches are few and far between, and I haven’t had a migraine in many years. I can’t say I miss them. On the other hand, sometimes I would have an ocular migraine, an arc of light with a prismatic effect in my peripheral vision, very seldom accompanied by any discomfort. Those could be fascinating. The last time I had one I wrote about it, here.

~ click image for larger view in new tab ~

Effortlessly ~ sijo


It seems I only see you
       when you come into my dreams.

I hear words, conversations,
       remember what I learned back then.

Lessons never seemed to be lessons
       when working by your side.

This is my response to Ronovan Writes Sijo Wednesday Challenge #19: Dreams.

Sijo (a Korean verse form related to haiku and tanka)
~ three lines of 14-16 syllables each
~ a total of 44-46 syllables
~ a pause near the middle of each line
~ first half of the line contains six to nine syllables
~ the second half should contain no fewer than five
Originally intended as songs, sijo can treat romantic, metaphysical, or spiritual themes. Whatever the subject, the first line introduces an idea or story, the second supplies a “turn,” and the third provides closure.
Modern Sijo are sometimes printed in six lines.
Read more here: Wikipedia

Shared with OpenLink Night LIVE at dVerse ~ Poets Pub

Visions of Absence ~ fractal poem

Visions of Absence

In darkness filled with the light of memories,
I call out in a voice that carries no weight.
The silence of your response echoes
in scenes that play out before me,
moments always out of reach but never
far from my mind, even in waking dreams
when I know you are gone but always
with me. The separation of decades
knows no distance, whether dreaming
or awake. Day and night are the same,
your absence all the difference.

 This is my response to dVerse – Poetics – Fractals, the prompt from Lisa at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to write a poem using “fractal poetics.” Alice Fulton describes this as exploring the structure of free verse as “a dynamic, turbulent form between perfect chaos and perfect order,” here.

Image source: shutterstock

A Clean Cut ~ prosery

A Clean Cut

His name does not come easily to her, and that is good. She refuses to speak it and would consider herself blessed if she never heard it again. For all the damage he caused her, she is now in a better place with that part of her life behind her. She’s had it sliced away. Leaving a scar would mean admitting that he is still a part of her. But there are no scars. It was a clean cut. Several clean cuts, in fact.

So, she was cutting his steak too thin for his liking? Within seconds of receiving a blow to the side of her head for once more failing to meet his standards, she drove the knife into his heart. Many, many cuts later, his body was bagged and ready for a night trip to the landfill. All traces of him gone.

 This is my response to Prosery: slices and scars, the prompt from Sarah at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, where the challenge is to write a prosery, flash fiction or creative nonfiction, with a 144-word limit (here, exactly 144 words). Included in the bit of prose is to be a complete line from a poem. For this prompt, the line is from Liverpool, by Michael Donaghy: “she’s had it sliced away leaving a scar.”

Image sourcefreepik.com

Out of Touch ~ ekphrastic

Out of Touch

“I thought of the future, and spoke of the past.”
                         Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany’s

Through a haze that erases
possession and masks potential,
where is the horizon?

I grasp but find nothing.
There is no satisfaction
in what is denied.

Past and future out of reach,
the present slips away
with each passing moment.

This is my response to Eugi’s Weekly Prompt – Unbounded
and the photo that is provided.
It also responds to Poetics: Breakfast at Tiffany’s, although it is outside of the window to link it at Mr. Linky. (other responses here). That prompt from Linda Lee Lyberg at dVerse ~ Poets Pub provides several quotes from “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” for inspiration.