Beginning

The last time I saw Eduardo was at Hoxie’s funeral. It was a sad affair as he was a young man gone too soon. Eduardo had once cried as he told me his testimony. Not Hoxie’s testimony but his own. Hoxie’s I never heard. Now we were sitting together at a funeral and he doesn’t speak. He had left the church about a year ago.

Hoxie, however, died in the church. Not hypothetically, but literally, died in the church. He was teaching Sunday school and collapsed on the floor. Nobody knew CPR. I was backsliding that day or else I would have been there. I heard later that there was nothing anyone could do, not even prayer— it was an aneurism.

There was a lot of guilt mixed in with sorrow that perhaps had I been there that I could have saved Hoxie’s life. I had never saved anyone except a Red Cross CPR mannequin. Good enough to blow into the fake lungs and press down the chest to keep the nonexistent blood flowing. I thought at the time that had I been there, had I been in line physically and spiritually that Hoxie would have lived!  The church people told me there was nothing anyone could have done.  I was beginning to believe them.

have faith in small things

a snowflake falling on tongue

can quench more than thirst

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dVerse prompt on beginnings — this is the start of a story I am telling.

Beginning

The Ear of Dionysius

DSCN0813

 

The Ear of Dionysius

echoes through history

of plots to kill the tyrant

voices that echoed

against the chamber

deep in its prison walls

hard to stop the madness

echoing beyond throat

of the oppressed

when democracy ended

 

Across centuries and waters

(now leaving Sicily)

the history of Albania unfolds

fifty years of dictatorship

when clergy and poets died

political opponents

enemies of the state

under surveillance wherever they go

executed or imprisoned

hear their echo

 

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dVerse prompt on the word echo.  Legend of the cave of Dionysius being a prison and the voices of the imprisoned were heard plotting because of the remarkable echoing of this cave.  In October, I stood in the darkness of this cave and practiced my echo voice, then a tour bus group came in and started to sing.  I know there is more to this poem than I have here -how history echoes into the future.

The Ear of Dionysius

Two Worlds

I

I am the boundaries that divide

placed by politics

a mockery of continents

ill-placed border crossings

blockades

walls

no-flight zones

international waters

can be changed

by exploration

treaty or war

 

II

One day I split continents

still eruptions and quakes

know no boundaries

with my heights and my depth

salty waters

fresh streams

flowing over me

I create weather and air

take care

of me

 

 

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dVerse prompt to write an apostrophe

Two Worlds

Wild Horses

There are still wild horses

in Nevada and Wyoming

mustangs from Spanish bloodlines

their hoofs strong

never shod

herd following a stallion

who is leader and protector

a spirit 

hard to be broken

easy to break it off

young ones

brought into the pen

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dVerse prompt on spirit.  The wild horses roam on BLM land and the herds are managed by the BLM.  To control the population, every year some are caught and brought to holding areas where they are tamed of their wild spirit and sold at auction.

Wild Horses

In Seattle

When the viaduct was removed in Seattle

homeless camps lost protection

from rains that always come

wet gear sends cold to the bone

try to stay dry and warm

tent after tent along the freeway

garbage thrown here and there

or burned in a campfire

this will be my last winter here you say

waiting for spring you say

always waiting for spring

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dVerse prompt “less is more” and my choice of the word homeless.  Homelessness in Seattle is growing with more tents along the I-5 going past downtown.  I was amazed at the extent of it this past summer (more than I had ever seen).

In Seattle

Selling Their Brother

Where did the money go that the sons of Jacob held in the hand after selling their brother into slavery?  Surely Joseph was a fine specimen that would command a high price, or did they sell the brother cheap?  It would have been hard to hide the money from their father.  Perhaps the father knew what they had done, could tell the difference between sheep and his son’s blood, and did not look further for fragments of a body.  Waited patiently for a journey to Egypt for the reconciliation of his family.

Selling Their Brother

I want to write like Dali

I want to write like Dali painted

disjointed

everything capable

of fluidity whether a horse

or time

or an elephant and rhino on stilts

elongate the llllllls

create more holes in the OOOOOOs

put a whole world inside just one

put a landscape on the table

a seascape in knees

find paragraphs

that grow trees

 

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dVerse prompt on surrealism

 

 

 

I want to write like Dali