Doing the best I can with what I have
Huddled under cardboard,
Old Annie shivers.
Surrounded by layers of rags and bags,
Scavenged bits hoarded against the cold,
Shoved into cracks, or
Worn as a layered mantle
No room open for her tonight
No place to warm her tired bones
They say it’s not cold enough.
Twelve degrees.
The winds howl,
Sweeping down these city streets
Stirring up ghosts of every December
Those souls who couldn’t be saved
No place to warm their bones
No room opened for them
Someone said it’s not cold enough.
“Besides,” she said, out of the blue, “We have nothing to gain now, yet nothing more to lose.
So take my hand, no, this one. Hoist me up from my place in the sand.”
Together they eyed the waves, sidelong glances at one another
Wedged between sighs masquerading as cogent thoughts. Neither had the means,
Nor the answers. “Will you love me still once this is done?” He asked.
“What makes you think I love you now?” She replied, as the gulls wheeled over head.
Peaceable Kingdom Revisited
I woke from a dream, soft gathers of light, distilled spirits at the edges, last vestiges of night
Wandered in from the wastelands, shining city on a hill; I’d visited before, when the illusion held still.
Slept with the lions; lunched with the lambs, before this peaceable kingdom came tumbling down
Now the eagle has landed, poached, plucked, and sautéed; the bear lies in waiting, his meal already made.
The Peaceable Kingdom–Edward Hicks
I created something there on stone strewn grounds
Scattered the remains across the fields
Shook my fist at an orange sky
My works crumbled in the making
Two figures approached
Appraising, frowning, drowning
I tried to explain how the piece should look
My entreaties were not sufficient for the cause
Melting words in a melting world
Pompeii
Don’t
Don’t be shocked by another school shooting, the eleventh in this brand new year.
Don’t tell me we are better than this; obviously, we are not.
Don’t send up thoughts and prayers. God honors action, not weepy hand-wringing.
Don’t try to console me; your words are empty.
Don’t tell me you are pro-life when clearly you support the industry of death.
Don’t.
Odds and Evens
I’m on a roll with the odd word, feeling lucky in this odd world, moreover,
Never tell me the odds, even if I plead, even if they favor me. Odd one out,
Even Steven, even playing field, even I can read the writing on the wall. After
All, I’m an odd duck, even on my best days, even when I try to fit in. By
The way, this isn’t even one of those days. Odd, don’t you think? Then we’re even.
This piece of nonsense came about when I realized my previous two posts had the word “Odd” in the titles. Since two is an even number I had to go for a third post using the word “odd”; because I believe in evening things out. Or something.
Additionally, I spent the day frittering away my time, getting my hair cut and colored. Holy cow, is my hair dark! I’m even odder looking now. See what I did there?
Peace, people!
Saturday came with its easy vibe, cloaked in laziness and splendor.
A chaise lounge beckoned, and I reclined, the better to revel bodaciously.
A glass of red in hand, the radio on a slow, low, sexy jam, stretch out your hand
And touch me there, and here. Oh, the wine might fuel me, but it’s you who
Moves me, every time, every single time. Come closer, and kiss me.
My waistline is more a suggestion now, instead of a well-defined feature of my anatomy. Because the pecan
Pie I made for Christmas dinner and the baklava my daughter sent packed in a box of gifts,
Were deemed too tasty to ignore in spite of the calories they boast in abundance. Do I feel a New Year’s
Resolution in the making? Elastic waist pants in my future? A regimen of calisthenics in development?
Ask me in a week or so. There are still gourmet marshmallows wrapped in pretty paper on my kitchen counter.
Calories be damned.
Things I Didn’t Do This Weekend
By Leslie Noyes
This weekend I didn’t decorate my house for the holidays, but neither did I run naked through the neighborhood.
On Saturday I didn’t bake cookies, but neither did I shave my head and paint it berserker blue.
I don’t think I cried, but then I really don’t think I laughed, either.
I purposely did not attempt to slide down any banisters; although, I was tempted to throw myself down a staircase.
I’m trying hard to balance the good with the bad, you see. I’m still here. Wondering if that’s good. Or bad.
Not an Option
By Leslie Noyes
Failure, under the spotlight, turned down a wrong road, dined at the bad trough, lessons learned.
Heartache, walked on the tightrope, fell into an abyss on the highway to hell. Seeking penance forevermore.
Trust, sought, but not earned, squandered in bushels, by deeds too heinous to tell. Forgiveness sought.
Grace, offered in buckets, washed in the blood of the everlasting lamb. Earnest prayers offered with hands raised in praise.
