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 May 20 Stephen E Yocum
Zeno
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⣿⣦⣤⠤⣴⣿⣴⣿⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣿⣦⣿⣦⠤⣤⣴⣿
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I don't know what I was looking for,
in the honey draped lights flashing
in my eyes
And the sound of music
that keeps on playing and playing

And the wind that laps over my face
as the world turns,
Like horses running on axis,
weaving through the lines of shadow
and fireworks
And in their trail, I found
stardust that shimmers and shimmers

I found it confusing sometimes
In the endless mirrors and lights
that spirals in my mind
Like vines coiled around poles
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀  ⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀     ⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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And the looming sweetness that lingers,
like pink foam swirling in my mouth

I smiled towards the dying sunset,
thinking it would last forever
I try not to close my eyes
and not be blinded
by the world slowly slipping
away

Before the music dies
Before the yellow stars burn out
You might not hear my voice
or even remember my name
But I just want you to know that

I was here

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How did the first poet come about
Which feathered friend
Unlatched his tongue
Pitching his wits to sky of views
To detect fire of flowers
To discern the link of above and below
To reflect on drift of words
To visit invisible nations
To conceal his creative nucleus.

Before the transformation
He must have been an ordinary man
With sleepy ears and shrouded eyes
Mundane like the face of afternoon
Whether by chance or divine decree
He was crowned by feathers of Simurgh
And given a plot of sky to wander
To sing of morning and of night
To sing of colors, of trees, of flight of birds
Of taste of wine, of berries, of hazelnut
To sing of wings of life
To relieve the pain of confinement
To reveal the crack of cage
To become paragon of originality
To settle in heaven of finesse
And brandish hell at the oppressor.
I’ve held you up for fifty years
My arms are very tired
I feel the weakness creeping in
But I will never put you down.

I’ll put my back against the wall
That love constructed over time
And pray for new strength in my hands
That I might never let you fall.
ljm
We never stop being their Mom or Dad
Our caps flew like confetti.
Thank god I customized mine.
I'll keep it as a memento of all-nighters,
friendships formed in the academic trenches,
dismissive professors and group-project-tortures.

This isn’t another ‘drunk girl’ holiday, despite obvious similarities.
Our parents, sisters, brothers, and grandmothers are here.

We came in doe-eyed, holding overpriced planners,
and enough provisions for two year Mars missions.
We hoped to discover friends, decent Wi-Fi signals
and perhaps our adult selves.

Now we're holding diplomas, those future-proofing talismans.
Mine’s in molecular biophysics and biochemistry.
Which is wry, because when I was in high school,
my sister accused me of not knowing how to boil water.

I've been asked "What’s next?" a thousand times in the last month.
I have plans—but I was dying to shrug and say, “that’s tomorrow’s problem,” like I’ve spent major duckets, degree wise, but remain the ditzy blonde.
The standard graduate answer, I’ve heard, is "I dunno."
(though honestly, it’s a great answer).

Congratulations, all of you graduating overachievers out there—everywhere.
Go forth, be fabulous and find that next big dream.
Can you believe we actually did this?
Argh! I gotta go, someone wants another picture.
.
.
Songs for this:
What Dreams Are Made Of by Evann McIntosh
Summer Wind by Robert Mosci
Tomorrow by Wings
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 05/18/25:
talisman = an object believed to have positive magic powers
wing beats of doves
tremble the air
with feathered sound

-as they land to feed
and dance
-the cut grass their stand.
Speak soft on foreign shores.
When the sands feel unfamiliar
And we are strangers to their law.
Heed the warnings of your clan.
Those who told of troubled waters
Where the oceans meet the land.
Feel like this needs another stanza. May revise and add to it in the future.
After the rodeo they held a
dance in the 4-H building behind the stands—
They haven’t done that since 2017

I still walked back to my car in silence,
the din of a crowd behind me, freshly plowed dirt and pine, warm beer

I’m in this red summer dress, little yellow flowers all the way down to my ankles,
this is the kind of dress you’re supposed to find me in, in the cornflower blue evening, wisps of peach stratus clouds stretched behind the glaring rodeo lights

Deep Wreck and some kid from Wyoming
arced against the masses, wild hair flying
Red checkered pearl snap

You’re supposed to find me here, You.
You’re supposed to fall in love with me.

Turn it Loose by the Judds plays in the little
red alcove, a bandstand in the foreground;

I get in the car and go home.
That you not awaken, or stir up love before it pleases.


(c) brooke Otto 2025
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