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Tizzop Sep 4
3600 seconds, golden rich kids among bottle
scavengers, everybody hustlin', revenge?
the lights of society don't shine bright on them
collected bottles for a meal, irrelevant sunsets

the beauty of life decreased, dependency diaries
let lights loosely shine on these teenage giants
memories are opening up like red clouds, floating
in a time lapse, they will remember, in pride

honor and dignity, the one who splits the ocean
creates a shelter for the brothers and sisters
reckoner: burnings sandstorms, playful twisters
the one who smoothens a path to golem land

honey, milk and fruits, get rid of urban metal
come to us, be with us and stay with us
infinite loopholes, adults, kids and groups
the holy swoosh of a curl, your healing, stay

as you are walking through the ocean
as your brothers and sisters are with you
whiteblue words, you catch sentences like air
as you become a part of golem land

of us
Golemland for everybody; for a better way of life.
Where Shelter Aug 25
~for me~

no food in this house, badly bruised fruit,
leftover congealing overdue-past pasta with ketchup and cheese,
moldy bread testing the outer boundary of edibility,
jeez, even gotta drink water direct from the tap!

the worn out endemic pandemic comatose wakes up next to me,
“even this fickle friend is thinking its time for them to go, who knows,
cause we no longer count the time, where time goes, it just goes”(1),
don’t want it to go, because the ideation of life totally alone terrifies

looking out at the water, waves relinquish their sooth-me-ability,
now, they looking like masses of commuters and tourists weaving,
pushing, on Fifth Avenue, everybody trys gain a step in this old get-
ahead life we used to liv, believing that the way to, the right place

a poet here has cancer, doesn’t answer me when I’m checking on him,
another has memory sickness, cannot ever let go of her life’s losses,
as well she shouldn’t, some losses are wars by definition un-winnable,
and me, drifting in and out of this poem in the early morning thinking

if I could get back to sleep, that’ll be a couple more hours used up,
don’t want to mislead, no answers any to the perennial flowering
question of where shelter can be found, this wretch like me, can’t see,
grace has fled (2), see it, rowing away, can’t blame it, I would too

so many come to me with pain, wasted opportunities, looking for
guidance, or worse, absolutions, the dishes in the sink, last weeks,
saying they deserve a second chance at a useful life and the coffee
machine flashes “Empty Grounds or Leaving Town,” a decent rhyme

don’t give a **** if you’re thinking this writ, gotta quit, too long,
take your tiring eyes and scram, skedaddle, mine until I get a decent
answer to questions that never let go, they’ll keep coming back and
somehow that prospect, is crazy way is comforting, for all parties

can’t let go, only thing that gets me outta bed, the need  reheat, reheat
old, cold coffee that someone stuck in fridge just in case, the electric
gets hurricaned, stormed, another tree comes down this time that doesn’t just miss the house, like last week, that a stupid way to die

answer to where shelter ain’t, gonna start a collection of awnings, keep one handy, no matter time and luck take me, a stopgap answer to the quest-ion at hand, I’m liking that word,  it’s emotive, aaawww-ing, comes ready, handy guttural name, & to the beat, flapping wind

thought I’d get answer by writing this all down, none come along, meaning I’ll write some more some day soon, when the eyes open, should they open once more-row, the questioning, the pandemonium blues, wake up beside me asking where I’ve been, they’ve been

waiting all night for some bad company.




notes
__

(1) “Who knows where the time goes” Fairport Convention
(2) “Amazing Grace” Judy Collins
Where Shelter Sep 11
a tall masted sailboat plods its way
across the picture window, under power, moving slow, 5 minute,
seagulls trail behind, periodically dive bombing the roiled wake, thinking, surely, men’s finding machinery better than their own,
taking anything to make the new days poems & troubles easier

so it goes, the interplay between man and a natural world,
so it goes, finding fish, our sustenances, a dance perpetual,
so it goes, divining spirits sensing a vision, bring me music,
a spiritual so apropos that who can doubt God’s existence?

”With the water
Sweet water, wash me down
Come on, water
Sweet water, wash me down


Tried my hand at the Bible
Tried my hand at prayer
But now, nothing but the water
Is gonna bring my soul to bear”^


so the day begins, sunrise poems & troubles sure to follow,
in serenity commences, perhaps a sunset bookend to match,
but in between, surely poems & troubles, all of life’s stuffing,
signs and guides, surely, at least, the day’s poem is completed...




—————————————-
^ Nothing But the Water (II)
Grace Potter and the Nocturnals

Fri Aug 21 2020
8:40am
S.I.
first poem of the day
Where Shelter Jul 26
all three came and gone,
I’m in the slow poke lane,
all-the-way-to-the-right

my days in the passing lane,
driving like a crazy man while
composing poems @85 mph

they, you, slowed me down,
teaching the old dog an old
lesson: new tricks are for the

children I’m leaving behind,
as they pass by speeding to
god-knows-where, and-why

there are no more queens in
my boogie nights, love a some
time thing, but what I know this:

when I ran, the wind was running
behind my back, and pushing me
hard to travel non-stop, what I think

about is this, my arms child-extended,
like a jet’s wings, the wind streaming
over my foils, I knew better-than-good

scratched my mark in the soil, still
finding my spot, to drop down and
write these words, to sleep in peace
Where Shelter Jul 17
within, or rather in between, whomsoever was present.
like a good party crasher, he becomes the life of the party,
joking, dancing, womanizing (the sun so very much a man!)
singing his anthems, commencing with “Here Comes the Sun,” followed by every other  sun~song known to the celestials, concluding near around 4:00AM  with his rendition of Garth Brook’s classic:

”Ain't going down 'til the sun comes up
Ain't givin' in 'til they get enough
Going 'round the world in a pickup truck
Ain't goin' down 'til the sun comes up”


the ladies, especially Venus, all quite smitten, purring like kittens,
took that as a personal invite-ta-tion, and I swear that night many
comets were created.

If you feeling a surprising heating
in your bed tonight,
don’t be afraid,
it’s just me feeling sunny...


7/17/20
7/17/20
Anais Vionet Jun 25
I am
fermenting in tedium
emotionally over-reactive
frequently inappropriate
irresponsible but trustworthy
discontentedly powerless
and frequently overwhelmed.
a corona virus shelter-in-place angst poem
Where Shelter Jun 12
majestic adjectives
of contrary harmonies,
adverbs in adversity
that modify our satisfactions,
gut punch our eyes,
scramble the taste buds,
now inoperable,
incapacitated to distinguish
what is disturbed -
what is sweet -
what is impossible.
my days ending is
nearer to my god than thee,
the crumblings of
what I’ve got left

stale panko crumbs,
here come they in
1000 radium-tipped
projectiles of
serious humorous
self-destruction,
gifted to you!
my few
itinerant followers
peddlers brave enough
to offer shelter,
to follow me
into the deeps of
radioactive incomprehension,
of no particular disorders
a thousand times

bless you
richly, eachly,
name announced, pronounced,
we are all proper nouns.
Kairosclere Jun 7
Will
you
shelter
a
b    r     o    k     e     n
heart?
Connect to me
Via Instagram @_kairosclere_
Via email bhama26@gmail.com
On Pinterest  @_kairosclere_
On hello poetry at https://hellopoetry.com/Kairosclere/
And my blog https://kairosclere.blogspot.com/

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Thank you for reading <3
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