40/40 Poetry Project · Poems · poetry

40/40: Summer Poem Slam-a-bam! – Day 7 – “Erstwhile Enemies”

 

MONARCH BUTTERFLY (Danaus plexippus).Flying through Goldenrod (Solidago x hybrida). Autumn. British Columbia, Canada.
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“Erstwhile Enemies”

When I look above the treeline,

I see the clouds opening,

just enough.

A gull embraces flight,

and I track it across the late afternoon sky.

The clouds are indecisive.

Rain? Sun? Neither.

Just the remainder of a day heading to meet a dusk secret.

Hushed by heated water vapor escaping into the air.

Other birds chirp, and I do not know their names.

They gather twigs, harvest insects.

Nature is a busy industry,

defiant of encroaching societies.

Then!

A random Monarch Butterfly oscillates past me.

I’m captured in its tractor beam, by its in-flight movie.

A solitary being.

An independant film, full of beauty and lessons.

 

Evocative.

A meddling midwife, this butterfly.

Pulling daft dullness from my wounded womb.

Clearing the ledger of my mind.

Musing.

Stultification usurped by creative energy, passion, and fury.

Oscillating.

Rebirth, one fluttering wing at a time.

Oceans away, waves search for the moon’s gravity.

Somewhat certain of its existence, despite passing doubts.

Lunar lulling rhythm,

playing sessions of seasons.

The dark side of the moon pulls the purse strings of treasured guilt.

Also, certain of its existence.

A feeling flowing as thick as honey, but as vile as vinegar to an unsuspecting palate.

 

 

A very special thanks to the happy circumstance of a surprise location. Inspiration finds the time to find the lost souls of this world.

40/40: Summer Poem Slam-a-bam is a ongoing project in which people have joined me for 40 days and 40 nights of on-demand poetry. They have submitted the concepts, ideas, and subjects; I’ve done the rest.

 

Poems

“Timeshare Chicanery”

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“Woods Hole Harbor” © C.P. Hickey 2009

 

 

 

“Timeshare Chicanery” *

 

Come at once!

Make haste, you’ve won!

For your time,

a handsome sum.

You don’t have to buy,

despite our best try.

You’re free to go.

Just a moment, though.

Sit inside this hotel multi-purpose room,

and listen to our pitch.

You can have a free blender,

even if you ditch.

Let’s share some time,

and time some share.

A few weeks a year,

now that is all we ask.

Are you and your new spouse up to such a task?

Imagine, yourself in a warmer clime,

just sign here,

upon this dotted line.

Floridian, Caribbean,

abroad in some exotic place.

If those aren’t the weeks you want,

you simply trade your space.

Our industry depends on you,

we value your inability to say no.

Once we get a foot in the door,

it’s nigh impossible for you to go.

So, come at once!

Make haste, you’ve won!

You’re luckier than most.

Sign upon the dotted line,

and enjoy a sunny coast.

Two weeks a year,

is all we need,

to puff our bottom line.

We depend on rubes like you,

you are our favorite kind.

*seeded from a phrase offered by, E. Vickery

Photographs

“They say the sun is sometimes eclipsed by a moon”

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“Event” © C.P. Hickey 2017

 

“It’s no secret that the stars are falling from the sky
It’s no secret that our world is in darkness tonight
They say the sun is sometimes eclipsed by a moon…”_The Fly-U2 Achtung Baby

August 2017 Poems-31 Daze

“Friscalating Moonlight”

Similar to poem 19, poem 20 harkens back to my past. I offer deep appreciation to my greatest muse and partner, Lissette. We share love, laughs, tears, successes, failures, hopes, fears, and all that comes to us under a sun eclipsed by a moon. Wes Anderson’s character Eli Cash spoke the word that inspired this poem, and although it isn’t a real word, what this poem presupposes…maybe it is.

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Courtesy of Public Domain – https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2016/10/27/16/59/full-moon-1775765_960_720.jpg

“Friscalating Moonlight”_originally conceived on 6-21-05

The moon knows what to make of this,

for I know not.

It hovers in the heavens,

guiding confused couples through life.

A labyrinth of passions,

dead ends,

and darkened roads.

Illuminating possibilities, chances, and hopes.

Friscalating.

How it mocks me.

How it laughs at held notions of propriety.

 

“You mortal fool,

can’t you recognize perfection?”

 

Beams directing me to embrace her.

Searching for expression.

Tender silhouette,

stretching against the night.

Remove the hair from her eyes,

and stare into bliss.

 

One moment stolen in the moonlight,

preludes an eternity of satiety.

 

Thankfully, the moon cannot penetrate a roof.

For I know not what to think of other than her,

and in the safety of my hideaway,

the moon can’t mock me.

 

eli