Poetry

All posts in the Poetry category

How Is It That Words Can Comfort?

Published June 25, 2017 by Nan Mykel

Most times words miss their mark.

They rain down in torrents, oblivious

to us and us to them,   not even in

our existential language.  We feel

bruised  by them, misused,  overcome

as though embattled.  How, then,is

it even possible that at times they

wrap us so lovingly in tender being-

ness? Respectfully intermingling

heartbeats, glorious validation?

Validation, I think that’s the clue.

We’re less isolated and alone when

reached by words that vibrate and

resonate  with our  core, be it rotten

or despairing, fragile or caring.  Push

on through the brambles of the

irrelevant and when you find your-

self embraced, hold on tight!

Shouldn’t, Wouldn’t, Couldn’t

Published June 23, 2017 by Nan Mykel

She couldn’t let him know

her heart had turned to stone,

that she was through.

She wouldn’t want him  to feel

he wasn’t worth living for.

She shouldn’t feel like she did.

So she didn’t.

 

 

List for d’Verse

Published May 11, 2017 by Nan Mykel

A list? I’m pist.  Never was

told how to write one of those.

Let’s see— A List?  I’m just cleaning out  here

now, dealing with the blood folks

Coleman, Craighead and Buckman;

Bassett, Regester and the old pirate

Drake;  Lovelace from prison while

Francis’ second verse to the anthem

got outlawed. Sooo sorry  that Judge

Taney ruled the wrong way on the

Dred Scott Case or that Turnbull

mistreated his New Smyrna workers.

Sorry sorry sorry for their deeds and

You note I’m not adding me to this list.

 

IF I SHOULD DIE WHILE I’M AWAKE – for d’Verse

Published April 20, 2017 by Nan Mykel

If I should die while I’m awake

will I go seeking absolution,

dragged down by the shackles

of sin in my swollen belly, or

ship out soundlessly from my berth

into the eternal matrix

where sins are but a fleet of

rubber duckies?

Refreshing

Published April 19, 2017 by Nan Mykel

As I was cleaning out some genealogical papers, I came across one I had forgotten about, and in this day and age I found refreshing:

A notice from the Henry County Bulletin years ago:

The Poet for Councilman

To the Voters of the Town of Martinsville

Two years ago as you well know

The ticket bore my name

And if you scratched it off or not

I thanked you just the same

Again I ask for your support

Not that I claim to be

A better man than others are

For all of you know me

But promising to ever stand

For what is just and true

I will simply sign my name

And leave results with you.

Yours to serve,

J. L. Minter

The Shoe Maker

 

 

 

 

Health Nut – A Poem

Published April 4, 2017 by Nan Mykel

HEALTH NUT

First let me get this off my chest:

I’m part animal and old’s the rest.

A cow’s valve is pumping my breath;

while a pig’s valve’s staving off death.

 

And you’ll see why

I try

To take care of my self.

 

I was going to the boonies

That night to catch me some goonies

in the tunnel that’s haunted,

while feeling undaunted.

 

But a stitch in my chest said go,

check it out now, don’t delay.

So as a good health nut I drove

to Urgent Care, just over there,

 

where  the doc

jumped up and down

in his trim green gown

and with a medical frown

 

called an  ambulance

while I sat in a trance

thinking why can’t I drive

round the corner myself?

 

ER let me stay  all day ,

Out of the way

While emergencies

came and went.

 

It was late and it was dark

When I asked on a lark

If I could now go

and surprised, they said “Sho.”

 

No wheelchair was needed,

I just walked  the field

of gopher holes in the dark

to UC, where I had parked.

 

Why why why did this happen to me?

And then I thought of pay back.

While dizzy, on my last UC visit,

I’d had the bad manners to

barf in his trash.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Night Image: A Poem from the Past

Published March 29, 2017 by Nan Mykel

I open my door                        

and see a cow

chained to the back

of a pick-up,

trotting and stumbling

to keep up,

caught

in the headlights

of a sheriff’s car

close

at her heels.

Alongside, bands of

children run excitedly,

shouting.

My door shuts,

too late,

the image already

inside.

Later I hear she was

an escapee from the

stock yards, and

subsequently

slaughtered.

ABODE OF MY DREAMS – A Poem

Published March 6, 2017 by Nan Mykel

ABODE OF MY DREAMS

The amphibian in me

climbed up the beach,                                                        

then turned around

and retraced her steps,

reluctant to abandon the

tears that provide the

ocean’s salt and the

underwater resting place

of dreams and memories.

Small conch shells provide

shelter for the likes of us

and their inhabitants

welcome well-fed housemates.

Some days warm currents,

colorful in their lacy ocean

finery, caress passersby with

armloads of sweet memories.

Since perfection cannot exist

without its opposite, the

idyllic setting also harbors

bedlam. Tsunamis dance on

the horizon, foreshadowing

disruption and chaos. Dreaded

also in both worlds is the

living nightmare which darts

in and out of murky shadows,

menacingly hovering hungrily,

waiting to strike; the barracuda.

Nan

Fast Descent – for d’Verse

Published February 23, 2017 by Nan Mykel

 FAST DESCENT     4-25-75

Hurtling through the mirror maze

young-old embryo. Contorted, misshapen,

falling back one eye. Cry “Please!” Cyclops crazy

beady, heavy. Where am I?

Who?

Brown, old contankerous brazen

witch bitch delirious. Stop! Simple smirky

purple prude. I  am the glamorous sham.

Damn.

Staccato waltz, loping trot, forget-me-not, do.

Who?

Who is that spinning, passing prisms

fancifully, fragmented to pieces. Vertigo.

Butch fem all of them am I–Please, no.

Red. Gaping maws dirty paws

shiny smelly ripened belly.

Yes, no, true. My God

hell-o.

 

On My Bookshelf — verse

Published February 20, 2017 by Nan Mykel

ON MY BOOKSHELF….

On my bookshelf you can see

My inner self revealed to thee.

Maybe Hen’s Teeth and Horse’s Toes

Won’t go far to  show you me,

but Frames of Mind should give a hint

of where my time is largely spent.

Crack in the Cosmic Egg is from

my college days of yore– an alum

who still values Games People Play

and Alan Watts any old day.

User Illusion blew my mind

also Denial of Death in its kind,

and I  include for brilliance

the author of Consilience.

Sheldon Kopp told me what to do

if Buddha I should run into,

while The Dream and the Underworld

gave me frights; my sanity a whirl.

And here’s an old one we all knew

none other than Miss Nancy Drew.

So now you know me stem to stern.

What can I expect from you

in turn?

 

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