Friend Felix Speaks Again

Published July 19, 2022 by Nan Mykel

4th of JULY: GOOD GRIEF!

If you like pretty poems, please look away,

for here I lament decay, dying and death.

I’m not bemoaning my dying contemporaries,

who lately fall like old-growth trees in a forest.

Nor do I pre-grieve my own impending death.

My concern is for the fate of our democracy,

as it is doing a dangerous dance with doom.

Our precious political freedoms are eroding.

Our fractured center seems not to be holding.

Our democracy could be in its death throes.

Female bodily autonomy has been outlawed,

voting rights have been wantonly suppressed,

there is massive support for Trump’s Big Lie.

The Supreme Court defies the majority’s will.

Throughout our land gun fetishism flourishes.

Louder liars shout down the voices of veracity.

Violence grows, the environment degrades.

This Independence Day is a day of gloom.

Sadly I fly our tattered flag upside down.

Today I can’t sing Happy Birthday America!

In these dark days, I weep as I sing of thee.

Felix Gagliano, July 2022

IF I SHOULD DIE WHILE I’M AWAKE…

Published May 13, 2020 by Nan Mykel

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?

nm 2014

The Transitional Object – a poem

Published August 18, 2016 by Nan Mykel

THE TRANSITIONAL OBJECT

We were lucky, in our play pens

to mouth our blankies to ourselves,

connected to a piece of us,

still attached to the lifeline’s warmth,

its unerring stability

pointing to our own north star.

On the Road – A Poem

Published June 26, 2016 by Nan Mykel

Sounds carry. Tucked asleep into my first berth,

I have no ticket to ride, no known destination.

Black-capped conductors, uniformed and faceless,

pass silently all night down darkened aisles.

The gentle jostling of the carrier and its faraway

howling are fast becoming deja vus.

Baby has a mouse in her mouth, but leave it.

She may need the protein.

Sprouting myelin sheaths encoding both

memories of dreams and dreams of memories

pulse in concatenation with the tempo

of the great clickety clacking conveyor.

Faces of inaccessible passengers

flash past on other lines, here and near, then gone.

Zhivago futilely bangs on the window

for Lara’s attention, then terminal separation.

Nan Mykel 9-7-09

David for Dverse

Published June 10, 2016 by Nan Mykel

David DAVID

We always thought her meek and mild

until the day that she went wild

and fell in love with an antique Greek,

or should I say a Greek antique?

She gave a moan and then a shriek

that echoed through the whole boutique

and without a pause

with hands like claws

she clasped him to her ample bust,

moved not by piety I think but lust.

As a matter of fact he was scantily clad

and to tell the truth I think she was glad.

POOR HOUSE BOUND

Published April 5, 2016 by Nan Mykel

Creative Commons

Image result for creative commons poor old couple image

(My library group came up with all of these prompts:) delicious, horse, croissants, eviction, pardon

POOR HOUSE BOUND

They decided to end it all—

This penny-pinching was no good

and so they headed for the mall

to see what their pocket money could

buy. Searching cheap yet delicious,

they hoped horse would be nutritious.

Two croissants finished the menu.

Their front stoop being their venue,

the landlord found them sitting there

looking quite satisfied, of course,

after they spent the rent on horse.

With the eviction delivered,

the old woman shivered

while her man gave a booming belch,

which he was unable to squelch,

saying “Pardon,” but his sly grin

grew and then got away from him.

FOR dVERSE BUT CAN’T GET ON THIS WEEK EITHER

Published March 28, 2016 by Nan Mykel

SIGH.fOR THE FIRST TIME THERE WAS A “magical widget,” and I had not the credentials or smarts to navigate the route apparently everybody else can. But I tried…

Haiku by Issa:

“Without you –
how vast
the cherry blossom grove”

My first halibun, and I had to look the word up on Wiki. Problem is, when I search

my mind and heart for a “you,” no one answers. May be no one ever had that

experience. The cherry trees are blossoming at this moment along the Hocking,

nearby, and I am a little sad, but it is night and cold and dark. Maybe the sun will

rise as promised, and I can be touched by beauty after all.

When cherry trees bloom

I know that the world is still

alive and lovely.

Words

Published March 20, 2016 by Nan Mykel

WORDS study-for-the-head-of-leda.jpg!xlSmall

Words can TOUCH.

Words can chatter.

Words can tell you

what’s the matter.

Words can cut,

splice and dice.

In other words,

be not nice.

Lying words

I’ve come to hate;

Embers dying in the grate.

Empty words like love

and forever

go poof like bubbles

In bad weather.

So what can I say

when all is done?

Add a grain of salt

To everyone.

Nan

MY METAPHOR

Published January 25, 2016 by Nan Mykel

Come jump into my arms, you furry-feathered verse!
I’ll know you when I see you, either wordy or terse.
Let your metaphor roll in like an occupying force;
sit up high in your saddle on your literary horse!
A shining black stallion, he snorts and passes by
leaving a desolated mule who gives a piteous sigh.
My metaphor has four legs and is not a happy guy.
He does not jump into my arms or even give a try
but nuzzles me as though to say,
“Thanks for waiting for me today.”

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poetry, End Days

All posts in the poetry, End Days category

Friend Felix Speaks Again

IF I SHOULD DIE WHILE I’M AWAKE…

The Transitional Object – a poem

On the Road – A Poem

David for Dverse