Five Poems...

Moth Days

 

I waited for days for the moth

To Surface, to come up

To get frantic about a way out

Of my small room.

 

Finally, he appeared

Stumbling, Confused.

 

I opened a huge box,

He flew in.

I stuck the box through the window,

Releasing him where

He would be happier.

 

And as I danced in the kitchen

Singing "I saved a moth!"

"I saved a moth!"

 

He casually flies out

From under the flap of the box

Calmly.

Looking for nothing.



 

 Harvesting

 

It’s not like Grandma Smitty would mash the potatoes with her feet.  Grandpa was a great one for rigging’ up gadgets and such.  He took an old Singer® sewing machine and made it so as you could put Grandma’s biggest metal bowl

in this cradle and move the pedal to stir things, or make mash potatoes - the machine had a whole lot of uses.

  

All the ladies do like to try it 

On a Sunday after church,

For cake fixin’s,

Or mashing potatoes

during Thrashing time

 

… When the men of the Northern Nebraska Farming Cooperative moved through the fields with the combine, like ghosts harvesting clothing to wear in the next life.

 

 

 

CW - Violence 

 

Candidate

 

The candidate moved his right hand,

even though he might need it to gesture,

he moved his right hand 

along the geography of his speech ...

 

"When I am Governor,"

he said with an air of confidence,

certainty,

and an unyielding

sense of focus.

 

Squirrels were playing

in the acorn trees

above him ...

they rolled their eyes,

but not so that anyone could see them ...

 

The candidate continued:

"promise, promise, promise,"

he said.

and then he said "A New Day is Born,

for our children and grandchildren,

for a better tomorrow."

By the time he came around that last curve,

 

Tommy, the second in command

of all the squirrels,

had placed bets on whether

the candidate would

say God Bless America once

or twice.

 

... thunderclouds were forming in such a way

as to enhance

the candidate's  speechifying

climax.

 

"And so ladies and gentleman

I say to you all."

 

Jack the squirrel

was already reaching in his pocket

to pay Tommy.

 

Thunder was clapping, Lightning

burst at the exact correct moment.

the pouring rain,

the thunderclap,

lightning crushing a young oak

 

all these helped, of course,

to wash away

any memory of the

assassin,

 

or the single rifle shot

or the assassin's

footprints, or fingerprints,

not that he would have left any,

 

it washed the shell casing

down the gutter the quick rain

came down so hard.

The lightning hit another tree

75 feet away,

everyone turned to look

when they turned back,

 

the candidate was already

bleeding profusely ...

slipping away from this world

 

The ambulance driver

as if to add insult to injury

was a bad joke,

ill-prepared ...

in shock.

 

Jack the Squirrel's

wallet fell out of his hand,

falling, falling,

in full view

to the ground below...


 

.



 

Acrobat

... this acrobat,

is indeed the blue mountains,

crawling along the floor

of the universe.

 

what did your face look like

before your parents were born?

 

... let's pretend that we know something about the life, motivation, and skill level of an acrobat ...

...  the blue mountains crawl across the floor of the universe, not trying to avoid their newfound fame ...

 ...  since they recur forever ...

the blue mountains are stunning and recur forever

 

... the image, known as the blue mountains,

is minuscule  ...

...  at nine years old,

little Fredericks is a pudgy

shy little one ...  but   

somehow by age 14 and a half ...

he becomes tall and lanky

...well on his way to being an acrobat ...  

 

...  what is important is that he formed an opinion

that he himself created

this dramatic and wonderful change in his life ...

 

... now let's be clear on the quirkiness and the inexplicable nature of psychology and society and what's wrong with the whole damn place and why people who pontificate about it generally don't know cornbread from blackberry cobbler...

 

... because Fredericks was operating from a mistaken notion that he himself created the transformation of his body from pudgy to tall and lanky -

because he believed that he himself had created this ... he empowered himself to become a person who believed that he could do anything...



 

 

 

Hobo's Homily   circa 1959

 

… He refers to himself as a hobo,

not only because he is a

homeless person,

a transient,

 

but also

because he looks like that

comedian on TV who used

to do skits of hobos

back in the 1950s or so

...

 

he has no cadence,

I suppose he does not need one.

he just walks aimlessly in a jagged circle

for entertainment.

 

Today he has

asked himself the question:

"What would it be like to have a new

pair of pants?"


Bio: Marc Isaac Potter (they/them) …  is a differently-abled writer living in the SF Bay Area.  Marc’s interests include blogging by email and Zen. They have been published in Fiery Scribe Review, Feral A Journal of Poetry and Art, Poetic Sun Poetry, and Provenance Journal. Twitter is @marcisaacpotter.