And the land had rest from war

 

My Gardener is enthusiastic.

He kills all the weeds in my garden,
Sweating conviction,

In purple droplets,
Muscles wet,

In the midday sun, he
Slaughters them,

My perfect weeds I spent so long cultivating,

Black,

And whites ones,
Jewish and Muslim,

Mayhem.

Now the name of Hebron formerly was Kiriath-arba.
(Arba  was the greatest man among the Anakim.)
And the land had rest from war, 

But-

My gardener has turned into a terrorist, and
My weeds are no longer safe.

-Joshua 14:15-

Photo – Gay Israel on Pininterest

-short evocative poetry-


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Said the Joker to the Thief

 

Don’t make fun of the flower arranger, Ikebana
Is self – discipline, a

Nip here, a
Snip there, and

With fullness of time, and
Passage through life,

Done with the flash of a scissor,

Bone handles,
Glinting,

Scissor flash snip, all gone
Extra weight, things un-needed, flash

Unheeded,
If you stop,

To think about,
It,

You frighten yourself cold,
Frosty, frigid, cold lock-down, too afraid

To make a wrong move, stop –

Don’t laugh at the flower arranger, Ikebana
Is worth learning;

Moving through life with less.

Photo – Ikebana – Wikipedia

-short evocative poetry-

Human

short poetry, words move, human promises

Promise,

Yellow and gold and,
Crimson;

Never make a promise.
You cannot keep them.

Never say I’ll keep a secret, you
Cannot.

You’re human.

Have loving thoughts for yourself,
And for others,

Practice loving deeds for yourself,
And for others,

Lilac spider,
Purple sunrise,

Effervescent stone,

Love wherever,
Whomever,

You can.

-♦Photo – John Foot-♦

-short, evocative poetry-

Tambourine

image

They shot the cheese cake.

High heels,
Eye-liner,

Battle-ship,

Village people,
Purple tortoises

Yelling,

The light of day,
Grey,

The road,
Dim,

Muddy,
Single lane,
Wet,

Pools reflecting torch-light,
Forest in sillouette,

Trees in moonlight,

Going home now,
Finished now,

Homeward bound.

For Betty Valdez-Ogembo

♦♦*photo* – self♦♦

Dreamers

short-poetry-words-move

Frederick Douglass, ca. 1879. George K. Warren. (National Archives Gift Collection)
Exact Date Shot Unknown
NARA FILE #: 200-FL-22
WAR & CONFLICT BOOK #: 113

I do not have dreams that I remember but this is the war;

That I was at Queen Mary’s trying to make up,
For slipping,

-skipping school-

And now the scent is after me, evil
Plastic lips and yellow handbags,

After my own whiteness,

Pure white, like
Extra-pure, like

Black is dirty, or something
And I prayed for others today,

Sold good cabbage,

Hoped it will all be ok in the end, that
It would all be ok.

Photos – Federick Douglass and Ufunk

-short, evocative poetry-

Bound

And I’ll be dust to dust bound to,

Shifting black wicker furniture just so,
Patrons aren’t disturbed,

By the rain between,
The hair-do and the pedicure, separated

At least,

By three floors if the lifts are working, me I’m just
Splashing mops against mauve tile, they

Flashing manicured smiles, we

Electing marvelous politicians in fashionable leather,
Leather of the season, bound

To let us down in Range-Rovers, bound
To coffee machines spitting frappuccinos, just

Hoping for a tip to pay my damn school fees.

Photo: ♦Psychology Today ♦

See also: Hector

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