Antxon works as a lifeguard at the pool where my kids take swim lessons. When my little guy plunged too far from the edge, Antxon held out a pole to pull him back safely to the side.
The Stranger: Antxon
The Word: Bright
The poem I wrote:
We are higher than the fog
can reach; you can get here
with a strong ladder but few
are so bold. Ten years and forty-six
stories below, churning, and
don’t think we haven’t looked down.
How can water be so many things?
People change like the ocean,
bright and deep, impossible
to know. I have wasted
my eyes looking for the shark.
The Challenge: Do you have a poem in you on this word? Write one here.
February 27, 2019 at 1:52 pm
Run for Your Life
Headlights probe the road but the road looks away.
As if to say,
“No way to see the future here,
so near the border,
dust in your eyes,
spotlights so bright
you can be blinded”
And the blind hung on razor wire
along that dirt road.
Spotlights spun and paced
as the dogs had taught,
barking when they caught
each others eyes.
We watched another future
run down from behind.
The road said,
“Learn to be prey,
stuck in the sun,
brown and running…
toward,
never from.”
March 2, 2019 at 9:40 am
I slept all night
with Sappho.
The night nudged
toward bright dawn,
My knee touched
her spine through a sheet.
I’d fallen asleep
reading poetry.
March 2, 2019 at 10:32 am
Bless His Heart
He is one brick scant of a full load.
A sandwich short of a picnic.
His attic is a little dusty.
Not playing with a full deck.
His elevator stops before the top floor.
He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed.
With his brain in neutral, his mouth in gear,
Shake your head at what he said.
He might be dumb as a bag of hammers.
Not the brightest crayon in the box.
As a moron, he’s more than off.
You can tell by the way he talks.
In rock, paper, scissors
He always goes for blunt force trauma
Though scissors cut and papers cover,
They do not have impacting drama.
The lights are on but no one’s home.
A few wigwams short of a reservation.
Being clueless is his superpower
Remaining worthy of preservation.
In his body, no mean bones.
At least, he’s not belligerent.
You see him reaching for right words.
What he says is not what’s meant.
In spite of all, he means well
And, though he tries just as he might,
He always laughs at his shortcomings
This is where his star shines bright!
March 3, 2019 at 9:15 am
Worry
Steals the bright light
that resides within
Dim the gray veil,
Open the brocade curtain,
Deliver your spontaneous lines of life