Bitlets 286Two weeks ago I saw a spider end its life
and I watched hopelessly as the arachnid
hanged itself with its own silk above the oven
then jump into the flame of the lit burner
and the blue flames flashed red-orange
and he was engulfed for the half-second
that I experienced the five stages of grief
then decided to use the other burner to cook bacon.
Mistake MakingDakota's nephew is a week old
and he has already cast the infant
out of his life and he tells me
how his mom was in tears with him,
that he's just a newborn needing family
and I understand how it is hard to forgive
when they want him to forget.
The fact that someday her child
will do the math and find out his mom
was sixteen when he was born,
ask what his father was like,
to which his mom will say "a mistake"
and direct him to hipster selfies.
I never was a horny teen
thinking in terms of sluts and studs,
but I've still had that conversation.
For four generations my predecessors
got pregnant before they could buy
the alcohol to go through with it.
Now I have passed the threshold,
can walk up to that corner-store counter
and proceed to drown sorrows
I don't have.
I don't want a child in my life. Yet.
But my parents made mistakes.
I want to make them too.
Bitlets 283I took my pillowcase off to wash
and found my pillow in a thong
and matching male fantasies.
Bitlets 281I still have a problem
and only so many ways
to solve it; if I cruise
through the control
I am a variable.
Bitlets 280When an old man speeds
through a car wash on video,
an amateur comedy night will
begin in the comment section.
"He must have chosen express wash."
"Way to air dry!"
"They don't call it Quick Wash for nothing!"
"Ron Paul 2012!"
"It's storming in Chicago," calls the mother to her son,
who already knows—he can see the thunderhead,
black and towering, gliding above the corn fields.
It's miles away now, in Illinois, but his Hoosier blood
stirs with the approach of another Midwestern storm.
While she reflexively checks the radio
for tornado warnings, he runs between the cornstalks,
feeling the first teasing breezes on the outskirts
of the front. The field is empty otherwise; the cardinals
have already found shelter, as have the pasture deer.
She calls to him, but knows he is safe for now,
and remembers what it was like to run through corn fields,
letting the leaves slap against tanned arms and legs,
tasting the ozone tang of the distant lightning
and hearing, just barely, the tolling thunder.
He thinks of glaciers he's seen in schoolbooks:
slow, inexorable (though he does not know that word),
and wonders if a glacier announces its coming, too,
the way the storm air weighs down an afternoon.
The birth of spring. Melodies of spring songs,
are being recorded in the snow,
as the birds start they migration home,
And the earth prepares to take off
her wedding dress,
as she senses a period of gestation,
In which the spring will be born.
The first born after a rigid state,
bringing much needed comfort
to all of us part of the winter nuptials.
The sun will gently kiss and embrace his bride,
and procreate life in all her fertile corners
and she will be adorned with all that is beautiful
and the rains of heaven will be the gift of her creator,
at the moment of spring birth,
blessed will be the fruit of her womb
because it is selfless
and only seeks to give and to nourish.
Happy are those that assist in this birth
for they will rejoice in its blooming into Summer,
and grow with it in happiness even
after the last day of Autumn...
tulipa.I only ever saw it once,
its forgotten snowsilk drifting
on the breeze.
Pale corolla shimmered in the grass,
standing out against the green
of the meadow.
We lay down amongst the emerald feathers
and the daisies, bathing
in the warm daylight.
Your eyes were so clear in the sun,
glowing with reflected radiance.
We sighted the sole blossom,
white against a foliate crowd.
A soft reminder of flawless flora,
now drowned in paints and tints,
marinated in perfume.
I couldn't bear to pluck it
from the earth,
to let the pale perfection wilt.
I smiled, and let it lie.
You held me close, and
with a sensation of soft lips
against my neck, I closed my eyes,
dreaming of a silver land.
~ Diamante ~
Shifting, burning, consuming
Embers, candles, ocean waves
Flowing, moving, cooling
Illuminating, peace, enlightening
Day, moon, sun, night
Behold The DawnCalling forth the dawn
A vast angelic host stands
Like a mighty wave cresting
Their voices rise as one song
Before the Lord of Hosts
Violet rays stream from the throne
In a royal hue
Now comes the red
A deeper crimson than the blood rose
Blue floods past the seraphim
In the heights of the North
As they eternally chant "Holy, Holy, Holy
Is the Lord God Almighty."
Seamlessly the colors knit
Across a canvas not made by man
Flowing across the heavens
Heralding hope, newness of life and joy
The Moon bids adieu as she withdraws
From her rounds
Starfields burning fiercely
Our champions of the night
Bow before the Sun
As he assumes his rightful place
Ten thousand times ten thousand
Of the heavenly host
Now listen as the voice of the Lord
Thunders in majesty, declaring
"It is good."
terra firmaMuch like the cascading of water,
your light floods through my seedlings.
You rise them up and up
Way up high, their wings souring towards your grace.
Your luminescent rays guiding my foliage
The blades of their limbs seducing your radiance.
You bring reverence to my veil.
As your light hits my down.
My seclusion is not often found by others,
often hidden away, through the eclipse of my shelter.
Of which I would take much refuge in,
until I became aglow.
You found your way through the segregation of my appendages,
now I frolic in your splendor.
Each night we apart,
I cower into the corners of my bleakness.
Until you grace me once again.
Then There Are Always:There are flowers that confort you intimes of need.
That make you hapy
or that plant a seed:
:Then there are flowers that bring you a dreadful sorrow
that make you cry
or that die tomorrow:
ut then there are always some that you hold so close
The ones that you've always loved the most:
:So pick the ones that you hold so dear
so very ca
he peeks out from between the branches
in the cold grey light before dawn.
He gazes out,
waiting to see any hint of anything,
but all he sees is the mist above the street,
and all he hears is the every-so-often grumble of a car.
The street lights shine overhead.
The cat doesn't care,
for cats, he believes, are above the dealings and doings
of lesser mortals.
He sits nonchalantly, for he knows everything about this place:
The poundings of the pavement of schoolchildren,
their hair flying in the cool wind
as they race themselves toward the bus stop.
The bored mutterings of early dog-walkers,
their faces ahead,
their minds elsewhere,
as their charges lap up every sight and scent and sound.
The fiery rays of headlights, ripping through the fog,
like so many bright, white knives, gliding quietly on the air.
The chitterings and chatterings of birds,
calling for the sun to come up now,
as they fly about
the top boughs
of trees bending down
over the hazy as
beat of the raini can hear the sound of the rain
it's knocking at my door
pounding through my walls
onto my roof, i can hear it through the ceiling
it's a soothing, calming sound
the sound of a dozen horses
a thousand heartbeats
a thousand butterflies fluttering away
this here rain, its knocking at my heart
opening it up, to let you in
its pouring through my soul,
exhilarating my soul, my mind, my being
the rain is like a dozen horses,
galloping through the plains
a thousand butterflies,
fluttering through the sky
a thousand heartbeats
beating with the rain
Bitlets are about quantity, not quality. Free-write at least one a day about what is on your mind, going on around you, or the state of your life. Ignore the urge to edit; it's not about being profound on purpose, it's about stumbling on it by accident.
About this BitletThis originally said copper instead of iron. My elementary science teacher would not be proud.