Operculum
For every room,
There is another slightly larger room
Just beyond it.
When you outgrow a room,
Recreate the one you were in.
Fill it with the same mementos
Worn bright from over handling.
Abandonment, betrayal,
Inadequacy, alienation.
Choose carefully --
These irritants accrete
And your eyes cherish
Their polished gleam like pearls.
“Veronica wipes the face of Jesus.”
Ritualize your suffering.
It congeals the trap door
Into a hard crust.
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Operculum 2
For every room,
There is another
Infinitely possible room
All around it.
When the old one traps you, consider
Windows reveal more than walls
Doors open more than windows
Eyes beholding eyes, more than doors
Direct your eyestalks kindly --
Beneath this ocean
Understand every shell is Striving
Fragile and Beautiful
in its unique design.
As the the Sequoia's trunk,
the raindrop ripple in the pond,
the operculum grows concentric waves
In compassion
To expand the soul of its foot
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Now across the dune, a woman kicks up sand clouds furiously – my very thoughts incarnate – she’s dashing the rock spiral apart
A time to cast away stones! Yessss I sing back into the salt spray – “Thank you!” I wave out, as I pass
They have already built a surfeit of murderous intrusions elsewhere No need to materialize a conceptual mystic journey into self then out again into the universe –
No need to impede a path to enlightenment already here
No need to kill tiny life forms that cling to the bottoms of every rock they snatch from the tide pool
No need for higher Babels to celebrate their ignorance of nature’s language
Here the sea sculpts the coast advancing on the invaders with each tide
Journalists and other media spokespersons have been using the phrase a lot a lot. It has come to annoy me a lot.
By way of suggestion perhaps some well-intended disambiguation from my own recent conversations:
Although this has indeed been a trying time in groping for superlatives, a different phrase would occasionally help a lot. (very much)
I sewed a lot of masks for my family and friends this year. (a great many)
I miss my family and friends a lot. (a great deal)
In 2020 the president of the United States lied a lot (very often) about Covid 19, election integrity and a lot of other things. (a shit load)
I put a Joe Biden/Kamala Harris sign at the end of our lot (a portion of land designated for ownership) near the road where it was stolen.
Neither of the “Trump – Law and Order” signs two houses down was stolen. A lot of situational irony there. (a considerable amount)
When the contents of Mar-a-Lago are finally auctioned to pay off his bankruptcy will there be a lot of assorted fake presidential metals, ribbons and awards for eager bidders? (a group of articles for auction to be sold as one unit)
I hope the folks of Palm Beach Florida will soon be able to raze the structures on Mar-a-Lago to designate it an agricultural lot. (Medieval standard of property designated by engraved stone borders large enough for each farmer to produce an estimated two days of reaped hay)
To the outgoing administration and all of its supporters aiders and abettors who attempted to overthrow our Democracy I dream of delivering to each of you in the Federal Penitentiary *as a gesture of forgiveness* a lot of beautiful chocolate cake. (archaic British Royal Standard of measurement equal to one half of an ounce.)
If putting up signs helps you to feel better – and you already have: Be Kind! Here’s one to go next to it: Be Brave!
My mother used to tell me to eat things I didn’t like because children were starving in China
I did not understand this was intended to be a lesson in shame for not being grateful I was appalled – I thought she intended me to feel glad that I was not the one who was suffering most
The whole world seems to be suffering – Huge oak trees have toppled here in our summer hurricane – just ripped out of the ground top-heavy from branches laden with green acorns
I was surprised to see such shallow roots on the underside a metaphor for something but poetry seems too obvious now
or too cryptic and maybe both at once The children were starving in China Their beloved Mao had told them to stop farming to melt down their hoes and rakes and plows and their cooking woks for the Great Leap Forward Each village had its own mound of slag
When they became hungry he told them to deep till the soil, way beneath topsoil and to plant seed very crowded together to encourage better and more abundant crops
Fearing to defy him the village communes all bragged of increasingly huge grain quota numbers Scientific knowledge was scorned Scientists were publicly shamed, tortured
The results were predicted and refuted Catastrophic Too obvious and too cryptic So when people compare 45 to Hitler I say – and Mao!
The green acorns that won’t ripen for squirrels this winter do not make me feel glad to be in the human hemisphere
ask again later when this will be over but be brave and kind and hopeful now
Keep writing poetry because masks and words at a distance are closer than they appear obvious and cryptic
Museum of rain 