Big Adventure (NaPoWriMo17 10/30)

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Cruising with the top down

shotgun

to escaped con

showing what the rebel is,

still getting the work done.

Yet two,

count ’em, two,

distinct threads

that have unraveled

while working another angle,

and though I look my best in this here dress,

it’s all just a smokescreen

the disguise from which

I hide my eyes, the authorities,

and those carefully woven lies.

Taking pictures won’t make it last.

So on to the next charade.

 

Patching up other things

loves, lives,

tires on a bike

that lay within the basement

of the Alamo.

A fight for independence

from studio execs

my kids demanding:

 

“ACTION!”

 

when I’m always forgetting my lines.

 

Yet, I’ll always come in swinging,

run into that burning building for you

even with the threat of snakes

consequences be damned.

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TTOWBW: Last 4th of July: Plan of Attack (NaPoWriMo17 3/30)

20170403_131712Founder’s Mound on the common green

where heads of state still sleep

rings of concrete and of trees

be careful where you step

Circles kept them safe at bay

from rolling over in their graves

gazes baleful, turned their way

should the two dare aim to misbehave

Stood stock-still as ceme’try stones

as the two boys hurried past

the Red Eyes rose to their full height

to the old rules they held fast

Quirk Hollow (NaPoWriMo17 2/30)

Sleepy little burg

that isn’t on any map, you

can’t get to it from here

and were traveling back

is the only way forward.

 

Population varies

dependent on how the light

catches, the facets

of my star-studded personality

in the dark.

 

Ringing hollow in here

echoing off walls that won’t release

us. There is an emptiness

I cannot grasp.

Yet it reaches out to me

NaPoWriMo: Thirty//Thirty #5: At His Word

THIS:

is why the chicken crossed the road.

Only, it wasn’t a chicken,

maybe a quail, or a ruffed grouse,

the state bird of all things

strutting his stuff in the middle there.

 

Staring back at me,

I, as unfamiliar with the animal

as I

am with the state of affairs

concerning my own

preening feathers.

 

Calling out,

these great and unsearchable

things I do not know.

Hazy, like a mirage,

is an answer,

that He will bring me back

from captivity,

gathering, and restoring fortunes.

You may not see it,

I know, yet,

even I barely have an inkling.

 

Arms and hearts

making a highway.

Crooked is now straight,

mountains and hills brought low,

rough places made smooth.

 

Thank you, Lord, for hindsight.

 

Let my belly do the talking.

I’m hungry.

There’s chicken for dinner.

NaPoWriMo: Thirty//Thirty #4: Hacktion Hero

To the clutter

amassed upon the desk (and elsewhere):

 

The proper placement of your pile

is where I deem fit for

the time out of

time/mind/room

articles bearing

some significance, hints

of stories deeper down the detritus.

Making mountains out of Moleskines

and boxes building barrios

for Spanish-speaking superheroes

though I don’t know a lick it of

el forko, el spoono, el knifo

Fascinating file folders facilitating

treacherous towers of timelines together

and that crate of 5-Star notebooks

reading through the years

mysteries in the margins

hoping to hear hack action. Continue reading