Mid-Summer Magic Showcase

[Tracy Mitchell]

Love it Mark -- hard to believe you wrote this during your winter.  

[Tracy Mitchell]

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   Betwixt Gods and Mortals

It started a simple lawn game-
Oily Twister - but Bacchus took over
the oiling, the doiling, and slimed us all, 
but good, he did, then stumble thwarting 
ourselves - the wine, the stout, bourbon cloaks 
on Rusty Nails, full shots in trinities, that, 
and shots abounding, rebounding infinities,
shots agreed, shots of mead, shot of lawn jarts 
through cloven divinities, brief tumbles 
bouncing valley-ward, Olympian capes 
of woven lustful pressed and precious 
flesh and headless hearts heat to fire, 
spread fire, then the oil catches fire! 
and feast bursts skyward and really– 
you judge our pleasures? You jug-toting
jig-stepping slug-sloths with no control, 
you gray Flemish Rabbits on vertical patrol --
geez, you cheese squeezing oily Greek Bastards!

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[Deb]

Absolutely beautiful poeming Linda, Gyppo and Deb.
You've all created a real sense of magic here...loved them all.

Thank you, Colm. My boys reacted with shock to my last poem, because they didn't like the ending, which for some reason, makes me like it more.

I think I'm on my way to becoming more like the old woman who wears purple in Jenny Joseph's famous poem, When I'm an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple. https://laterbloomer.com/jenny-joseph/

It was my mother-in-law's favorite poem. I included it in her eulogy.

I read one that Gyppo wrote from his pov. I wish I could remember where I saw it. My mind is scattered at the moment.  I'll have to ask him to share. It is a delightful poem. 

Oh, Gyppo . . .

Have fun poeming.

~Deb 

I'm not technically adept at this yet. I didn't read Gyppo's poem. I heard it in the MSPF, Let It Be Spoken, thread. 

Great poem. Love your voice, Gyppo.

[Tracy Mitchell]

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Jupiterians -- If They Come 

They come by the flash behind
heat lightning and rumble 
like trains in the night.

they’ll fix my electricity– 
sockets will magically appear
wherever I reach a cord and hold the end –  
a male coupler looking for its mate.

My ears will light up the night.

They’ll make my garden work better–   
radishes will refuse to bolt.  Carrots 
will busy themselves pulling weeds.  

And each morning 
zucchini teams will prepare my coffee.

If Jupiterians come
birthdays will have no consequences, 
we’ll romp in liquid metalic hydrogen
to the sound of Lee Marvin singing
I Was Born Under a Wandering Star.

Christmas will take care of itself.


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[Tracy Mitchell]

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  One Pleb’s Call for Decorum
  And Attendance

I never saw the sun till '71
But I never gave up the fight
I sure was glad when I saw the dawn
Somebody, somebody turned on the light
Somebody turned on the light

I saw the light?
Gravy bits and tartabull–
when the lights came on.
Eureka scurried to
the far side of
safety
glasses and helmut

heads

and hammers

came down

to the corner
bar, where we drank
from hard hats
the soup of the day -
which was startling soup
with startled Arthropoda swimmers
leaning into flip turns that
splashed, and flashed
look-sees at us in the
stands, standing on our hands
flipped the sun
and glasses down,
shots down,
lights go down, and
holy shit, clown--
Eureka’s back in town-
Wahoo! Wahoo, McGoo! 

Hell’s bells!
Shrinks too?  Shrinks too
deep in the gumbo to
see the light.  Or the wood,
or woody lights or light
woodies.  You say Jesus
was a carpenter?  Shale’s
rails– peeper, this all fails
for pills in pails - and snarks
in tails - they throw chemical
ice bombs at the kids, metered
precepts at their folks and
never catch the import of

striking

strings of hormone spears at
their boys or imported toys
and its just fuckin’ noise,
noise in their waiting rooms,
noise across the floor,
noise to the door - through
the keyhole, Jesus, run!
 
Jesus beef -
waiting again for McGoo
and CP too, nice to
have the voice of two-
the gardener athlete and
where now be
and in what pew
doth CP perch
to trade Windy City's view
from trains that lurch
toward you,
your feet,  the church
quite neat in heat
for the cold lapping
waves of pure 
acts of the creator
gifted without wrapping
one after another 
sheet
in the lurch
beneath feet
washed and again 
on perfect cue
Jesue.

And where are you?

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[Tracy Mitchell]

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       Summer Drive Blues

Beets are burning up in the heat
Beets are burning up in the heat
Tops hanging low– can’t tell what’s still alive
at One hundred twenty three, Summer Drive

Sprinklers keep the neighbor kids cool
Sprinklers keep the neighbor kids cool
Water’s the cause all the children revive
at One hundred twenty three, Summer Drive

Baby sweetens the lemonade
Baby sweetens the lemonade
Cicadas and grass hoppers wail and jive
at One hundred twenty three, Summer Drive

Sun sets on a satisfied clan
Sun sets on a satisfied clan
Time to let the yearning arrive
at One hundred twenty three, Summer Drive

Cool moon wraps around a summer night
Cool moon wraps around a summer night
Hormones slide into overdrive
at One hundred twenty three, Summer Drive

Weeds keep growing beyond the grass
Weeds keep growing beyond the grass
A touch of rainfall, and all will survive
at One hundred twenty three, Summer Drive


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