Jessica McHugh's Blog, page 19

Inspirado's Haze (NaPoWriMo #22)

Inspirado's Haze

 

Here it comes:

The smoky roll,

The sense of peace and piece of soul

That beckons and binds the ink to me,

Until I'm drowning gratefully.

There is no word,

There is no phrase,

To capture Inspirado's Haze.

Smoke and ink do freely fuse:

And nourish deep my zephyr muse.

Possibility (NaPoWriMo #21)

Possibility

 

Pristine papers

In pastel shells

Cling to spiral spines

As they wait

Like children in line

At a costume shop.

Life Lesson (NaPoWriMo #20)

LIFE LESSON

 

My mother said, "To survive this life,

You must be a sweet and patient wife.

But when your spouse gives naught but strife,

Make him blood pudding and ditch the knife."

If I had a Unicorn (NaPoWriMo #19)

If I had a Unicorn

 

If I had a unicorn,

My life would be complete.

I'd give him oats and sugar cubes

And Honey Smacks to eat.

I'd dress him in the finest

Onitsuka Tiger kicks.

He'd be an awesome ax-man

With tasty, rockin licks.

 

If I had a unicorn,

He'd teach me how to sail.

We'd ride the Seven Seas

In our ship "The Beagle Tale".

We'd loot and pillage towns,

But always in the best of taste.

We'd drink whiskey day and night

And never wish we'd better paced.

 

If I had a unicorn,

I wouldn't have to go to work.

I'd quit that shit lickity split,

And make my boss feel like the jerk.

Our exit would leave a sparkle trail

That would never fade.

Then we'd head down to the mall

And beat each game in the arcade.

 

If I had a unicorn,

He'd be a poker king.

He'd go all-in on off-suit cards

And win your wedding ring.

He'd be adept at opera

And quote Whitman every morn.

He'd play Brahms on his dulcimer,

Then make a sex joke about his horn.

 

If I had a unicorn,

He'd teach me magic tricks.

He'd also rule at juggling

And using devil-sticks.

He'd leap me over puddles,

And just because he's nice,

He'd give me hunks of hock to sell

For a lavish price.

 

If I had a unicorn,

I'd probably change my name

To "That Chick With A Unicorn

And Legendary Game."

I'd turn a major profit

On all my published books,

All thanks to my unicorn

With his persuasive/stabby looks.

 

If I had a unicorn,

I wouldn't need to write this rhyme.

He'd write it better than I could,

Being in his poet prime.

The stanzas would be wittier

Than the ones I penned.

Best of all, my unicorn

Would never write an end.

Sofir's Song (NaPoWriMo #18)

 **(This poem, rewritten and finished today for NaPoWriMo, will appear in The Tales of Dominhydor, Book Three: PALAPLIA)

Sofir's Song

 

Among the downy grasses

Of the Balochena plain,

The little morc is gleeful

For the ending of the rain.

He waited long on weather

To overthrow his frown.

To say, "It's time for you to play

And knock your boredom down".

He wants to wander far beyond

The borders of a boy,

To think of only levity

And things that bring him joy.

 

But joy is not eternal,

And the lesson to never squander

Is: never wander here or yonder,

Unless you have some time to ponder.

 

Past the small morc's barracks

Was a sight that killed his mirth:

Dead upon the grasses

Lay a friend he'd known since birth.

He could not speak a word.

He could not take a breath.

He could not think of anything

Except his dear friend's death.

"Why?" he asked his Yaliwe

With each torrential weep.

"Joy is just a dream now

Beyond consuming grief".

 

But loss is not eternal,

And the lesson to never squander

Is: never wander here or yonder,

Unless you have some time to ponder.

 

Anger twisted grief into

A pit, a void, a hole:

A place where all emotion

Disappeared within his soul.

When he told the Morc King

Of his deep and dreadful loss,

He was questioned as to why

He was neither sad nor cross.

"I waited for the rain to end,

So I could have a ball.

But grief and joy offset both.

Now I feel nothing at all."

 

But emptiness is not eternal,

And the lesson to never squander

Is: never wander here or yonder,

Unless you have some time to ponder.

 

"It must be that you loved so much,"

The Morc King said to him.

"One can't channel thought so deep

On a gloomy whim.

Reflect," he said sincerely.

"Think of all he taught.

Do not dwell on all you'd do

If he had fallen not."

"He was a good friend," the morc said.

"And he'll remain so up above.

Death henceforth will teach me

How deeply I can love."

 

Joy, loss, nothing, and love

Make a lesson to never squander:

Never wander here or yonder,

Unless you have some time to ponder.

Snack After Satisfaction (NaPoWriMo #17)

Snack After Satisfaction

You gave me the swell,

The crash, the slam.

The hard "I love you" and "Here I am".

You gave me the sweet,

The soft, the slow.

The "Hold on tight" and "Here we go".

You gave it all,

With each tender squeeze.

You huffed and puffed,

I howled with ease.

We finished slow

With no idle tease

My bliss sustained,

You still sought to please.

With brief absence,

You brought reprise,

Returning to bed

With wine and cheese.

When Sierra Wins (NaPoWriMo #16)

When Sierra Wins

Races to the bottom of a pint glass

Are distant glints in the new father's eye.

They will always be there,

Calling victory smiles to his lips.

Now, she will be there too,

With smiles of her own.

And one day,

She will beat him to the bottom

And he will toast

His daughter's victory.

The Greatest Compliment (NaPoWriMo #15)

The Greatest Compliment

Bare calves

And laughs that follow

Cool kisses in the vineyard.

Freckled shoulders

That rise and fall

As we shrug away the winter.

Hair aflame,

Both tame and wild,

In every sunny cinder.

Dances prolong

As songs overflow

From the long Autumn simmer.

It's time to tunnel toes

Through pastures, beaches, and linens,

To be your greatest compliment:

The girl who brings the Spring in.

Sweaty Stages (NaPoWriMo #14)

Sweaty Stages

 

Hungry howls drown the sound

Of dry bills bending over garters,

As we, bending for men that resemble our fathers,

Force on "come fuck me" boots

And pray we don't get fucked.

Delino (NaPoWriMo #13)

DELINO

Beyond the tunnels of yellow and red,

There is a world of white

Begging for my impression.

After the scraps are collected

And shiny bows planted upon joyful cheeks

It is time for the snow to meet my feet.

But something interrupts the donning

Of puffy pants and tasseled mittens.

From the varicolored tunnels,

There is no noise.

He is silent.

He is still.

He's never been silent or still.

Suddenly, the world of white might as well be green.

It might as well be brown.

The bow drops from cheek to floor

And I follow,

Touching the cage so desperately

That my fingertips squeak across the plastic.

For the first time, he does not mimic the noise.

He does not squeak, does not move.

He does not feel warm.

It is a new sorrow,

And at that moment, there is none more painful

Than a cold friend

On Christmas Day.