Posts Tagged ‘dank’

Warm Georgia Summer Evening Surprise: Improverse Blogging Haibu

July 26, 2019

From the inside, through my 90’s shaded-design oval door window, it looked like recent Georgia sunsets: Cool, golden, breezy, comfortably worthy of a front-porch sit for a spell. I knew the frogs would be chirping and croaking and screeching melodically, there might be a whip-or-will or mocking bird or mourning dove singing joyfully at the setting sun, and various and sundry unidentified bugs would be rhytmically scraping and creeking and thrumming and whatever they do, lacing a deep-layered cacophony of sound like a grandmother’s old, well-worn quilt over the newly-mown hay and lawn and the soon-to-be-harvested gold-and-black-tassled corn in the field just beyond the broken-in-half hickory tree.

Surprise.

Stepping out onto the porch, the evening’s still, stiffling air laid on my face and arms like mold in a plastic bag full of what teenaged boys might call “garbage cheese” — not quite rotted into limberger, but still stenchy and pungent enough to make me want to avoid taking a deep, rich breath.

No breeze.

Instead, as I stood still and watched the sunset dapple through the aged oak and hickory trees, as I tried to revel in the natural symphony I’d expected, the damp-dank humid humors of the evening felt as if I was at the end of some God/Satan spraygun of tangible air-mist-grime-pollen. And no scents. Nothing to make breathing the languid vapors worthwhile. No sense of reward or joy or revelation. Just deep cotton-like vapors filling my nostrils and throat and lining my lungs.

I sat down anyway, rocked slowly the way one should on a Southern porch in late July, and waited for an evening breeze to come and wash away the fog-like depth of the moment so I could, at last, completely see-hear-taste-smell-feel-sense all-in-all around and through and in me.

And a distant owl hooted.

When unexpected/
nature clouds your mind, be still./
She’ll clear your senses.

Deep Quilt Georgia Summer Sunset -- July 2019

Examining The Dark Corners: Revolutionary IMprov Poetry

July 22, 2011

We shine.
Our bright lights
pierce darkened,
shadowed corners
where scary pests
and sickening pasts
scurry from the light.

Sometimes we see
what others won’t show us.
They are shy.
They are embarrassed.
They are hurt.
They are ashamed.

They try to shut off the light,
try to redirect the beam
to the center,
where everything is already
exposed,
illuminated,
orderly,
neat,
as it should be,
as the world would want it.

We have been there already.
It is comfortable.
With them,
in that space,
we can chat,
cook,
munch,
dine,
dance,
relax,
rejoice,
rest.

We know our way around,
and it is good to
feel warmth
and happiness.

But when we feel
the dark,
the terror,
the fear,
the loneliness;
when we see
the concern,
the worry,
the pain;
it is then we turn away
from the comfort
of the center,
from the warmth
of the fireplace,
from the light
and fresh breeze
coming through the window.

It is then we take our light
and shine it
into the musty corners,
the terrored,
dank,
fetid,
hidden places,
the places of shame,
the hidden recesses
and cavities
where our friends
scream
in pain
and embarrassment
and fear,
and where they beg us
not to go.

Although we honor
and respect them
still, we shine
our lights there,
and expose
that which they plead with us
not to examine.

We pick it up,
and we turn it this way
and that,
looking at every piece,
exposing every seedy underbelly.

And when we see
what they have been hiding,
we learn about them,
and we understand them better.

And they learn
and see
that we are not repulsed,
nor ashamed,
nor sickened.

We have looked at that piece
of whateveritis,
and carefully,
thoughtfully
considered it.

Perhaps we will put it back.
Perhaps we will give it
to our friend to throw away,
or burn,
or discuss,
or hurl,
or crush.

But not to ignore.
Not to pretend it does
not exist.

It is, after all,
there.
And it is still theirs.
They must do with it
what they need to,
even if they can
do nothing
right now.

Still, they know
that we have seen it.
We have felt it.
We have considered it.
We have examined it.
We have exposed it
to our light.

In giving it back to them,
we allow them
to move forward,
with us by their side,
to support,
guide,
help,
or comfort
as they need us to.

And they know,
as they see that our light
does not fade,
nor dim,
nor flicker out,
that we love them.