How We Fool Ourselves

I thank Krishna for my parking spot
so close to the grocery store.

I thank Buddha for my daughter’s
safe fall from her horse.

I thank Jesus for my son’s
scholarship acceptances.

I thank Yahweh, for the rebound,
of my 401k.

I thank Allah, Zeus and Amida
for peace in the Middle East,
in Asia, and in Parkland Florida.

I thank all the gods
who control the world
for their personal
love of
me.

I thank the universe for all her beauty,
and that everything happens for a reason,
and that all those reasons
center around
me.

__________________________________

Prompt:  It is Open Link Night at d’Verse Poets.  The previous two poem challenges at d’Verse Poets dripped of religious spirituality: “Faith” and “Holy Places”. So I was inspired to write this tongue-in-cheek piece.

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Eternal Amen!

Eternal Amen!

Beauty attenuates
and wonder fades
while sacred punctuates
and holy delays.

Better to spin,
myths, fables and lies
than live within,
what reality provides.

The rich and powerful,
aware of our trends,
spin all things masterful
to make our minds bend.

Thus blissfully we chase,
after sacred places and men
as pilgrims on a race,
for an eternal amen!

by Sabio Lantz, April, 2018


Prompt: Amaya, @ d’verse Poets, asks us to write about holy places.

A Vacation Memory

A Vacation Memory

Tahiti, a round green Pacific dot,
is roped by a coastal road
with an opal ocean to one side
and a flourishing forest on the other.

Rounding her continuous curves
in my tiny rented tourist car
I was enjoying the leisurely scenery
and the lulling scent of ocean air,

when suddenly, in front of my car
stretching across the narrow asphalt road
was a proud mother Tahitian duck
followed by her ten tiny trusting ducklings.

With nowhere to safely swerve
nor time to stop
I had no choice but to smash through
the innocent line of newborns.

Under my heavy wheels,
I felt and heard nothing.
Only through my rearview mirror
did I see the flat tiny duck.

Her siblings were marching by, one-by-one
looking down in surprise but waddling on
to keep up with their mother,
who never looked back.

Over time, I’ve wondered
how different was my decision from other juggernauts:
of industry, countries and armies;
of schools, gods and lovers.

— by Sabio Lantz, January 2018


Prompt:   True story, of course. Grace hosts Open Link Night @ dVerse Poets

Prompt: At FeedBack Poetry, we are now reading Nancy Willard. So, using Jill’s challenge at d’Verse Poets “to write a poem that is a direct reply to another poem.” I have written a playful poem as a reply/imitation of Nancy’s poem. Nancy’s original poem is at the bottom of the post.  Tell me how you think they compare.  Critical thought is coveted.

Some Things Should Never Be Written Down (by Sabio Lantz)

Some things should never be written down:
A raccoon’s greedy sighs
as her crackers dissolve in a stream.

The panting of rampaging squirrels
chasing snow prints in ancient scrolls

The panting of lusty squirrels
chasing prints on tantric scrolls
cluttered with nuts and berries
covering our bed.

The tattoo laughing on your hip
at the dreams you were not suppose to remember.

by Sabio Lantz, January 2018

_____________________________

Some things Should Never Be Written Down
by Nancy Willard (source)

Some things should never be written down.
The lovesick hummingbird’s whistling for love;

the tide of sleep humming toward me
and baited with whispers, [what he said,
what she said], and glad heart
packing its dreams for the trip to morning;

the ring of my mother’s name
when my grandfather called to her three days
after he died, and she with her arms full
of wind-washed laundry

just free from the line.

 

 

 

Bounce from the Trounce

You may be renounced
by even the kindest of Counts
if you can not bounce
from a deserved trounce.

It depends on the towns
in some you get frowns
while others a mere ounce
will get you denounced.
Which if far better than pounced.

— Sabio Lantz, January 2018

___________________

Prompt: This a silly rhyming Quadrille around the word “bounce” for d’Verse Poets. My seventeen year-old son, just recently turned me on to this fine rap poetry about “A Troubadour”, which then became my fuel for poem.

Cold Feet Memories

Cold Feet Memories

I remember years ago when the Winter Moon bounced brightly off our yard’s deep snow giving the deceptive illusion of warmth and hospitality. Perhaps it was Ying-winter and Ying-Moon mixing to mimic Yang-bright-warmth, but leaving philosophy aside, I decided to make it fun for my kids.

“Here’s my challenge: Run out this door in your bare feet and make it around the chicken pen once!” My kids had a long history of me inventing bizarre fun for them and this seemed like another promising event. So they both ran out in to the white night and for the first few yards laughed uproariously and the snow cracked under their feet. But soon my daughter turned around and ran back afraid of the cold. But my son kept going, behind the trees, around the pen and back. His face was illuminate the whole while and though it had a bit of a grimace, when he finally made it into the house, he broke into a proud smile.

It was a great event, a celebration of ying madness and fun for all. Well, at least that how I remember it. To talk to my 17 year-old son today, it was just another example of his father’s insanity.

Children cavorting
on luminous mind layers
cracking yin-yang ice

— by Sabio Lantz, January 2018


Prompt: d’Verse poets asks for a haibun on the winter moon

Splatter!

Splatter!

1.
Ice pillars crash
after centuries of frozen
unchallenged certainty

Cliffs of granite crack
as Lava Laughs
at their complacency.

2.
As ducks fly South
over lush fields,
do they think,
“How beautiful the Path I’ve chosen!”

3.
I now understand
why boiling pots
splatter!

— by Sabio Lantz