Venus descended slowly last night
Making sunset eyes
At the Cheshire Cat moon
Basking in its smile
Like me
© Gayle Force Press 2023
A poem by Franklin Oliver
Inspired by Rita Kohn
Exploring the Intriguing
Category: Poetry
Venus descended slowly last night
Making sunset eyes
At the Cheshire Cat moon
Basking in its smile
Like me
© Gayle Force Press 2023
A poem by Franklin Oliver
Inspired by Rita Kohn
There’s a hookah smoking caterpillar
Dancing through my head tonight
He told me he’s using a Zappa beat
Which makes sense because he’s moving
pi beats per measure
I want to ask him to stop since I’m dizzy
But I’m a little nervous that if he does
I’ll have to wake up
And walk through the wonderland called America
Where all the cards, cats, and queens want to remove my head
I think I’ll keep searching my dreams
Maybe a black rabbit will help me find what I need
The pill that keeps me small enough
Just small enough to stay out of sight
Head down and attached
© Gayle Force Press 2021
I’m seeing integration
It’s expressed in the million different ways
that define America
in the 21st century
Neighbors standing across a fence
my almostkindabuddy
begging the little girl in his arms to smile
while speaking to me
Sharing stories of dogs and kids,
potholes and the weather
The small, simple recognitions of community
I welcome the prophecy of transformation
Of renewed humanity in the outdoor thoughts
of barbecue, teenagers and shrubs
endemic to suburbia and TV shows
Fleeting, powerful moments of joy and recognition
begging for sustainability and sanction
Oh, if only our churches
and clubs and families
would do the unthinkable, could somehow do
the impossible, next generation inevitable
hard work of embrace
Ah, the sweet embrace that’s waiting
To be given and claimed
By your hog riding, beer swilling ‘play cousin’
and our lesbian aunt
And my own White son,
still learning to be a man
Loving Keith Urban and Run DMC,
Unafraid of judgment besides that of silly girls
And wise ones too
Needing to be told over and over
that you are not alone
because Michael Jackson was right
and you, my child and most precious creation
for whom I would gladly die
are the hope and future of our people,
of all the people
It’s your innately earned righteousness
That will lead us,
must lead us to the glorious shore
of a future
authentically prophesied
with love and deepest understanding
Mijo, you ARE the Dream
I only wish I could explain it,
without crying
I’m still worried you might confuse my tears
with sadness though really
its all joy
So much joy
for the man you will be
and the life you will live
My sweat mingles with those unavoidable tears
And my laughter and my envy
and my love and my joy for you
I wish I could live to know it
I am free enough for now
but you will be the love
I stand and proclaim
For tomorrow, today
In the sacred vestment of love
I am blessed to be the poet
Celebrating the poetry
Thank you for becoming a poem
Of the future
Even more than a prophecy
The clear vision of tomorrow
You will help to create
And manifest with your life
And my hopes
And every today
© Gayle Force Press 2014
The father of my children has gone mad. He’s spent every night for the last 5 weeks putting together a boat. A giant, absurd boat. Somehow he convinced Ham and Japheth to help. Thank goodness Shem is still willing to get water for me in the evenings.
What I don’t understand is what’s gone wrong. Noah has been a good dad, a great farmer, and the best healer around. Now? He’s lost his mind. And I’m not even allowed to ask about his precious boat. Our kadosh is broken.
© Gayle Force Press 2020
After the harvest has been made
But before the frosts of winter have begun
The Midwest holds a special sort of magic
On nights when the moon takes its rest
Drive out to a small town
Then head away from the highway
And toward the darkness
When you realize that you’re nearly alone
The darkness seems friendly
Welcoming
As though it expected you
Whenever you’ve arrived
Far away from the dimming haze of light
You’ll discover endless universes
Represented in tiny, fantastically powerful orbs
That reach out singly to touch the whole of you
And wonderfully, graciously
This silent communion can last as long as you like
Or at least until the stars begin to fade.
© Gayle Force Press 2002.
As always, you can find Franklin’s books here.
Maybe we learned
The pleasure of sin
From Adam, not Eve
.
Maybe we learned
The power of sex
From Adam, not Eve
.
Maybe Cain learned
That Abel could die
From Adam, not Eve
.
Maybe we learned
The earth could be tamed
From Adam, not Eve
.
Maybe we learned
That wars could be ‘won’
From Adam, not Eve
.
Maybe
.
© Gayle Force Press 2011
A poem by Franklin Oliver
The water is wide
Littered with empty bodies
Once young old weak and strong
Mingled with fish and sledge
Along with the memories of those
Who made it over the Ohio
To a new home of hope
No land but how brave
Promising to remain
North of the river
Away from pattyrollers
Somehow, finally free
Their lucky descendant
Starts driving faster
As I take a bridge
One of several I’ll cross
Just hoping for fun tonight
In Cincy or Louisville
Leaving Kentucky for Ohio
Trading South for North
Simply signs on the highway
Beneath the shining images
Pointing me to a downtown
Or a floating casino
Nothing calls to attention
The history or the bodies
Still and real below me
Trapped in the Ohio
Permanently, without memories
Somehow, finally free
© Gayle Force Press 2012
A poem by Franklin Oliver
Hunted and sought
Captured then bought
Still we do survive
Shackled and chained
Whipped to be trained
Still we do survive
Raped and abused
Scarred, misused
Still we do survive
Worked just like dogs
Fed worse than hogs
Still we do survive
Freed then discarded
Our progress retarded
Still we do survive
Separate but equal
Slavery’s sequel
Still we do survive
The Movement fights
For basic rights
Still we do survive
A change from the past
With “Free At Last”
Still we do survive
Dreams still deferred
Our consciences stirred
Still we do survive
The POTUS is Black
So racists fight back
Still we do survive
A Movement anew
Now what will we do
More than just survive
© Gayle Force Press 2019
A poem by Franklin Oliver
Soon will be May again
That darling month of poems, flowers,
Gaiety and holidays
Till then though,
April will hold fast
To its power to sway
The fragile moods of humans
With wind, sun, buds and storms
Performing their spontaneously choreographed dance
Raw and intemperate
In full, unceasing view of us all
© Gayle Force Press 2012
A poem by Franklin Oliver
The water is wide
Filled with the memories
of those lucky few
Who made it over
Over the Ohio
© Gayle Force Press 2009
A poem by Franklin Oliver