Dreams in a Foreign Language

September 15, 2022 ~ Kenneth P. Gurney ~ Leave a comment

Lori has no beauty mark on her face
but feels beautiful anyway.

She dyes her hair blue, emulates Clementine
in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

Lori would use Aladdin’s magical lamp’s wish
to banish porn from the internet.

She studies an old west photo book
of buffalo herds before they were decimated.

Lori refuses to ride in a man’s car
on the first three dates.

She thinks the door to salvation might reveal itself
watching orcas on the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

Lori considers the paradox that she
must lose her tongue to find her voice.

Refraction

October 19, 2021October 19, 2021 ~ Kenneth P. Gurney ~ Leave a comment

Paul stands in a corridor.
He calls it a hallway.

We could call it a library
since books line both walls.

He is there to locate
the Encyclopedia Britannica

even though we stand
in the United States of America.

He looks up Fata Morgana
and he is directed to Morgan le Fay

Morgan of the Faeries and faerie castles—
mirages at the horizon line.

Though the entry speaks of the Straits of Messina
between Sicily and Italy’s toe

Paul believes it is the same
between Port Angeles Washington

and Victoria British Columbia
crossing the strait of Juan de Fuca.

Not today though since vaporous fog
blocks any view looking north

and the coast guard’s fog horn
rattles the cups in the cupboard.

Why I Have A List Of Favorite Rest Stops

July 4, 2021 ~ Kenneth P. Gurney ~ Leave a comment

Sadness persists in me.
Like it is an uncharted organ.

Bicycling does much to diminish it.
Photo albums tend to intensify it.

Blueberries on my morning yogurt
signify I have a taste for blueberries.

There are days sadness
pulls me deeper inside myself.

Other days it pushes me
outside my skin.

Drinking shrinks it briefly
then expands it to galactic dimensions.

As sad experiences add up
I do my best to relabel them neutrally.

There is something about driving long distances
that vibrates sadness out of my pores

to steadily drip on the pavement
of the interstate highways I traverse.

I once tried the nomad lifestyle
because of this fact

but ran out of novel roads to drive
at Neah Bay with a view of Waadah Island.

I threw nine amens and hale-Mary’d
my St. Christopher medallion into the ocean

where the Strait of Juan de Fuca meets the sea
trusting that would pacify my sadness.

It did not. My sadness suggested
we head back to Albuquerque

and the surrounding desert
since the green chile harvest started that week.

Empty Sky

February 25, 2019 ~ Kenneth P. Gurney ~ 1 Comment

This morning, the gray fog
snakes upward from the harbor
and the Strait of Juan de Fuca
to en-coil and squeeze the rain
out of the clouds above.

The snaking fog opens wide
and swallows the weakened clouds whole,
then retreats to a cedar filled valley
and curls into sleep
along a stony creek
until hunger stirs it again.