Tilt

This past week we were up North for the first time since our cabin flooded ten months ago. We knew from neighbors that the water still had not receded as the lake has no outlet and the ground is saturated.

We weren't prepared to see that the water level had risen even higher, making the flooding worse. Time to find a new cabin.



Tilt


In the maw, in the nighttime storm.

The bloated lake
could not contain fifteen inches
of pounding rain.

Daylight delivered submerged
docks and fire-rings,
dwellings moored in shallows.

Yet warblers sang from pines
trapped in the overflow,
and butterflies flitted untroubled.

But armies of mosquitoes
ambushed us, targets in slo-mo
retrieving wayward boats.

Inside, a drifting boot bumped
against the defunct 'frig no one
wished to open.

Cabin life shelved
until the lake backtracks, slips out
the front door.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

April Ablutions

Obstinate bits of snow dot the city, especially, in sheltered spots or in designated areas of major parking lots, dumped there by city trucks throughout the winter. A few Aprils back I noticed this same phenomena outside my townhouse.



April Ablutions


Like a curved blade covered
with shaving cream
recently scraped from a face,
a stubborn scrim of snow
hugs the ground in front
of a shiny, maroon car.
The rest of the lather washed
away in a morning shower.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Fabulist

One last post from the UK. A year ago I rode with a driver from the airport to my daughter's home in London. Let's just say I found him to be a chatty fellow.



Fabulist


The driver from Heathrow,
cut from fair Anglo-Saxon cloth,
chatted like Chaucer, weaving tales
as we wound our way thru London.

"The truth about the Russian spies
poisoned here? A frame-up aimed at Putin
by sloppy Ukrainians. Those two would
be dead if the order originated in Moscow."

The scenery blurred at motorway speeds.

Eyebrows raised, bushy with innuendo,
he asked, "You ever wonder about the French
President with his 'dandy' clothes and older wife?
Not a manly man, if you catch my drift."

The car slowed as we exited the off-ramp,
windows closed, doors secured.

"And then there's the biggest threat
of all - Merkel and her ilk. Opening
their arms to millions of immigrants.
A sea-tide of undesirables, if ever I saw one."

His monologue drowned out dissent.

Without warning, the blackened hull
of Grenfell Tower hovered on our right,
palpable sadness burnt into the ruin.

But the driver, on a different frequency,
could not hear the migrant histories wafting
through empty windows, nor sense the struggles
on overloaded rafts, resettlement camps.

Despite its cool interior, the car felt stifling
until I recognized the noisy jay that he was,
squawking against a changing world.

At the end of the journey I hesitated
but could not withhold a gratuity. Despite all,
a working man voicing his opinions.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Brexit

Found poetry is created by lifting words or phrases from other sources and reframing them. And that's what I've done this week. My source being Elson's Pocket Music Dictionary published in 1909.

I, also, feel this week's poem is appropriate since it's coming to you from London.



Brexit


The Conductor holds forth
with her latest score created
within the rules of harmony.

The movement, a fundamental
fugue, requires brilliant execution.

Discord intrudes. Five voices
in close relation clash
with a counterpoint in four parts.

The musicians orchestrate stops
as the Maestro stresses an interpretation
played from the EU songbook.

But her leitmotif, a theme
without variation, remains
over-sung by runs of dissonance.

Full dress rehearsals,
and the coda not yet arranged.



Marilyn Aschoff Mellor