By Notty Bumbo.
I vacillate of late between rage and amusement. They drag me to and from a this ironic life. And John Prine is dying, and our leaders are in the crapper stealing our lunch, and I don’t know anymore about star-ships and the World of Tomorrow. I haven’t a clue about our continuance, even the slightest evolution that might finally stop the bombs from falling would be a welcome sight!
I love someone. I love so many. I want to see them all celebrate 100 birthdays and leave a lasting smile behind. I want the birds to return, I am bereft because John Prine is dying. Poets always matter, songs are the first medicine for despair. I sing with the warblers at midday and with the ravens at dusk. I cannot understand our fascination with fear. The world is too small now.
When will the Summer return? There are hyacinths just opening their leaves, tomato plants finally sprouting. I hear a dog bark somewhere to the West, demanding answers, desiring solace, I wonder how the bears will fair this summer. I hold a touch of hope that one day, there will be justice, when we learn how to be surprised again. Because John Prine has died and I cannot feel the rain.
Author Bio:
Notty Bumbo is a writer, artist, and poet living in Fort Bragg, California. He’s been published in over ten writing platforms including journals, magazines and anthologies. He recently got published in in Extreme: An Anthology by Vagabond Press. He has also written and published a novella titled, “Tyrian Dreams” which can be read on Kindle via Amazon Publishing.
Nalubaale Review Literary Magazine 