Blues

difference makers
risk takers
fathers of the beat
with
cigar box guitars
smiling hands
and
dirty feet

Time

time...

split, quartered, halved
stretched, compacted
shared, stolen
longed for, wished away
ticking, ticking

sun shines on monoliths
gears turn with precision
lines scribbled in a cell
pin-up birthdays on the wall

The Gallery

rain streaked picture window
frames the Dali street lights
with neon Warhol vacancy

umbrella toting Monet figures
glide past hurriedly
under van Gogh's hidden crescent moon

reconciliation

Take away
all the sorry
and the
what did I do

Take it back
all the worry
and the
can't tell the truth

Box it up
all the ugly
all the mess
and the lies

Send it off
to a sad place
that I know
in your eyes

something in the water

a childhood rite
to swim with friends
splash and play
dog paddle

miss lily white attitude
says
i don't like
to share my water

skin's too dark
too many of you
don't come back
here's your refund

Suffragette

Ceramic dogs eternally sit upon the mantle
Lustre prisms dangle in the air
Overstuffed everything with lace pinned on
53 glass birds roost on a table

Victor sits confused
on a fringed stool
playing the piano
bisque babies
covering the top

She wants the right to vote
yet to live
in her feminine world
of velvet curtains and velvet cake

Exit

Acquainted with suffering
shoulders hold the world
Bent with their worries
no room for her own

Searching for exit signs
above doorways
And trapdoors
in hallways

She came in somehow
There has to be a way out
of this
and that

Sea of Green

Green Green
Sea of Green
Silence stretches
Miles between

Where is fairness
Where is truth
Marching bravely
with our youth

rebirth

Up in arms
and out of breath
Running, skipping
cheating death
They'll unlock
the iron door
Cross the line
and kiss the floor
Feels the heat
upon his skin
Never to
go back again

Endurance

(For Louise)

She stays with him
on a familiar path
The trees are the same
just slightly more bent
She climbs the hickory
and surveys her horizon
Upon descent, she curls
her fingers around his
Finds her footprints
from before she cried
and keeps walking

Bob Church

Our friend Bob Church passed away on April 29th. Bob was an amazing soul. My heart feels hurt. Hard to write right now, but I plan on a tribute to him in the near future. Please keep his wife Louise and his family in your prayers.

Calling Chiefs

I am old skool rap
and faded jeans
Trolling the beach
and gathering things
I am worn too thin
I am walking proud
I am desert dust
I am screaming loud
I am looking out
I am looking in
I am calling chiefs
I am rusty tin

Caged

Sisters stroke the violin
Embroidered in their crinoline
Whalebone hoops enforce the cage
Adding to their quiet rage

Damsel

What do they call you
smiling glad lady?
And who breaks your bread
for the feast?
Minstrels see your
eyes twinkle and
your throat purr

Who will claim your hand
and your heart?

swimming in the now

and in the end, we hold our heads
and fly into the blue
a solo flight, of pure delight
magnificent and true
pain is left on ocean floor
and as we take our bow
the final act, is what we thought
we're swimming in the now

Snake Eyes

A memory comes out of the shadows
Her father shooting dice
on the checkered linoleum floor
Ivory cubes bouncing off of the stove
Landing by her knees
Baby just got a
new pair of shoes

Looted

Bronze fountainheads
cannot go back home
and dance again with the others
on sunshining days
in the Summer Palace

2 week hiatus

I'm off on a 2 week hiatus to gather with family. I'll catch up on all the poems when I return. Happy writing all. :)

Big Brother

Big brother TALL
Big brother STRONG

You protected us
Stood up for us
Comforted us
Loved us
Made us feel safe
in a world out of control

Now I want to stand up for you
To comfort you and love you
I want to tell you that it will be okay
That I know how you feel
The pain so deep, so raw, so burning
you just want it to end

Big brother TALL
Big brother STRONG
I love you

Quieting of the Soul

The hawk is piercing the air
while a bitter wind blows leaves
across the water
Yellow and orange floaters
cover bloodroot patches
Pockets full of wild licorice leaves

November palette makes one think
of wool coats and quilting bees
The smokehouse is full of venison
The shelves gleam with jars and crocks
while herbs hang from racks
Quieting the Earth and the soul

Porches

Strolling after supper
down porch lined lanes
Mrs. Malone is laughing
her apron discarded for the night
Swings creaking and
teacups in saucers
Mr. Johnson is pulling weeds
from the cracks in the walk
Children fresh from their baths
put fireflies in pickle jars
A gentleman in a wicker chair
waves a transparent hand
The scent of Gardenia
welcomes us home

corner market

running down the hot sidewalk
2 coins jingling in his pocket
anticipation of orange soda
his own bottle, just for him
shaved head reflects the sun
shoes slapping, coins jingling
anticipating

goldenrod

october noon and all is well
the poplar hides the whippoorwill
the pansies rest their pretty heads
among the scattered flower beds
sumac berries staining clothes
silken petals on the rose
goldenrod lets down her hair
autumn hanging in the air

Resolution

like a false resolution
you promised the world
kept nothing
and moved on

slithered your way
back to the hot sand
and beaches
the place where
you're always young

midnight

A cold linoleum dance
across the kitchen floor
Belly swollen under her gown
undulating waves of life

Telling stories to a beloved stranger
of fairies and queens and the bakers man
Voice is soothing and calm
undulating waves of life

1865

The Confederate Army has finally arrived
Hide under my petticoats little one
Momma will keep you safe
Bury the silver and free all the horses
Nevermind the clothes on the line
Find the few men that are left
The old and infirmed will fight the battle
Their feeble attempt marked in history
They'll burn the corn crib
They'll burn the barn
They'll sip muscadine wine
out of Grandmothers crystal
They'll break this Southern heart

The Well

Look down into the well, black water still
Our reflections own us and we them
An oil portrait in gray and heather
I see you laughing, beer in your whiskers
Cigarette dangling from your stained fingers
Explain to me the meaning of life, your life
How you stayed cold and indifferent
amidst a sea of children and laughter
How you never came out to play

tonight

I am
barefeet
painted toenails
most days
but tonight
it's stockings and high heels
perfumed places you'll
eagerly discover
soft bits waiting
for caress
lace covering skin
then slipped away
over shoulders
and thighs
silken veils under
henna colored candles
shadows dance upon the blue wall
having no shame in what they are about to do

Acorn

The lowly acorn on the forest floor
Scattered amongst the twigs and ferns
Who is to know
what lurks inside
it's thoughts
under it's cap

...an immense Oak providing shade
...a marriage proposal on a Spring day
...2 boys will become blood brothers under her limbs,
providing nourishment and strength
to the tree and each other
...a black man will swing from a rope
for being black
...initials carved and tire swings
...rake them up and jump right in

Roots a mile deep
A memory

Who is to know
that the tiny acorn
holds such
gargantuan secrets

That Morning

Wearing jackets made of dust

Powdered memories raining down

Hands clenched to briefcases

Bakeries and diners turned bomb shelters

Panic in the streets and in the fields

We were all covered in dust

and we trembled the same

that blue sky morning

Soft

I have found the taste
of you
lingering
The smell of your hair
is sunkissed
The arch of your back
is smooth and hurried
A road less traveled
Every time I cave in
you tie my tongue
unleash my demons
quench my thirst
Smooth your scars away
into the silkiness that is you
Shake your mother hips
throw back your head
and dare the world to see you smile
Soft touches are not taken lightly
in these parts

the bell jar

She stepped upon the windowpane
and gently spread her wings again
A leap of faith and off she flew
leaving all that she once knew
Should have done this years ago
valleys curve and run below
Mountains etched upon the sky
she always did know how to fly
She let her soul out of the jar
spirits carried her afar
Orange tipped and powdered wing
sensitive to everything

Olive Riley

Saturday, a special soul was called home to her maker. Someone I was proud to call friend. Olive Riley, I will always treasure you...

http://worldsoldestblogger.blogspot.com/2008/07/rip-olive-riley.html

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/25668181/

Why Poetry Matters...

Someone posted a link to the site of Denise Low, Kansas poet. I can't recall at the moment which blog it was. I'd like to give them credit. She posted an article written by Jay Parini, that I thought was exceptional. I think it is a 'must read' for every poet...

Why Poetry Matters

He's Mine

She sits beside herself
knitting a shroud of worry
The news sprang out of nowhere
From his lips to Mothers ears
Enlist? When? Why?
Let's talk about this son
You've already decided?
Please at least wait until November
so we can maybe get an idea of..
..there's a war going on son...
..you are a grown man now son, and..
...we support you...we love you..we need you
WE NEED YOU!!!!
Her heart is a lump in her throat
It will remain lodged there keeping
the taste of coppery fear in her mouth
and fresh in her mind
How can this be?
We talk about this war around the dinner table
almost every night
She wants to run in the streets SHOUTING..
NO! You can't have him!! He's Mine!!

He's Mine

*hes mine*

Sumac

Have a taste my dear..

Painting by Rick Mobbs

She always seemed like an angel to me
Her warm meals turned winter into summer
Her constant smile an aging reminder
To laugh readily and heartily, no matter the pain
"Have a taste my dear. You always tell the truth."

Blessings

Painting by:Rick Mobbs




Krishna kissed the sun today
A fiery embrace in watercolor haze
His skin held stars and blue skies
Lovers held each other until dark
Dragon smoke will lure the child
Wearing her magical garments

June Evening

Her skin was buttermilk soft nestled in his neck,
as she lay there trying to imitate his breathing.
Thoughts float in the breeze from one subject to the next.
Curtains rustle and windchimes sing.
Frogs and crickets conduct a symphony.
A velvet sky holds priceless diamonds,
that an unknown jeweler has placed there.
The universe smiles and nods in approval.

Free

This is from the readwriteprompt challenge.

when I watch you

unfurl, unfold, turn your face to the sky
infant eyes turned kaleidoscopes
trees wave to you as you go by
sister of the earth

daughter of the wind

(Free is my Granddaughter)

If only she could..

Waking up draped in Italian linens with ornate lacework
Tea will be served in tiny porcelain cups on the ivy covered veranda
or in the library, surrounded by his leather and paper and maps
Bathed in the sun of a Spanish morning
The aroma of romance still lingers on her skin,
as he walks through the door

Acouba

Acouba...
Taken from homes distant shore to be tossed in the deep waves.
Her children left to cry for a mother they'll never see again.
Breasts hang heavy and low, not able to feed her own baba.
She is taken to a strange place, full of faces from many tribes.
All of them so beautiful, so brave....so scarred, so scared.
Here she will care for the wit children.
Sometimes she pretends that they are her own.
She doesn't know which fate is worse...the motherless child, or the childless mother.

Life

Don't be surprised to discover it
Take it in your hands and mold it
Make of it whatever you will
Only your artistic hands can craft this
Feminine curves, a worthy vessel
Foundation solid as the baked clay
An astounding work of art

Love can be...

Love can be tough and sinewy
Love can be tender and sweet
Love can be hard iron
Love can be soft talcum sprinkles
Love can be...

Random Photo...

Bottle Tree

Mashing her thoughts together
like last nights potatoes
She stays too long in the past again
Staring at nothing and seeing everything
Analyzing her own weak condition
Bottles whistle and shine on the tree
Cobalt instruments of the wind
Keeping away the troubled spirits

Looking a gift horse in the eye

Spreading your words like a sweet icing
Glossing over her pain with the same tired prose
Put on display in a shiny window, then
boxed up and tied with twine
Given to her as a gift
One she's received one hundred times before
She has no need to unwrap them now
It's become easy to quote gifts verbatim
Binding the gift horses mouth,
she can't wait to feel like a woman again

Hold Your Tongue

Hold your tongue, my dearest
Speaking will only ruin this moment
Suns are exploding behind my eyelids
Stars are miniscule inside my mind
To let them go is a wonder, that only you can release
To keep them stored, an abomination

My dearest, hold your tongue
Let your waves wash over my shores
Soothing tides replenish my love
The moon pulls you towards me
Holding lunar thoughts of us entwined
My darling, hold your tongue

Psalms

I held your hand and read you Psalms.
The room smelled sterile.
You smelled sterile.
What happened to your smell?
The one I remember from your hug?
The smell of your coat and your hat.

The machine is beeping,
while your hand is growing colder.
My thoughts are deep.
Where were you at that moment?
In the place between awake and asleep?
The place we all wonder about.

I look across the bed at my sisters, your daughters.
Holding your other hand.
Waiting for the machine to stop,
and the screaming to start.
Holding their breath.
Knowing what's coming.

Your own breathing is labored.
You look so old and helpless.
Transparent and fragile like eggshell porcelain.
You drank from the teacup of life.
61 is a terribly young age to leave this world.

The moment crept up on us.
I smoothed your hair while telling them
it was okay.
It's Okay....He's Okay...He's alright now
A cloud surrounded me, enveloped me.
Smoothing your hair, while screaming comes from far away.

Depression

Depression never leaves
Always clinging to your last drops of good spirit
Your last bits of happiness
Turning your own world against you
Tearing your life from your grip
Just when you think you have it beat
It beats you

3 Crows

Three crows flying North to South
Shadows cast on fields of green
Every day they hurry by
Floating in a line
A trio of order
No time to stop and chat
I lean forward in my rocker
Straining my ears to hear
Once in awhile a brief hello escapes their beaks

So Clever

4,000

4,000 funerals
4,000 empty beds
4,000 vacant chairs at the table
4,000 voices silenced
8,000 mourning parents

The numbers grow higher each day

The Willow Tree

My heart is with the Willow tree
Whose limbs hang heavy and low
An arching frame
Arcs of green
If by the water, magical
If by the graveyard, fitting
Of all the trees of which to claim
My love it is the Willow tree

Estate Sale

Burrowing in other peoples belongings
(an invader in a foreign land)
Clammoring for delicate china
(the set Aunt Mary served Thanksgiving on)
Tightly grasping feedsack quilt tops
(the ones Grandma never quite finished)
Boxing up the Waterford crystal
(that Cousin Grace collected for years)
Leafing through antique poetry books
(that lulled a thousand children to sleep)

Pieces of them

go away
one box at a time.

Hippie

She grew her herbs in a windowsill
..the sun overstayed its welcome there
Macrame owls with wooden eyes
..hung by loops holding ivy and aloe
Recycling before it was 'the thing' to do
..newspaper stacked neatly by the door
Patchouli lingers in the breeze that's
..coming in the screen, blowing across the basil
Woodsy smell of cannabis and tea
..scents combined to create a signature

Twinless Twin

In utero, only ten weeks along
Two boys fought bravely to live
Not surprised by the pair, as I had twin boys already
Mother is a twin, Father is a twin, numerous sets of cousin twins
Never could I have imagined that I would lose your brother
My twinless twin, your brother is with you in your soul
He will be with you all of your life
Your reflection in the mirror will be his way of assuring you he has not gone
Smile for him sweet boy...and let him know his mother loves him

Escape

When stairways wound to leaded glass
And deep Oak stain glowed red with age
Wine is slumbering below in luxury
Hearty laughs have echoed loud
Cotillions and silk and dreams of the rich
A girl makes her way to the window
One last goodbye before she goes
She certainly didn't choose to be born here
She gathers up her luggage and slips quietly out the door

Going Home

Her house has that familiar smell
That takes your breath away
The warmth of Mothers arms again
To keep the wolves at bay

Faces looking just like mine
Are smiling in reply
Tales are told, babies held
We laugh until we cry

Going home is deceptive
Not all is as it seems
Factories forever looming
No promises or dreams

The neighborhood now seems faded
Her colors turned down just a hue
The taverns are full, the welfare rolls
And we're all enjoying the view

Hope is a tonic

A man stepped out from among the crowd
Demeanor calm, his voice was loud
He said great things are yet to be
Have faith in you, have faith in me

Time Traveler

Shaking the stardust out of her hair
She had safely made it to the other side again
Time traveling had become her latest obsession
Wearing period clothes, she strolled along the avenue
Parasol in one hand, gloves and pocketbook in the other
Her hands traced patterns on Russian enamel vases
A massive bronze statue of Diana stared down at her while
a fountain splashed and danced in the background
She stood in a chapel of Louis Tiffany design
Ate Cracker Jack and rode the ferris wheel
Gazed at works by L'Hermitte
Chicago, World's Fair, 1893

Mrs. Cook

Mrs. Cook wore her hair swept up in a bun
Her dress covered in a long apron

Wide brim hat when she was out in her garden
Husband came home smelling of whiskey every day
Sister and I would visit her when he was at work
Kindly and small and ancient to me
Her face wore the lines of a thousand years
Tiny house kept tidy and warm
Only to turn into a shack when I reached adulthood
She was laid to rest on a sunny day
The obituary clipping is in my bible

Widow's Walk

The salty air does nothing to calm her darkest fears

She waits upon the cliff-top, seems like it has been years

Her home provides a widow's walk, but that would mean defeat

And so she waits along the shore, the waves keeping the beat

Straining her green eyes afar, to spot a distant sail

Townsfolk think his ship went down, in a sudden gale

She reaches for a locket that she wears around her neck

She fiddles with it all the time, her nerves they are a wreck

Inside two lovers face to face, in sepia and gray

Painted rouge upon their cheeks feigns winters chill away

~Stacey~

She had a twinkle in her eye
A diamond sparkling in an azure sea

Her laugh was infectious
Like a cool jazz piece in New Orleans

She could keep a secret
Like a child holding tightly to a dream

We could act ourselves together
Little girls holding buttercups under our chins

She left the world a gift
A blessed son, her little warrior

He holds her brilliance in his vision
And keeps her close to those that cherished her

Grandmother

The world erupted from dark to light
Everything I knew was turned inside out
Holding you now in the crook of my arm
Smiling down on your soft countenance
Sweeping lavendar scented curls

A tiny pink nightgown hangs on the line

She'll call me Grandmother

Birthday Presence

Waiting, Waiting, Waiting...

for dainty hands
for long eyelashes
for twirls in mirrors
for bows and sashes

for silver rattles
for shiny curls
for slumber parties
for giggling girls

Waiting for your birthday presence

Where I Am From

Brick lined streets will take you back to where I'm from.

Mennonite bonnets shading sparkling eyes,

that dance to the clip clop of horses.

The Paletine near the Rhine holds secrets of the elders.

Hushed religion forcing them to migrate.

The Emerald Isle is a warm gem in my pocket.

A treasure my soul wears for all to see.

Will always remain part of who I am,

although I've yet to touch her green shores.

She knows I shall return to her, be it this life or the next.

I come from a daughter of Cherokee beauty.

I know this as surely as I know my mothers dark eyes

and high cheekbones.

The animals speak of where I've come.

We share our tales of long ago campfires.

Throw out the dark night

Walking on eggshells which break without warning.
Throw out the dark night, I'm a child of the morning.
Sunlight that dapples, grass laden with dew.
Crows yell for breakfast in golden red hue.
Waves on the lake reflect violet sky.
A chill to the air because winter is nigh.
Yes give me the morning, throw out the dark night
Kingfisher, chickadee, heron in flight

Wings

I'll leave the porch light on for you,

in case you come back home.

Your always welcome here you know,

no matter where you roam.

I wish you luck, I really do.

For you I want good things.

Happiness and sense of worth,

that's why I gave you wings.

Gaza

The soldiers came to Gaza
To carry out their brothers
Against the law, they said
Homes will be bulldozed


The soldiers came to Gaza
Try to remain peaceful and kind
Hand them water, carry the Torah
There's crying in the synagogue


The soldiers came to Gaza
Fathers wail to a God they
Think has abandoned them
And hold their children


The soldiers came to Gaza
Mothers pointing fingers
Shouting curses, Shame on you
Hat brims pulled low to hide tears


The soldiers came to Gaza
Seeing their youth, And their kinship
Some will hug the soldiers instead
Belongings in a bag


The soldiers came to Gaza
The sadness is palpable
The tears are ever flowing
Bodies may leave, but the souls remain

Georgia Clay

Soaring like an eagle but your young
toes are still stuck in this red clay
I think your conscience faded in the
rearview mirror as you raced off
Blind anger and rage that always seems
to bubble up out of nowhere
Slowly replaced with long forgotten
memories of old quarrels and spite
Words are slaps that cannot
be taken back...cannot be soothed
Easier for you to stay away if love is pushed
aside constantly giving way to the negative


Meanwhile, what do I tell the others here
who miss you so badly?


"Ma'am?"


I said, what shall I tell the others?

Olive the Adventurer

Olive Riley is a wonderful gal
At the age of one hundred and eight
She tells the world her interesting tales
And the world just thinks she's great

She keeps a blog with the help of Mike
She even makes videos
She sings her songs so beautifully
Australias darling rose

A horse who drank beer, a schoolyard fight
Whatever the story may be
She'll make you smile, she'll make you laugh
Dear Olive, how we love thee~

Andys Day

Tiny hands they close the box

Insuring its safe keep

He hides it underneath his bed

And soon he'll drift to sleep

Dreaming of all his treasures

That he carefully tucked away

The pinecone, pebbles & mussel shells

His great finds of the day

So sleep my sweet little angel

And dream of calm ponds of gray

Of puppy dogs and sailing ships

...and little boys at play

Little sister

The little girl I left behind is a woman now
Form is rounded motherly
Heart has grown expansively
Kindness knows no boundaries
Baby of the family

Remembering her tiny frame
Small arms wrapped so tight
Cheek to mine, she whispers closely
Tiny secrets shared and kept
Know that you are loved

The smile

Lick my wounds, hold on again
My time will have to wait
Howls of pain soon quieted
Pushed behind the walls I've built
Hidden behind this smile I wear
The garment everyone prefers

Icy Morning

Smokestack forests
sprinkling gray ash on
new fallen snow
Window frosted
with abstract ice art
Like feathery pick-up sticks
made of glass
All loosely piled
one on top the other
Cold radiating from the pane

Mister can you spare a dime?

When it all came crashing down
Dust storms were pushing me back East
Heavy dark clouds have been hovering
Like being at the bottom of a black pond
Mister can you spare a dime?

A hot meal is mothers milk
Manna comes with many faces
A squeaky screen door or
A boxcar full of toothless grins
Mister can you spare a dime?

The provider can't provide
But not for lack of trying
Soles wore thin and made of cardboard
Heart wore thin and made of lead
Mister can you spare a dime?

A lover waits through old lace curtains
A Father lies beneath the ground
Old church hymnal is barely breathing
Growling and gnarling sound from within
Mister can you spare a dime?

Hands calloused and legs numb
A thousand miles and a thousand lifetimes ago
I walk in the valley of death
Pride is but a memory
Mister can you spare a dime?

Consuming

Time always makes me long for you
Sweat dripping onto anxious skin
Our pulses merge into a melody
Love consumes me

To lie in your arms once more
Your fingertip painting my cheek
Breaths fall in unison
Love consumes you

Big Mommas House

Down at Big Mommas house in New Orleans
The whiskey was strong and the girls were clean

The dice fully loaded, the cards neatly stacked
The cigars were burning, the parlor was packed

The gentlemen callers were wealthy and loud
The women they paid...sashayed through the crowd

Hour after hour, they'd go off in pairs
Giggling and flirting while climbing the stairs

Cindy

I cried for Cindy today
I cried for the mother in us all, that wants to hold her and comfort her

I cried for her not being able to hug her Casey, while I am still able to hold mine

I cried for her humongous loss that I know permeates every cell of her body

I cried for her dignity and her fragility

I cried for her because she makes me proud

Would I be able to endure such a loss and still carry on?

I hope so...and because of her, all women can stand a bit taller.

Home On The Water

Heron flies

on auburn skies

misty water calling me home

Magnolias blooming

bullfrogs crooning

misty water calling me home

Georgia heat

cool barefeet

misty water calling me home

Tuesdays for Catfish

Tuesdays for catfish at the BBQ

To fill our bellies & catch up on news

Wednesdays the banks close at noon

To pick cotton in the lily white fields

Thursdays the livestock auction

To replenish the farm & harbor menfolk

Fridays the juke joints sell moonshine

A banjo is plunkin down the holler

Saturdays the melon is sliced at the lake

To feed the smiling children

Sundays the churches are bustling

To renew our faith and flaunt our millinery prowess

Mondays we start over again

Fall 1892

When she sat to stitch, she was happy
Her wicker basket overflowing with bits of Lancaster blue and double pinks
Mustard, indigo, cheddar and muslin
Tiny bits of fabric sewn together to make a beautiful blanket

She does her quilting by her mothers cut glass oil lamp
Chats by the fireside carding wool and planning weddings
Picking seeds out of the cotton
Sorting through a trunk full of crisp linens

Pickles and jellies are all put up, so theres more time to sew
Hours and hours of holding the shiny needle
Humming to herself, rocking in her chair
Creating a cloth of love...an heirloom

Ether Town

There was a time in Ether Town,
When all the skies were rolling brown.
Smokestack plumes with big red stripes.
Poison, hatred in the pipes.

Not a whisper, not a prayer.
They had conceded. Doom, despair.
Disease and plague had taken most.
They'd all become a walking host.

So when the last one finally died,
No funeral, No tears to cry...
Nature came and moved back in.
This is her house, she always wins.

The Girdle

I've checked the size more than once
And I swear I've got this right...
But no matter how I pull & tug
My girdle's just too tight!

The salesman swore that I would be
A hit at any dinner
But if I can't stretch this out an inch
I'm not getting any thinner!

It fits up to a certain point
And then my legs give out
I fall upon the floor.. and then
I squirm & twist & shout!

I paid a good steak dinner
For this spandex horror show
I'm putting on my sweatpants
Cause this girdle's got to go!

Solitary

When thin white branches spring forth with green
And mighty Oaks create a screen
Her windows she can now leave bare
Slide off her gown, let down her hair
No neighbors peeking round the pane
In solitude she is again

Marie Laveau

As I watch the madness unfold, my mind tries wrapping around...

City of water and coastline of pain. Big ripples on a little pond.

They're Suffering!

They're Dying!

They're there!!

Right there!!

Don't you see them??

We can see them!!

They're there!

Let the heroes in!! Let them save the day!!!

The ones that escaped early or the ones who got away...

Slowly they're coming back.

Proud soldiers in a parade of suffering.

No trumpets blow, no mummers low.

God rest your soul Marie Laveau.

First Evening Home

For Emma Faye

June 28th, 2007~

On tender bough you lay your head
Each new breath crystallized in sugar
A blanket of angel wings will keep you warm
Enveloped in maternal awe and divine love

Attics

We assume that life is long & lingering.

Years upon years..smiles upon smiles.

Walking into sunsets...attics full of memories.

Silver in our hair.

But life is a light switch. At 2 or 102. The switch can be flipped off at any time. On any day. At any minute.

Sometimes the switch is held back, by an unseen hand.

And lights continue to flicker & shine bright.

Life goes on.

And family sits around a table, through a window in the glow.

....and things are in the attic.

Fallujah

The destruction of Fallujah is coming

Ancient city walls will fall

Leaving crying mothers to wail for their children

Thousands of years of history will be reduced to rubble

Because a lone Texan has decided it shall be so

Lets just destroy ALL of our history

Lets smash the Great Wall of China

Lets burn the great Black Forests of Germany

Lets stop Victoria Falls from flowing

Lets flood Venice all together

Lets fall the mighty Redwoods

Lets just start over

Its only history

Fairy Tales

Shattered glass and petals
The roses have fallen to the floor
What once was love and beauty
Has gone the way of nevermore

She tries to gain composure
Dabs a tissue to her eyes
She says goodbye to fairy tales
Until her cheeks are dry

To princesses and wedding veils
A little girl again
Just spin me round and round the room
Until my breath grows thin

Grandma's Apron

The strings were tied, it was freshly washed, and maybe even pressed.

For Grandma, it was everyday to choose one when she dressed.

The simple apron that it was, you would never think about;

the things she used it for, that made it look worn out.

She may have used it to hold some wildflowers that she'd found.

Or to hide a crying child's face when a stranger came around.

Imagine all the little tears that were wiped with just that cloth.

Or it became a potholder to serve some chicken broth.

She probably carried kindling to stoke the kitchen fire.

To hold a load of laundry, or to wipe the clothesline wire.

When canning all her vegetables, it was used to wipe her brow.

You never know, she might have used it to shoo flies from the cow.

She might have carried eggs in from the chicken coop outside.

Whatever chore she used it for, she did them all with pride.

When Grandma went to heaven, God said she now could rest.

I'm sure the apron that she chose, was her Sunday best.

Crazy Man

The hair on his face is wiry and gray
The lines on his brow are deep
He wanders through the streets all night
He doesn't get much sleep

Whenever he tries to close his eyes
He's right back in that place
The helicopters, body bags
Commander of the base

His head is filled with cluttered thoughts
He tries to keep it clear
The whiskey helps to dull the pain
The screaming in his ear

It seems as if a million years
Have come and gone away
Since innocence and purity
Were the order of the day

He left his home, he left his girl
The government made him go
Saigon was whispering his name he says
But little did he know...

The things he saw, the things he did
In some foreign land
The little boy that we all loved
Came back a crazy man

Home Movies

Oh take me back to my younger days
So I can show you how I was raised
Get out the movies and pull up a chair
In no time at all, you'll feel like you're there

Glitchy and scratchy and grainy and fast
The movies are old, I think they won't last
So settle on in now, the popcorn is waiting
Here are the answers to what you've been hating

Here is my mother, vulnerable but strong
Her cheekbones are high, her hair dark & long
Her eyes shaped like almonds, a beauty for sure
A voice like an angel, a heart that is pure

Here is my father, a selfish addiction
No honor, no valor, no manly conviction
An average sized man with striking brown locks
Dressed to the nines, sly as a fox

She gave me honesty, humor, her smile
He gave me fear, distrust and denial
She gave me love and comforting things
He gave me trembling and words that would sting

So here they are, your explanations
Of why I'm the cause of your frustrations
My anger is not my fault... you see
I'm just a product of my family tree

The End

Sometimes people leave us.

So we remember they were here.

So we can analyze.

And criticize.

And finalize.

And eulogize.

Rubys Dressing Table

Lace handkerchief and silver comb

A glass hatpin, some fine cologne

Dusting powder, looking glass

Rococo pin tray made of brass

War heroes bride, mother of four

Healer of wounds, keeper of lore

Matriarch, patriot, dutiful wife

In front of the mirror, reflecting on life

Macintosh

Cool dewy morning
Apple orchard misty
Ripe for picking
Sweet crunchy delight

Warm sunny kitchen
Pie crust baking
Iced milk waiting
Children smile eager

Tinkle of forks
Clatter the plates
Moans of delight
Mother's quiet love

Love was strong, but the price was better

She bends away from the hot sun
Cracked fingers
.....................sweaty bosom

........................................aching back
Bags of cotton stretch on forever
Remembers a child snatched from her arms
Love was strong, but the price was better

She strains to read by candlelight
In the beginning

.....................God made heaven and Earth
........................................................and it was good
Thoughts of learning stretch on forever
Shackles and chains can't keep her from it
Love was strong, but the price was better

She keeps stories of the motherland in her heart
Of Kings and Queens
...........................fields of green
..........................................brave warriors facing the beast
Feelings of pride stretch on forever
Grandfathers conch shells held tenderly in her hands
Love was strong, but the price was better

The Hollywood

Slate gray skies, bare trees and sharp winds

The old yellow brick tavern smells of peanuts on the floor and stale beer

Echoes of laughter make their way through the years

Men gather to trade war stories, and fishing tales, and argue who to vote for

Anything to validate their addiction and lend comradery

Behind the bottles, in the mirror, there they are looking back

Sons of Slovaks and Germans... Italians, Greeks and Irish

A Pennsylvania blend of mill workers and farmers and carpenters and bakers

The old wooden phone booth in the corner holds all of the lies told to wives and girlfriends

Round glass windows yearn for deco sunshine

Nickel Mines

In a Pennsylvania pasture, on a blue sky kind of day

The devil came to Nickel Mines, and took the girls away

The tender tiny darlings, in their bonnets and white gowns

The most innocent of innocence, now buried in the ground

The elders grieved, the mothers cried, the fathers held their breath

How could they have predicted, the killings and the death

Forgiveness came in the same gasp, as did their grief and pain

The Amish know their God is near, they'll see them all again

In a Pennsylvania pasture, on a blue sky kind of day

The devil came to Nickel Mines, and took the girls away

Frannys Day Will Come

Franny takes the wash out, and hangs it on the line.
Factories in the background but her lungs are doing fine.
Stares up at a bright blue sky she knew another day.
Hanging sheets & pillowcases, bleach takes out the clay.

Sinatra on the radio and money in a jar,
One day she's going to Hollywood so she can be a star.
Momma thinks that she should stay and Dad says she can go.
But Daddy had a lot to drink, his words they come out slow.

The war is nearly over & the men are coming back.
Franny wants to see the shore, her bag's already packed.
So every day the laundry comes & she will scrub them clean.
Put her nickles in the jar, so she can live her dream.