Sunday, February 26, 2017

I Wish I'd Said That #8.....

How like a serpent's tooth is a thankless child.

~~ Shakespeare, in King Lear

Friday, February 24, 2017

Over You*

There’s a lesson here to learn
For the man who can discern
And don’t intend to burn:

Oh, I gotta tell you boys
Don’t be playin’ with her toys
Or listenin’ to her noise.

No matter what they say
They’ll always make you pay
And  you’re a dead man anyway.

I’m fixin’ to tell you true
That’s what women do
Once they set their eye on you.


If you wanna save your life
Don’t take a singer for your wife
Or they’ll be singin’ lamentations
Over you.

If you wanna save your life
Don’t take a barmaid for your wife
Or they’ll be liftin’ a whiskey
Over you.

If you wanna save your life
Don’t take a salesgirl for your wife
Or they’ll be figuring up a talley
Over you.

If you wanna save your life
Don’t take a cowgirl for your wife
Or they’ll be kickin’ a bronc up
Over you.

Oh, listen to me men
And I’ll tell you once again
If you wanna save your life
Don’t take no sweet thing for you wife
Or they’ll be planting a gravestone
Over you!

*You know I'm just kidding. Maybe. (I have been married a couple times, and I'm just doing my bit to light the path).

Thursday, February 23, 2017

The Plow*

It was just a fallow field
Home to mice and crow.
What it could become
Nobody seemed to know.

The field froze every winter
It lay scorched by summer suns
Untouched for many seasons
It beckoned a tiller come.

Then clods were broken up
The soil cut wide and deep
And the field began to wake
From a hundred years of sleep.

Seeds were sewn in rows
And rains birthed wondrous life
Once the field was planted
After yielding to the knife.

So like fields are we.
Our soil must be turned.
The pain of plowing hurts
But the seed of life is earned.

It’s amazing how glory comes
No one knows why or how
But increase comes in bushels
When miracles follow the plow.

*In tribute to A.W. Tozer; a man who yielded his life to the plow.

Just Another Dog

I heard the wailing of a weary soul.
It had a pleading that I couldn’t know.
But it was just another dog in the wind
And I reckon I’ll never see him again.

She was a little girl by the side of the road.
I could tell by looking she carried a heavy load.
But she was just another dog in the wind
And I reckon I’ll never see her again.

I saw a boy that walked every street in town.
He never looked up and always looked down.
But he was just another dog in the wind
And I reckon I’ll never see him again.

She was a woman with a certain look in her eyes
And I was taken by her smile and her lies.
But she was just another dog in the wind
And I reckon I’ll never see her again.

I saw my face in the mirror, haggard and lost.
That’s the price that I paid, it’s the cost.
But I’m just another dog in the wind
And I reckon you'll never see me again.


We sat in the gazebo
On the city square
Rain falling
In an all-day
But we were oblivious
Each charmed by the company
Of the other.

Passersby hurried
With umbrellas
Or newspapers
Lifted above their heads.

The pooling rain
Erupted into tiny geysers.

We spoke of family
Dreams of the future
Hopes for the present
All falling between us
Pooling and erupting
Like rain
Time passing
Like pedestrians
Fleeing the mizzle.

Sequestered by the weather
Nobody willing or wanting
To share the space we occupied
The hours passed
Until the day’s color
Faded to monochrome
With the early setting
Of the autumn sun
Beyond the thickening clouds.

Nothing came of the dreams
Like the rain
Running down gutters
Into streams
Toward rivers
To the sea.

Rains fall
Days fade
Rivers run
And dreams flee.

But memories pool.

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

Coffee Kiss

Your coffee kiss steams my mouth
Burns my throat
Warms my belly.
I swallow you
Feel you extend to

An awakening flow
You slosh my loins
Splash my chest
Sigh from my throat

Finely ground
And flavored
To my taste.

Sunday, February 19, 2017

Red Balloon

Trying to remember the curve
Of your lips
The graceful shell of your ears
Blush of sun on your cheeks
All I could envision was
An invention of my imagination:
The ascent of a red balloon
Rising against the china blue
Of an April morning.

Eyes shut hard
I persisted
Firm in the belief
That I could recall every detail of your body
Freckles and moles
The hollow at the base of your throat
Grace of your breasts
Swell of your thighs
Flat plain of your stomach
Abundance of auburn hair
Cascading around your gentle shoulders.

But, all I could see
On the screen of my mind
Was the red balloon
Darting, diving
Regaining altitude in persistent departure
Moment by moment further from me.

On it climbed
Until, as brilliant punctuation
In the sky of that beautiful spring morning
The pressure from within exceeded that from without
And it was gone.

What I needed of you was falling
In bits of twisting
Red pieces.

And I came to understand that some things
Are past retrieving.

I try to gather you with words
Structuring nouns and daubing verbs
But it is futile.

The more of you I gather
The less of you I have.

The pressure from within
Exceeded that from without
And you were gone.

Sweet Wood

Chips and bits of lumber
Tumbled through the afternoon sun
Gold and gleaming pine dust
Fragrance the air
As dad ripped lumber
For the next day’s work
The saw blade spinning and screaming
The tortured complaint
Painful to my ears.

Strange that memory falls upon me
As I watch you spin away
The bits and chips of what
I knew as love
Flying and falling
Through the morning air
My soul screaming
Words slashing
And sore.

I carry
The marriage
Of those memories
Like pictures in a wallet
The union of dad at his saw
And you turning like the blade
Shredding and tearing
The sweet woody pulp
At my core.

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

The Thundering Dark

Two o’clock in the morning
Thunder rattles the panes
Vibrating bottles of perfume and cologne
Loosely arranged on the dresser.

My eyes fix on a point
Deep in the night.
Her presence flavors the room
Steady breathing at my side
Her right leg thrown across my thigh
Pinning me to the sheets.

My mind is already at my desk
Making mental notes
Of tasks needing completion
Calls to make
Files to close.
But she’s so distracting
All the pleasures of the flesh
The joy of the shaking night.

Just a nudge would wake her
The trace of a fingertip across her throat
Kiss upon her chin
A promise waiting the welcome.

In the kitchen my cup waits.
Hot, strong coffee will steam
In just four hours
When I will miss the sleep
That eludes me now
With her leg
Thrown over me
So inviting
In the thundering dark.

I Wish I'd Said That #7...

If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe.

~~ Carl Sagan