Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Don’t Tell Me*

Don’t tell me love’s forever
And don’t promise love says Never.
We both know that’s not true
No matter what you do.

How I wanted her to stay
For more than just a day.
Her skin was smooth as silk
And pale and pure as milk.

She was my dream, my hope, my lover
And she sheltered beneath my cover.
I gave her everything…
When I held her she would sing.

Sing, oh sing to me
Touch me, set me free.
Sing, please sing to me
Touch me, set me free.

But by morning she was gone
And left me with this song.
Don’t tell me love’s forever.
And don’t promise love says Never.

Sing, oh sing to me
Touch me, set me free.
Sing, please sing to me
Touch me, set me free.

* I can write a song....but I have zero musical ability. I've long hoped to meet a musician with whom to partner. Sigh...maybe someday!

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Intended For Glory

I have seen the claw of the bear.
I have heard the coo of the dove.
I know the voice of the turtle
And the doe and fawn’s tender love.

I have watched the twinkling stars.
I have amazed at cities bright lights.
I know the Grand Canyon's depths
And the curve of the earth’s lofty heights.

I have read the beauty of poets.
I have wept at the symphony’s song.
I know the wisdom of scholars
And the power of right over wrong.

I have marveled at the breath of a baby.
I have cheered at the comfort of friends.
I know the way of men with maidens
And am gladdened that nothing has end.

There are no periods, but commas
In life’s amazing, developing story.
It is not a tale told by fools
But is intended love and for glory!

Tuesday, March 17, 2015

The Fulness of Time

There are moments
When the wail of winds
Perfectly match
The wail of widows
Of sirens
Of screaming discord.

There are times
When the hush of breezes
Perfectly match
The shush of nursing mothers
Of stirring grasses
Of falling leaves.

There are seasons
When the wayward heart
Cries for joy
Weeps at loss
Is silent and withdrawn
Or racing in anticipation.

We are the sum of our dreams
Minus the dread of our fears
Multiplied by the length of our years
Divided by the number of our passions.

The moments
Seasons and times of life
Press the heart into
A universe of desire
A cosmos of care
A warehouse of hope
A sea of sorrow.

The ages
Gather around us
The way the womb
Gathers the infant
For the approaching advent.

We await the fulness of time.

Sunday, March 15, 2015

Reflections of an Aging Man*

Oh, to be naive again
To get me back to the garden!
Just to be fresh and free again
Before I needed a pardon.

Oh, to be free again
To be placed in a world without sin!
Just to be free to be me again
Empowered and strong deep within.

Oh, to be happy again
To know where new life may begin!
Just to be wise in the truth again
Knowing the beginning and end.

Oh, to be young again
To be vital and free in my skin!
Just to breathe deeply again
And know life is something to win.

* I am not an old man. But I can see old age from where I now stand! At least, it makes me think, and that provokes a few emotions. There are surely more thoughts than I've included here, but this is a fair beginning.

Tuesday, March 10, 2015

All We May Hope

Have the blade
Of shrapnel
Twisting in the trajectory
Of rage
Shattering bone
Rending flesh, tendon and muscle.

Have the grace
Of lovers
In twisted sheets
Glistening in sweat
Pledging devotion
Binding the union
Of passion.

Have the precision
Of pyramids
Improbably rising
From desert floors
Bright and audacious
Against shimmering skies
The tattoos of eternity.

Are bullet and nails
Silken scarfs and burlap
Candle light and flare
Are promise and deceit
Flesh and steel
Saliva and oil.

Move kingdoms
Inter kings
Celebrate and mourn
Are the skeleton and scaffold
Of all we are
Everything we do
And all we may hope.

Monday, March 9, 2015

Carefree Highway (Gordon Lightfoot)

Occasionally a song will loop through my brain. It may loop a few hours, or a few days. It may drive me crazy (if it's silly), or charm me (if it's emotional. The older I get the more emotional I'm becoming). No doubt you've had the same experience. Clearly, there are deeply rooted reasons this happens. Gordon Lightfoot has been my mental guest for some time. Presently, Carefree Highway is the "vehicle" racing through my brain. Sometimes I blog another's lyric, simply because it seems so perfect. This is one of those times. Who knows? Maybe my Monarch is somewhere on the same highway. I like to think so.

Picking up the pieces of my sweet shattered dream
I wonder how the old folks are tonight.
Her name was Anne and I'll be damned if I recall her face.*
She left me not knowing what to do.

Carefree highway, let me slip away on you.
Carefree highway, you seen better days.
The morning after blues from my head down to my shoes.
Carefree highway, let me slip away, slip away on you.

Turning back the pages to the times I love best
I wonder if she'll ever do the same?
Now the thing that I call living is just being satisfied
With knowing I got no one left to blame.

Carefree highway, I got to see you my old flame.
Carefree highway, you seen better days.
The morning after blues from my head down to my shoes.
Carefree highway, let me slip away, slip away on you.

Searching through the fragments of my dream shattered sleep
I wonder if the years have closed her mind.
I guess it must be wanderlust or trying to get free
From the good old faithful feeling we once knew.

Carefree highway, let me slip away on you.
Carefree highway, you seen better days.
The morning after blues from my head down to my shoes.
Carefree highway, let me slip away, slip away on you
Let me slip away on you
Carefree highway, I got to see you my old flame.
Carefree highway, you seen better days.
The morning after blues from my head down to my shoes.
Carefree highway, let me slip away, slip away on you.

* But I do recall her face. Oh, yes...I do,

Saturday, March 7, 2015

Nothing Better to Do

I was eleven years old.
The product of
Arkansas cotton
Detroit steel
And a culture of indolence.

The television screen
Flickered with grey and silver
Images of blacks and whites
Struggling on a bridge
In Selma, Alabama.

More of a massacre
Than a struggle
As peaceful marchers were shown
Beaten senseless and bloody
Bodies broken
Cattle prodded and cut.

I asked dad what was happening.

This is the man to whom
I presented a Confederate flag
Twenty years later.
Dad was the grandson
Of a Confederate soldier
But he folded away the cloth
Saying it was an “Enemy Flag.”
But when I asked him
What was happening that day
Live, on the screen
He said
It doesn’t matter.
Just a buncha folks
Got nothing better to do.

Fifty years later
A buncha folks
Got nothing better to do

Are assembled on
The Edmund Pettus Bridge
In Selma, Alabama
To memorialize a people
That marched in peace
On Bloody Sunday
To determine their place
In a nation colored by the pallet
Of freedom
Sealed in the patina of their own blood.

May we all have nothing better to do.

Tuesday, March 3, 2015

What Came Before

There is no shadow
But that cast by light.
There is no dreaming
But framed by night.

There is no peace
But that defined by war.
There is no future
But from what came before.

There is no courage
Without what was lost.
There is no gaining
But at great cost.

Cows Blink

Sickeningly sweet steam
Spewing from my car's grill
Stained the mild spring morning.
I navigated to the shoulder
Of the county asphalt highway
Bracketed by wide farmlands
Freshly tilled and planted.

One moment
I was singing along
With the Eagles.
The next I was invoking
The god
Of burst radiator hoses.

Oh, this was not good.

I tied a rag to my antennae
Left the hood raised
And began my long trek
To the next small Missouri Ville.

I was afoot in a massive
Universe of
Discarded beer cans
Broken whiskey bottles
Fast food containers
And tens of thousands
Of cigarette butts.

I even saw a discarded
I mean….

I wondered if there was
A part number I needed
From the burst hose.
I would need a screw driver, too
For the new hose fasteners.
And water.

The soles of my shoes
Made sucking sounds
On the tar in the asphalt.

The fast food remnants
Made me realize
I was hungry.

Dragon Flies hovered
Above cow ponds
And Bottle Flies
Provoked both the cows
And me.

Not a single vehicle
Came to my rescue
Although I counted
Three Chevys
Seven Fords
One Mini Cooper
And an uncertain make
Of hay hauler
Whose driver flipped me the bird
In response to my outstretched thumb.

So, I talked to God.
How is it
I queried
That you can do anything?
Nothing is impossible
With you

I affirmed.
That being true
Why is it that the skies will not
Rain radiator hoses?

I did learn one thing, however
In my seemingly endless trek…

Cows blink.

Monday, March 2, 2015

The Sweet Stuff

He rocked back on his heels
As though the words I spoke
Had physical force.

I knew if I stopped speaking
He would marshal his wits
And offer a response.

I fired a second broadside
Encouraging him to go home
And act like a man.

But…he said.

I turned away
Refusing to entertain any reason
That may argue his case.

Man up!
I said
As I left him in front of the
All Day ~ All Nite Currency Exchange.

I never saw the man again.

If the ending were mine to write
It would be one of
Living happily ever after.
But I only wrote one page
In a drama of many chapters.

Glancing over my shoulder
I saw the man
Head down
Wiping his eyes
Shaking his head.

Maybe I was wrong?
Too harsh?
Should I have given him
A shoulder to cry on?

To me, the danger is
Over-thinking a matter.
I usually do what my gut
Tells me.

At that moment
My gut wanted a piece of apple pie
And a cup of coffee.

You can't get pie and coffee at
The All Day ~ All Nite Currency Exchange.
A man's gotta go home
For the sweet stuff.