The Inhalation of Skies

i am Wind!
i am the inhalation of skies
lungs of terrible draft
and willful fury.

i am Tornado!
i spin with hell's
centrifugal anger
and i will sweep far
your most worthy foundation.
i will lift high and dash your infants
with more ferocity
than Herod
stripping away every
cherished
prize.

i am Hurricane!
i will level your cities
break your levees
and forbid your populace
to return
rebuild
re-begin.

i am Wind.
i am deaf to
cantons of mercy.

when you believe you are safe
build monuments to the slain.

        But
I WILL RETURN!

I am Destroyer Wind.

As an offering for Veteran's Day I submit the following. I wrote it in 2017, memorializing probably the most senseless, most heedless example of foolish and poor leadership, exemplified by Col. Custer. Had I been there, I'd have shot him myself. The number of men butchered by inept officers are legion. God rest them all.  

Custer's Corporal

Well, no man never asked my starch

When we set off on our westward march

And no winsome lass never asked me why

When I set off for to win, or die.

No Cheyenne lance never pierced my skin
So I tried it once, and then again.
I heeled my spur when the Captain yelled "Charge!"
And I was kilt right there, beside my Sarge.

They laid me down and then scalped my hair
Then they left me dead and cold and bare.
But the handsome Colonel, he died there too
And the history they teach you jus' ain't true.

Well, the stories all brag of Custer's glory
But the unvarnished truth is another story.
It was all Lakota on that day
Until they struck tent and rode away.

So, hear me clear, all'a you bold boys
And quit all'a your brave, naive noise.
Every soldier boy that goes to war
Will get what war has in store.

Enjoy your boyhood kickin' rocks 'n cans
And don't rush off to be a man.
War ain't no lark, and it ain't no game.
And if you do come home you won't be the same.

I took six arrows in my side
And a tomahawk split my skull open wide.
Their squaws pierced with needles, my young ears
In hopes in the afterlife I could not hear.

Boys, you may keep your banners and flags.
From where I sit, there's no cause to brag.
I can no more hear that bugle call.
They kilt us one, and they kilt us all.

Just a few feet above my bones
The army set me up a stone.
Now, don't you think that's petty pay
For the dreadful pain I bore that day?

Sorry I've been gone, ya'll. This site got all twisted up on the provider's end. But maybe it's better now. I'll soon find out. I have things I've written that I haven't posted. But maybe things have been cured----or I could not have posted this!

James 🌛

 Sweet Beth Ann

She was my darling.

She was my own.

And this was where the seeds of

Our love was sewn.

On the beaches, along the sea

Is where my lover

Gave herself

Only to me.

I loved her purely.

My love was true

When the blossom

Of our love was new.

But my sweet one

My dear Beth Ann

Gave herself

To another man.

I saw her strolling 

In the fading light

With that wicked villain

Out in plain sight.

He had taken 

Beth Ann from me.

I had a plan

It was clear to see

Many nights I waited

Behind the dune.

Where we loved together

In early June.

But the winds of October

Blew off the coast

And I planned the death of

The one I loved the most.

I shot that wicked 

Evil man

And buried his body

Deep in the sand.

Then I forced my own love

My dear Beth Ann

Taking her roughly

By her gentle hand.

We were waist high

Out in the surf

And declared she would now receive

What her love was worth.

I kissed her harshly

On her traitorous lips

Then kicked her feet from beneath her

Watching her slip.

I held her under 

The angry waves

And fashioned for Beth Ann

A watery grave.

The tide then washed her

Far out to sea

And she was done

Making a fool of me.

Now I'm an old man

Sworn off romance.

I never married.

Never took the chance.

And I don't go

Down to the sea no more.

All I hear is

What she implored.

Please, my darling

Don't take my life.

I always intended

To be your wife.

You shot the reverend 

Writing our sacred vows.

Her death plea numbs me

Down the years, till now.

Dear Readers~~~

Life has been complicated. It appears I am returning to police work, 👮 at the invitation of the Deputy Chief. It will include I prepare and provide some training for those younger than myself, as well as occasionally taking a seat in a patrol car. 🚓 I often remarked that I got out of law enforcement just in time. But when they offered I could not say 'yes!' fast enough. It's a new department, somewhat smaller than my last one, but still a Chicago suburb. I start on October 14, and am ready to roll! 🚨 I'm not leaving here. That's non-negotiable. 🚔

She Said

She Said

You are the breath in my lungs
She said.

Words have power.
They bring reality to hopes
Animation to concepts
And power to life.

Words charm and thrill.

You are the breath in my lungs
She said.

I believed her
Trusted her lovely words.

You are the breath in my lungs
She said.

How could I know
To her
Words were
“take-back-able”
The way children take back words
Play with power
And tease with intentions.

You are the breath in my lungs
She said.

But she took it back
The way Lucy jerks back the football
Just as Charlie Brown runs in for the kick.

You are the breath in my lungs
She said.

Just kidding.

 

Legion

It has been a long while 

Since this pervasive gloom

Has returned to infest

Our national backbone. 

No need to recount the multitude

Of dangers.

They are Legion.

Every evening I sit doing 

Risk Assessment. 

It may not help that recently

In the midst of a sleepy Sunday

Two men attempted to break through

Both my front and back doors

Simultaneously.

It was damn unnerving.

Thundering slams onto 

My locked doors.

Screams from the intruders

Threats from myself.

I was prepared to kill them.

Nothing I've experienced 

Is more sobering than 

Centering your blade site

On center mass

With the intent to forever stop

A beating heart.

Yes.

..the Afghani sun boils the concrete

On the streets and tarmac in Kabul.

Possibly the blood of the Innocents

Will bake into sticky reminders

Of those murdered.

.....

Night breezes stir river grasses

And chills the bodies of the hopeful minions

At our borderless south

Replete with disease and covert terrorists

Not to mention the tens of thousands

Simply searching out a dream.

.....

California is on fire.

.....

West of Nashville, bodies float

Face down 

Over what once were blueline highways.

.....

Where went our sleepy dreams?

The warm embrace of children?

The sparkling midnight eyes of lovers?

Lazy, meandering drives 

Through the heartland?

I know where mine went.

They all dissolved into  

A universe narrowed

By the laser point of my pistol

Centered on the chest of the man

I meant to kill.

The Inhalation of Skies

 

  i am Wind!

i am the inhalation of skies
lungs of terrible draft
and willful fury.

i am Tornado!
i spin with hell's
centrifugal anger
and i will sweep far
your most worthy foundation.
i will lift high and dash your infants
with more ferocity
than Herod
stripping away every
cherished
prize.

i am Hurricane!
i will level your cities
break your levees
and forbid your populace
to return
rebuild
re-begin.

i am Wind.
i am deaf to
cantons of mercy.

when you believe you are safe
build monuments to the slain.

        But
I WILL RETURN!

I am Destroyer Wind.

 Ready for the Lacquer 

The veins in my hands

Are blue-line highways.

The timepiece on my wrist

Will endure

Long after the bones beneath

Lie in gloom and dust.

 

The flag I now salute

Will add stars to its constellation

Long after those I know by heart

Are lost to memory.

 

Those who find my marker

Cannot know my love

For cherry pie

Baseball

Bright red pickup trucks

And dark silken hair cascading

Like waterfalls

Around soft shoulders.

Even if they did

What profit is there to the sleeper

Or the waked?

 

Even now the tree

From which they make my

Future container

May have been cut, planed and sanded

Ready for the lacquer.

 

That is as it should be.

One more trip around the sun

May exact more toll

Than I am prepared to pay.

 

My body has served me well

In its course of years.

It is good to not step a moment

Beyond that which will

Gather me to my fathers.

 

For everything there is a season

And a time to every purpose

Under Heaven.

 

The Plow and the Reaper

Moonlight on the wide prairie

Lightly kissed the perfectly still wheat land.

Preternatural powder

Had fallen as snow.

In the distance farm houses glowed

From within.

Brilliant security lights blazed

Illuminating barns and outbuildings

Like sanctuaries of humanity

In starlit seas.

 

Silent in the midnight sky

A New Corn Moon

Settled in the palms of the Milky Way

Promising the eagerly hoped-for harvest.

 

A chill climbed my back

Spreading into the ladder

Of my ribs and chest

Settling below my sternum.

 

Who am I that this sacred mystery

Should embrace me here?

Neither friend nor lover

Has touched me as did this moment.

 

In the gasp of a spinning atom

I felt, all at once, the wink

Of the Divine.

 

In my body is the promise of generations.

The blend of my planting

With the seed of my sowing

Future eyes will open to this amazing mystery.

 

Other New Corn Moons will illumine children

Grandchildren, and their children

Warming their now un-birthed bodies

Whispering into their yet un-opened ears

The holy secret.

The secret that knows no words

Lives beyond nouns and verbs

Without structure

Yet strong with hope

Widely smiling at both

The coming of the plow

And the gathering of the reaper.

A Note for my faithful few...

I have been resting in  the silence of summer heat, listening to the universe and the cadence of my own heart. Something will bud soon (a belated spring time) and I will return to more purposeful writing. Please wait for me. I believe it will be worth your patience. 

~ James

I'm On This Road*

This road doesn't bend often.

Mostly, it runs straight and true.

Therein lies the problem...

Consistency can be as bad

As it may be good.

Constancy lulls me to sleep

Thinking there are no surprises ahead.

No challenges or dangers.

This is, of course, a lie.

Breakdowns happen on straight roads

As much as on curves.

They occur as certain on level terrain

As mountainous inclines.

Perhaps the help lies in that 

Old Scout adage...

Be Prepared.

But a road that pretends

360 degrees visibility is likely 

More dangerous than any other.

We fall asleep at the wheel.

But I can promise you

With full assurance

That trouble awaits 

Each of us.

Before you damn me

As a negative spirit

Or false prophet

I offer this single truth

In my defense

And I pose it as a question...

Who do you want on your side

The liar who steadily grins 😁

Or the one who prods you

Into wakefulness? 👀

Maybe all is well.

But maybe the bridge is out ahead. 💥

Which friend will help you to

Safely arrive at home? 👌

Heads up, my friend.

(Jesus) ☝

Make wise choices.

(Jesus) 👆

Well considered actions.

(Jesus) 👼

Be careful out there. 💀

Sometimes, the choice you make

Is the last choice you will ever make. 👻

* I do not offer this as a poem, but as a heartfelt caution. These are perilous times. Too many guns. Too many drugs. Too many distractions. Too many lies and false promises. Only the very alert will overcome these tremulous days. I hope you are one of those. But the "herd" is being culled. Stay awake, stay aware, and for God's sake, stay ALIVE! 

 Dear Readers,

I am compiling around 50-60 of my favorite love poems to be assembled in a book of poetry I hope to publish. As I comb through 11 years of entries (and 40 years of writing!) I find I love far fewer than I had hoped. If you find one or two, or so, you like, please tell me which they are by leaving  a comment following this post. I'm "all ears" to discover your selection(s).  I hope somebody...anybody...has some favorites!

~~ James  (My Favorite? RED BALLOON ======>🎈)

Names

Limestone Names

Walking cemetery rows
I read aloud names etched
In limestone.
So many silent sentinels
Standing a century
As a stubborn footnote
To local history.

Names left unsaid for ten decades

Or longer

Unpronounced and forgotten.
So, I speak their names
Into the air.
The syllables and phonics rise
Like prayer
Heard only by God.

I imagine their spirits

Smile in thanks
Happy for so little.

Of course, I am imagining this.
Imagining they hear
That they care
That it was important to them
That the universe missed them
That it feels good to be remembered
Even to the dead.

Some leave flowers.

Some leave flags.
Most just leave.

I leave the vibration of names.

Hush...Be Still

There is a voice

in the wind

so low and distant

it may never be

heard.

most do not listen

being distracted 

by the

drum and scrape of

cities

by the 

lure of 

highways

by the 
distraction of cell phones

and the

seductions and enticements
of life.

the voice does not
address the ear
but the heart.
it is an acquired voice
that is not shy with time
or reluctant to speak
in simple ways
those pompous
lofty hearts
surely miss.

but hush...

be still...

and you will hear the voice...

the small and gentle

voice...

calling... 

calling...

inviting you to join your heart

to the horizon.

to the endless

shimmering 

horizon. 

Master of the Obvious...#85 

The footprints you follow trend upwards and converge at a distant point on the horizon. And therein lies the danger.

 The Thinnest Membrane *

Midnight swallowed time

as I drove through New Mexico.

The vented window hissed 

streaming air

and I imagined

all the sleeping serpents

beneath that cold, full, desert moon.

The radio was nothing but white noise.

Was that my imagination

or was I hearing the muffled thunder

of hundreds 

of pony hooves

just out of sight

wending through caprocks and arroyos? 

Did I just hear the piercing scream

of a cavalry bugle 

and the rattle of breech loaders

sounding like ripping fabric?

Were those ghost riders flashing

in western sheet lightening

a hundred miles distant

among towering thunderheads?

Walden wrote

"Time is the river I go fishing in."

Perhaps the single difference

between the painted war ponies

between the yellow kerchiefed blue jackets and me

is our means of conveyance.

All things being equal

I prefer this empty highway 

and the rumble of my engine.

A thermos of stout

black coffee rests in the floorboard

in front of my passenger seat.

It's time for a roadside pit stop 

some blended bean

and a shake or two of my weary head.

That's when I heard the clear wail

of a wolf

just beyond the headlights 

of my pony car.

Be cautious as you venture

between the panorama of your imagination

and mystic veil of time.

There is the thinnest membrane between yesterday and you.

*From a memorable night trip in April, 1990

 Master of the Obvious...#84

The chief benefit of age is the joy of reviewing memories in the full light of day. 

 Master of the Obvious...#83

"Goodbye" is always prologue to "Hello."

 Master of the Obvious...#82

No matter how beautiful was yesterday, any effort to return to it is just going backward.

Listen to Me

You think you know me
so you shame me into 
being the man

you hope me to become.

You must listen to me
if I may prevail with you
and I pray you'll hear

when I say
you do not know the man 

I truly am.

I am a cloud walker 

and a storm talker.
I walk rutted paths.
I throw myself at mysteries

and sleep in histories.

I am sure of myself

and befuddled.

I know the winding way

and am lost.

You cannot know who I truly am.

I talk in dulcet tones 

And I leave behind
those who shout so loud 
they cannot be heard.

You cannot really know me.

 Master of the Obvious ...#81

Hold onto everything but wisdom lightly.

 Master of the Obvious...#80

As breath is to lungs so is controversy to the wicked.

 Master of the Obvious...#79

Loving a faithless woman is like chopping wood with blistered hands.

 Master of the Obvious...#78

Teaching a fool is like filling an ocean with a spoon. 

Master of the Obvious.....#77

Honor and dignity are always friends.

Desperation

there ain't nothin' here
that's holdin' me.
i could get home anytime
that i wanna be.

i'm tryin' to hold on
for as long as i can.
it means nothin' to you
but i'm makin' my stand.

i just thought you should know.
you've been a friend to me.
but don't hold me too close
i feel so empty.

i'm confused and tired
and a little bit drunk.
like i'm bailin' out a boat
that's already sunk.

so, if you could see your way clear
please let me go.
i've said all there's to say
and you know all you can know.

 Rachel

Your distant black eyes

Gaze at me

Across a century and a half

Disturbing as cannon balls.

They are twin challenges.

Dares.

Orbs of pain

Disappointment and insult.

 

But something more.

Nearly indeterminant.

Yet, it is there

As sure as your furled flag

And your forlorn hope.

 

It calls to me

As though time is the instrument

Of connection.

 

And I see you.

Your raven tresses

Like Spanish Moss

Swept back

Severe

Your part centered and as sharp

As the blade of a sword.

Where there is hurt

There once was happy.

Cinders curl in smoke

Where once was pride.

 

Was the body of a lover

Moldering in a broken

And bruised field?

Was the promise of tomorrow

Interred with bleached bones

And grapeshot?

Was your splendid home

Reduced to char

'Midst the rape of your hallowed soil?

 

Your name is lost to me

But I call you Rachel…

A name of unrequited loss

And unapprehended joy.

The children you may have had

Never knew the warmth of your womb

Or the suckle of your breast.

Your prince never knew the heat

Of your midnight embrace.

The anticipated pleasure

Of sunset of years

Were beyond your grasp.

You have followed me

Since first I saw you

As surely as an army traces

The lay of the land.

You camp nightly

Beyond the ridge of detachment

Your tents lit by the fires

Of ethereal need.

I am not a haunted man.

I never believed in spirits

Until you gazed at me

Across the chasm of melted years.

Closed Doors 

Morrison droned Riders on the Storm

from the cabinet stereo.

She was closer than dark on Saturday night.

I could not tell you who was president

the size of the engine in my Detroit muscle

or to what college I had applied.

She was up my sinuses and below my buckle.

Never had a girl suggested the things she promised.

I was a boy with his head in the noose

and his feet dancing in midnight air.

Riders on the Storm. 

Into this house we're born. 

Into this world we're thrown.

Despite my teenage bravado 

and my dad's English Leather

I was clueless how to proceed.

No matter.

She knew precisely.

Like a dog without a bone

or actor out on loan...

She did not need to reach for me.

There was no space between us.

Her stereo had a little green light

and that emerald glow was all

the go signal I required.

Riders on the storm.

Driving home that night

I kept the radio off

and all my windows down

hoping the September wind

would cleanse my soul

and calm my pulse.

It did not.

Girl...take him by the hand

make him understand

the world on you depends.

Our life will never end. 

Gotta love your man.

Ninety minutes in that little green orb

taught me to obey red lights

for the rest of my life.

Riders on the storm.

Master of the Obvious.....#76

If you cannot determine a man's value by the caliber of his soul, hispedigree will tell you nothing.

Master of the Obvious....#75

 If a friend, always underestimate a man. If an enemy, always overestimate him.  

American Soldiers

Soldiers were in my town today.

I heard their cadenced feet.

It seemed an embarrassed mass I saw.

Their faces red with heat.

Soldiers slept in our Capitol tonight.

Legs splayed across marble floors.

They turned within their restless dreams

in the soft light from chamber doors. 

Soldiers were at the walls today

long guns with loaded magazines.

Each warrior questioned his response

to any likely scene.

Soldiers faced another night

this time, sleeping in a frozen garage.

Talking heads all smirking said

it beat an artillery barrage.

Soldiers will all soon board their jets

and they will, to their far homes, fly.

May American soldiers never come here again

prepared to kill or die.