Voice in the Wind

 

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.
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. 

Fathers and Sons

Every single day
since I was a kid
dad would saddle up
to go out and do what he did.

Somehow I knew
in my little kid brain
that everything he did
was a daily strain.

Dad grew old
like all of us do
and then it came my turn
to do my part, too.

We buried dad
in twenty, double ought zero
and we put him in the ground.
To me, a natural-born hero. 

Now I know what tired is.
I'm older than dad when he quit 
and it's my son's turn
to take the hit.

But things are backward
than when I was a kid
'cuz sons no longer honor
what their fathers did. 

I'll rise and greet the dawn 
and I'll pay for my meal.
I'll do so without complaint
no matter how I feel.

But if I'm gonna rest well
I gotta figure out a way.
So I'll sit here on my front porch
and keep the wolves at bay.

In the Lonely Hours

Things long gone return in the lonely hours
to afflict the soul with its tortured powers:

the warming of cold saddle leather
creaking in chill autumnal weather...

the embracing hush of soft, sweet arms
in nights of grace and mystic charms...

the silent fall of Sierra Madre snow
that only men of peace may know...

a child's playful laugh and baby patters
is all that time needs or truly matters...

the rush of wind sifting past my ears
still follows me down the winding years...

the gentle whispers at loving's end
less than a lover but more than a friend...

the heavy cadence and beat of a drum...
laying it down for our company's thrum 

the whine of the wind through the rigging's masts
as our cutter slices the seas as the hours passed...

Arkansas' mourning doves with their plaintive cry
marking the seconds as the hours fly...

a woman's gasp in the night as the candles flicker
she whispers my name, my heart beats quicker...

the metallic slide of the Springfield's bolt
jams my shoulder like lightening's jolt...

the fear I taste; a most bitter pill
removes the thrill I imagined at my first kill...

before the verse is complete, as the dark ink dries
every memory returns and the poet cries...

as fire eases in the hearth and the shadows dim
I'm back in 'Nam, in the paddy with Jim...

all these snapshots of my life, so bitter and sweet
combine to freeze the soul, or to flame its heat.

Some October

Wandering the ancient graveyard

I was a soul seeking flesh
albeit moldering.
Names faint as spirits
pled for mortal tongue 
to voice the forgotten syllables
without which they perish.

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF ALISON 
WIFE TO SEBASTIAN KOCH
AGED 27 YEARS 3 MONTHS 2 WEEKS 4 DAYS
DIED SEPTEMBER 6 1864
'
I feel Alison's grateful smile.
Limestone markers tilt at odd angles
many hopelessly illegible.
Others are broken off
leaving the impression of broken teeth.
No cheer in this half acre
only the suggestion of unremembered lives
tangled among the roots of
wildwood and sour apple trees.
I whisper names into the bracing autumn wind
hoping to offer temporary balm
to ethereal want.
Some October, years hence
perhaps a kind pilgrim will step
within my half acre home
and gift to my bones
the gentle voicing of my name
and within the soil of  my sleep
I will smile, too.

Master of the Obvious...#72

Never turn your back on a who always smiles.

Master of the Obvious...#71

Writing is the process of opening a vein and bleeding ink.

Through much bramble

Through much bramble

With these hands 
I have caressed you. 
With these ears
I have heard you.
With this body
I have joined you.

With all I have
I offer you...

...the breath
from my lungs
and the swift
from my feet

...the speech
from my tongue
and the kiss
from my lips.

...the strength
from my loins
and the knowledge
from my mind.

Our souls have we twined
and we are, this day
and forever one.

Our path winds 
through much bramble
through leaden skies
and wind swept days.
But our fires burn
in the veil of night
yellow orange 
and hot.

Tonight, lay with me
and tomorrow lace your boots
and walk with me
on the blade between
night and day
between the seen and unseen
between have and have not
between peace and conflict
between molten and ice.

Here we stand.
Take my hand. 
Wear my band
and accompany me
into this good land.

Master of the Obvious ....#70

If you can write without pain in your chest, you ain't writing.

Master of the Obvious...#69

When a dog growls at you, he's probably telling you all the truth you require.

Master of the Obvious....#68

Never chase a mad dog down a blind ally.