Affliction

The stars tonight
Are impossibly distant
Like pin pricks of alarm.

Even the moon appears
Bleached and sterile.
The universe is lifeless tonight.

But this is affliction.

Jags of apprehension
Weigh upon me.
Through these lenses
Life is not warm
Attractive and seductive.

I have learned measures
Of survival.
I tuck my head
Not looking to the stars
That on other occasions
Charm me
With kind pleasure.

Tonight I bridle my horizons
And bundle
In the familiar.

I quiet myself
Restrain discourse and company.
I content myself
With rudimentary pleasures.
Tender breath
Delights
On nights of burden.

The stars must keep their counsel
And I will keep mine.

There will be better nights
Once I loose my horizons
To gather the light
I now lock tight.

Chalky

The moon rose
Last night
A pale orange
Above fields
Corduroyed
By harvest
The barren
Earth
Then turned under
By plow.

I watched the blemished orb rise
Seemingly smaller
And chalky
As it slowly climbed
For altitude.

Leaning against cold brick
I thought how I’d become
More distant
Chalky
In her memory.

I swallowed a pain pill
Waiting for its warmth
And artificial sense
Of well-being
To settle me
Center me
In the moment I was in
Giving my pain
To the night.

Before long
All the time
I was with her
Grew increasingly remote
Chalky
And I began to see my life
As fields, harvested
Turned by the plow
Waiting for a season
Of planting
When winter is done.

There Comes a Time

There comes a time
When the memory of a love
Is no longer as strong
Or alluring.

A time
When the color
Of a lover’s eyes
Fade in their gleam.

A time
When a lover’s hair
Is neither as fragrant
Or shimmering.

A time
When a lover’s kiss
Is no longer remembered
For its fire and sizzle.

A time
When a lover’s body
Is no longer remembered
For its mysteries and pleasures.

But when that may happen
My dear, I cannot know.
Because time has failed to dilute
The memory of you.

A Bright Dawn

Were the past something
I could sever
Or remove
As a threadbare coat
I would.

But the past is never past.
Indeed
The past is ever present.

I remain attached
To the most painful
The most toxic part
Of my inner being.

So I war with myself
Trying always
And fervently
To not be known
For my most ignoble
Moment.

I bear my guilt
Like a corpse
Lashed to my back.

I speak grandly
Of fidelity
Integrity
Loyalty
But my old man within
Bears testimony
Against me.

Oh, were I able
To distance myself
From myself
I would think this life
Gracious and kind.
But I stand a prisoner
In a universe of prisoners
All talking nobly of freedom
No one
Ever
Having been
Free.

Yet
There may be hope
For the leery and the weary
On a bright dawn
Of a new day
When the truth
Shall set us free.

Night Road

Hours were ours
On that night road
To Atlanta.

You weren’t aware
Of my fascination
With the play of light
Over your face
Like moonwash
Teasing a lake.

Street lamps at crossings
Back lit your hair golden
Railroad signals
Blazed your face scarlet
Starlight whispered
Through wisps
At your temples
While we spoke of things
Low and mighty
Or sang along with
Distant AM signals.

The whole night
I was mapping your face
By the luminous array
Of dashboard lights.

When we finally approached
Sherman’s tinderbox
The east was awakening
To a rosy patina
That dawned first
Across your forehead
Brightening your eyes
Lifting your chin
The way it must
Across the wonder of our home
From the ebony of space.

These years later
I don’t remember why we went
I’ve lost the reason for our going…
But every blush and blaze
Across your sweet face
I remember.

Waiting on the Rain

I’ve been always waiting on the rain.
Clouds thicken
The air grows heavy
Sparking a neural response in my body.

My chest aches
And pain radiates like solar flares
In concussive ripples.
Rain is the detonator
And I await the inevitable sear.

Nobody really knows.
They think me drunk
When I stagger
Like one under a kinder influence.
They think me addled
When my conversation halts on words
Like clothes caught on briars.
They think me profane
When I damn this curse.
They think me poor
When I shrivel within what shell I’ve left.

I await the rain
Whose suffering drenches me
Like an outcast.

But I have always believed it better
To meet heartache head on
As one accustomed to pain
And equal to its misery.

Let go my hand for now.
I am going to greet the rain.

A Man of Contradiction

I’ve been always in the sun
And usually in the rain.
Most days I feel fine
But mostly I’m in pain.

A cane helps me walk
But a good run helps me sleep.
I give the devil his daily due
And God my soul to keep.

I’m an evil, virtuous man
That isn’t worth a damn.
But somewhere deep inside
I’m God's gentle little lamb.

I’ve carved my name deep
On the very gate of hell
Then climbed up high to heaven
To ring the angel’s bell.

I am a foolish, wizened man
And a man of contradiction.
I only tell the truth
Except when I tell fiction.

My story ain’t worth a damn
But surely you should hear it.
I start the tellin' every night
But when I start, I quit.

Every midnight I think
I really should go home
But then I think again
And start once more to roam.

My enemy, I’ll be your friend
And we’ll have fun together
Until the morning dawns
When I’ll be your fair-weather.

It All Depends

Hush, my prideful heart
Be still my troubled soul.
Let the past be past
And let your sorrows go.

You cannot redeem yesterday.
There’s mercy to be had
For the one on his knees
Who releases the bad.

Stand in the light
Come out of the dark
And all that has cut you
And left its cruel mark.

Lay down your shield.
The war is over for you.
It’s time for redemption
And make everything new.

It all begins now
If you will let it be so.
But it all depends on whether
You will let everything go.

The Lion or the Fawn

The angels hold my yesterdays
God holds my tomorrows.
Both look to my security
But I to my sorrow.

Who am I to understand
The workings of my heart?
Who am I to know
Where wrath gets its start?

I’ve become an angry man
Ready for a fight
And less home in high noon
Than in the veil of night.

I’m able with a weapon
Of any caliber or size.
I’ve learned how to keep
The element of surprise.

But tactical training
And strategic skill
Only add to the conflict
Of a man who won’t kill.

I’ve been a target
Most of my life
But I don’t want to use
A gun or a knife.

Do not mistake my reticence
There’s rage deep beneath.
It's secreted within
Like a blade in a sheath.

Please pray for a lion
Who'd rather be a fawn
But refuses to be used
Like the devil’s own pawn.

Thank You!

Dear Readers...
As we soon turn the page on our calendar to November, we must start
to think of our many blessings. I want to jump on that cart early and thank
you for reading my poetry. I never imagined the draw poetry continues to
enjoy among the most thoughtful (and intelligent) readers. You honor
and humble me by your readership. "Thank you" especially to those who leave
comments. They are all read, and serve to grow me both as a writer and a
human being. I will continue to write...because writers shrivel when they
stop doing so. I hope you will continue to read, and come back again, and
again! I know it sounds silly, but I think of this site as a log cabin front
porch, with plenty of rocking chairs, gallons of sweet tea, and the buzz of
cicadas to grace our time together. I hope you feel a bit better, and maybe
a little more thoughtful when you visit. I can't promise my work will be in
the Helen Steiner Rice category...but at least we'll have something to
think about.After all, we're all in this together!
Thanks...James
PS...don't you just love this new "paragraphing" style? My Lit Prof would
kick my butt. But he probably died 30 years ago.