Sorry 'bout That...

There appears to be some difficulty with this blog's server (Google). Another reader informed me he, when visiting this site, is being diverted to a variety of shopping pages. I've experienced the same problem. Google has been contacted concerning this matter, and I trust they will have a solution. If you experience the same problem, please leave a comment for me. I would much appreciate knowing. I regret the matter, and want to assure you it isn't originating with anything coming from The Dashboard Poet. Thanks for reading!
~ James

I’ve Seen It*

I’ve seen encounters
The Silver Screen’s
Depiction of lovers
Abandoned to Ethos
The gods of love
And passion.

I’ve seen their bodies
Race to keep up
With their eager hearts
And inventive minds.

I’ve seen their eyes connect
Their senses alert
To the chemistry
Fueling their coming together.

I’ve seen their lips meet
Linger and explore
The magic of midnight
In tangled sheets
Caressing fingers
Cupped behind the neck of one
The ears on the other
And the wordless
Lexicon of love.

I’ve seen the magical matrix of movies
Mingle with the urgency
Of human need.
The end is the beginning
Of Eden
The promise of Heaven.

I’ve seen it all right there
On the silver screen.

Holding my breath
Feeling the pulse beat in my temples…

I want to be kissed like that.


*Let this be my commentary on Shades of Grey. There is a universe of difference between Bonding and Bondage.

Awake

Awake, sleeping buds
And come to life
Dull winter’s blade
And sheath her knife.

Breathe, spring time winds
And sweep the world
Of the bitter ice
That upon her was hurled.

Together with the sun
Fall, clean rains
And deliver the land
From winter pains.

Arise sweet grass
And blazing flowers
Come forth green leaves
On spring time bowers.

Awake, my soul
Renew in me
The joy of life
And set me free!

The Shadow Said

Life is hard.
Death is easy
Said the shadow
In the corner.

Nothing matters anyway
And your finger
Masters the trigger.

But light comes
In the morning
Said I.
It is best to wait
Until then.

Don’t be a fool
The shadow said.
Light is for the timid
And is meaningless
In the end.

The end preoccupies you
Said I.
Can you not speak
Of tomorrow?

Tomorrow is a place
Of sorrow
The shadow said.
Come sleep with me.

Sleep is for the weary
Said I.

Sleep is for the lonely
The shadow said.

Come with me
And I will show you
Mysteries
Fantasies
And wonders beyond
Imagining
The shadow said.

At what cost?
Asked I.

At the cost of life
The shadow said.

I switched on a small lamp
Of low wattage
And was astonished
At how quickly
Shadows flee
At the application
Of the least bit of light.

In A Nanosecond

I asked a question about helicopters
To a man who knew them.
He said he had a buddy
In “The Nam” who was
A door gunner…

Though he had been smiling
His eyes instantly clouded.
He choked a bit.
Tears gathered at the corners
Of his eyes.
Sucking on his lower lip
A timid squeak escaped.
His hands trembled.
He shook his head slowly
Not looking at me.

I felt like shit for asking.
I could not have foreseen this.

I told him it’s alright
That I understood.

But I do not understand.

I know nothing of the life expectancy
Of helicopter door gunners
And even less about losing a friend.

We sat in a cacophony of noise.
In the commerce around us
I was hearing shoppers
And recorded sales announcements.

He was hearing
The roaring pulse of helicopter blades
The chatter of machine guns
The characteristic slow report of AK 47’s
He was smelling smoke
Cordite
Blood.

I was smelling mall coffee
And hearing squawking children
Restrained by mothers.

Death
Apparently
Never departs far from us
And may easily be summoned
Over coffee
In a shopping mall.

Death may return in all
Its coppery soil
Its jagged shrapnel
Its rent flesh
Its vacant gaze
In a nanosecond
Laden with all the brutality
In which it was last encumbered
Half a century ago.

My friend wept silently
While I stirred cream
Into my coffee.

I Do Know

The Aurora Borealis plays
At the top of the earth
As it always had
Long before my birth.

The Hunter reigns
In the midnight sky
And he will continue to reign
Long after I die.

The Seven Sisters shine
Above the seas
With Sirius, Orion
And the Pleiades.

I know little of stars
Much less of the moon
But this I do know…
I must leave this world soon.

Who I Am

I never wore a helmet
And I never carried a rifle
But I am not a man to mess with
To kick around or trifle.

I am not much of a lover
And I lack confidence with girls.
I am not a great romantic
But I’ve given love a whirl.

I don’t know anything of science
And I am not an academic
But I’ve kicked the tires a little bit
Though my efforts were anemic.

I am not very good writer
And I am even less a poet
Though I’ve given prose a shot
But I doubt if my efforts show it.

I am getting older by the day
And I still don’t know who I am.
But it doesn't matter anyway
And you don’t give a damn.

Don't Wake Me

Please don’t wake me in the morning.
Please just let me sleep.
There are dreams I hope to dream
And fantasies to keep.

The morning sun is not my friend.
It’s harsh and terribly rude.
A friend does not act that way
And refrains from being crude.

I’d rather live in a dream-like world.
I can’t abide the glaring day.
I much prefer the darkness
To keep reality away.

So, please don’t wake me in the morning.
Please walk softly from the room.
Keep the drapes and curtains closed
And leave me in my gloom.

All That Matters

Early this morning
I stumbled sleepily
To the window
Peeling aside the blind
To see
If the world were
Still there
Still waiting.

It was.

Unsure
If that were good or bad
I dressed
To go meet the world.
But the world is very old
Somewhat senile
And never remembers my name.

So I remind the world
Of my identity.
But I play games with the world.

One day I am a cop
Bold and blustery.

The next day, a poet
Retiring and quiet.

The following day, a servant
Looking to do good.

Someday soon I am going to tell the world
That I do not remember
My identity.
I will ask its advice.....

Who do you say I am?

And the world will say
Poor boy
It never matters who you are.
All that matters is what you do.

Standing on the Clutch

Broken
Stunted stalks
From autumn’s harvest
Jut a thin snow layer
Giving fields an
Up-close appearance of shaving cream
Covering a
Partial stubble
Of beard.

Winds shear the land
Brutal
In its stewardship
Of sleeping earth.

A congress of crows
Stand at ease
Along utility wires
Surveying the leftovers
Determining
Where to begin.

I stand on the clutch
At the crossing
Impatiently enduring
Creeping coal cars
Clattering their northward travel
Into Sandburg’s
Hog Butcher for the World
Where the only
Slaughter house remaining
Is laden with suits
Briefcases
And cell phones.

All in all
I prefer the
Fields
Crows and
Clutch.

Postmodern Valentine Day*

Happy Valentine Day
She said
Handing him a card
While turning to the dishwasher.

Within the card
Was a line or two
Of verse
Written by an hourly
Hallmark employee
With a latte
A barley muffin
And a journalism degree
From a state university.

He gave her
A grocery store rose
And a cheap card
With a line or two
Of contrived verse
With a stupid cat
On the card's cover.
Then he reached for the remote.

Contemporary Romance
It appears
Is a concept
Best viewed at a distance
Through an unfocused lens
At a minimum of time
And a maximum of tolerance.


*Yeah...I'm a bit jaundiced.

Your Answer

I’ve created this conversation
In my mind
Countless times
With nothing between us
But a table.

I’ve imagined everything:
The way you now wear your hair
Your simple black dress
Your nails
Even the gloss on your lips.

I never know how it begins
So I begin somewhere
In the middle.

I resist asking the one thing
That would expose me
As self-concerned:
Do you ever think of me?

But our conversation never completes.
It just seems to fade.

Maybe our conversation never concludes
Because I know the answer
To my unasked question.

And your answer is the one thing
I don’t really
Want to know.

Dashboard Lights

Dashboard Lights

Her honey hair gleamed
In the dashboard lights
A lascivious smile trembling
Across her face.

“I’m no saint”
She said.
“Don’t think I am.”

Seventeen.
A year of magic
Complete with the class ring
I gave to that lovely
Unsaintly girl
In my dashboard lights.

That ring
Apparently was the ticket
To a variety of thrills.

Seventeen.
A year of foolishness
Complete with false feelings
Rooted and sealed
Glowing bright
In dashboard lights.

The next morning
I found my class ring
Deposited in the pocket
Of my letterman jacket.

I learned to not trust
My wayward emotions
Or
Pretty girls in
Dashboard lights.

Forged Memories*

"I thought I was there
As much as I was anywhere.
I seem to remember it well.

It feels it was so.
I really believe I know.
But, then how does one tell?

I want to be true
In all that I do
That my life be clear as a bell."

Beyond forged memories
It’s down on one’s knees
That a man stands between heaven and hell.


*Brian Williams...are you listening to your public as much as they once listened to you?

Domino

Domino is my pony
And she’s been this way before.

The blaze on her face
And one white sock
On her right rear leg
Mark her flesh.
She is a rich chestnut
And a splendid animal.

Domino is a wind-eater
And a fire-breather

Her shoulders work
Between my thighs.
Her rich, full mane
Flutters
In the morning breeze
Like the white and yellow
Butterflies
Playing above the rolling prairie grasses.

There are places in this terrain
A man and horse
Will dip below the horizon
As if they never were
Only to appear again
As though birthed by the earth.

I listen to the song
Of creaking saddle leather
The cadence of Domino’s hooves
Upon the firm earth
And her occasional deep exhalations .

Domino smells the Powder River
And quickens her pace
Wanting water.
I give her her head
And in moments we are at a
Fast trot.

A quarter mile later
And Domino wants to run.

The land blurs
And I lean into her
Taking up the reins
To just behind her graceful
Sweeping neck.

Domino loves to run.
I tighten my knees
Into her muscle
Becoming one
With this magnificent creature.

And we run!
We fly!

I close my eyes
Laying the side of my head
Against Domino’s neck.

Does she think my thought?
Does her heart beat with mine?
Do her lungs exhale what I inhale?

Yes.
I believe it is so.

Domino’s hooves
Tattoo the earth
And I could run with her
Forever!

The End of Conversation*

What you think wrong is right.
What you hold as true is crazy.
It’s the difference between dark and light.
It’s intellectually lazy.

In fact, I’m aghast at you!
I’m nearly beyond words!
Your beliefs impact everything you do.
Your philosophy stinks like turds.

I think we’re about finished here.
There’s no point in going any further.
We could argue year after year
But it will likely end in your murder!


*Sometimes it's best to walk away from one who will not see truth. There's just so much time to waste before it becomes far too much time you've wasted! Perhaps Hallmark should publish a card with this verse.

Willie

Milky with finality
His eyes
Were weak
But wise with age.

The corners of his mouth
Down-turned
Trembled
As he measured words
I will remember.

In the final stages
Of the cancer
That began as a shadow
My friend is being consumed
Cell by cell.

Sitting regularly
At Willie’s side
I grasp for things
To encourage him
But mostly Willie
Encourages me.

So I sit listening
To his shallow breath
His gentle words.

Soon Willie will go
And I will tuck away the treasure
He leaves for me

How I will miss him.

Anywhere You Are

Storms howl angry in the cities.
Winds moan across the plains.
Storms churn over oceans
But breezes sigh softly in the rains.

The sun broils asphalt in the cities.
It burns the grasses of the plains.
Its rays sparkle on the oceans
But the sun shies away from rains.

Darkness dwells in alleys of the cities.
Midnight settles on the plains.
The dark’s translucent on the oceans
But it falls gently with the rains.

I will seek your pathways in the cities.
I will build you a shelter on the plains.
I will swim to you across oceans
And I will cover you in the rains.

There is no geography to loving.
There is no distance that’s too far.
There is no weather that’s too violent.
I will go anywhere you are.

-------------------------------------------

& <<<------(Monarch Butterfly)

ISIS (An Imprecatory Prayer) *

I have written, on previous occasions, that the headlines sometimes lure me from light verse to respond to wrong using the best weapon I have: Words. If you came to my site looking for something pleasing, perhaps you will find it following this post. I have decided, when appropriate, to comment on current events. When people stay silent, we permit darkness to overwhelm us. The words that follow represent my cry, as a voice in the wilderness. I am nothing but a broken reed. But if I silence the one voice I have, then I grant evil men permission to terrorize me. And perhaps you. If the following words disturb you...I have done my job.
~ James


O, my God
What outrageous
Vile creatures
Man can become
Sinking into the mire
Of perverse imagination
And petulance
Deferring their guilt
As religion.

Killers
Bred and educated
In the dark art of murder
They conceive plots
To chill the planet
With their schemes
Of ingenious
Creative
Numerous ways
To steal life
From exhalation
Proclaiming any name
But Allah.

Forgive them not
O, Lord.
Remember
Their wickedness.
Prosecute their
Evil vanity
Fierce agenda
Reprehensible theology
Condemn them
To the furnace of your anger
And let not the world
Remember again
Their sordid name.
Bring their mothers to wail
And dash their children against stones.
Let their widows wail loudly
And beat their breast
In ceaseless grief.
Remove every vestige
Of their presence
And blow the sands clean
Of their footprints
As though they never walked
Among us.
Let their own dung
Serve as their monument
And let no tounge
Ever again
Pronounce their name.

Let all who are complicit
Be discovered
And let their souls
Be marred in Your zealous
Judgment
In the darkest recesses
Of eternity.

Let it be so
O, my God.


* This imprecatory prayer flows from my wrathful heart upon learning ISIS burned alive the captive Jordanian pilot, then, when dead and charred, encased his death cage in sand and cement. A military response is not enough (but it’s a good beginning). Let a righteous God require the blood drawn by their hand.

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.

The Prairie Prince

He sat the saddle
Like a true prairie prince.
There’s been nothing like him
Not then, nor since.

He carried a Winchester rifle
A Colt .45
And an Arkansas Toothpick
To keep him alive.

A big blue tic hound
Trotted along
But he was his own dog
Not a mutt who belonged.

He packed his bedroll
A blanket and such.
The necessities of life
Never amounted to much.

His occupation was riding
The same as his joy
His horse was his tool
And his tools were toys.

He saw a lot of scenery
Throughout his life.
Never had him a girlfriend
Much less a wife.

He played a little faro
And drank too much shine
Never swallowed beer
And hated all wine.

To him, jerky was supper
And boiled coffee, at least.
His tastes were real simple.
Fried chicken was a feast.

I guess he died in the saddle
But nobody knows.
He just stopped appearing.
That’s how the tale goes.

But he left a tall shadow
And big boots to fill.
It’d take a real man match him.
I doubt anyone will.

Epitaph

Let there be no footnotes
After I die
Explaining the hows, the what-fors
And why.

My life has been simple
With no fuss and feathers
Open to speculation
As to unspoken whethers.

All men may know me
As an uncomplicated man
Who did as he could
Who never shook, ducked or ran.

The men folk will shrug
The ladies will sigh
When the hour finally comes
And bids me to die.

So I expect to go out
The same way I came
And leave to this world
An unblemished name.

“Here lies a man…”
Let my epitaph read
“…Who lived and then died.”
That’s all that you'll need.