Scalded Land

Scalded Land

I have been long-spinning
on my axis
losing connection to all the familiar
orientations.

They have renegotiated every syntax
of established speech
until I no longer communicate in all
the natural
definitions and intentions.

the portion of honor
I should have been awarded
has withdrawn
and nobility and distinction
have been replaced
by crass jingoism.

On every corner lurk visions
of ages past.
We step around them with no will
to acknowledge
they once lived and loved
in this space
they have demolished
in favor of a fast food place
and a parking lot.

They neither stand for
nor salute
any banner
save that directing their attention
to the latest something they are convinced
we cannot
must not
do without.

This is not my home.
it is but scalded land
awaiting the pile driver.

Song of James

O, Love

O, Love

Paint me on your heart.
Adorn me with your smile.
Speak gently to me
O, love
That I may know the surety
Of your peace.

I will anoint you with the oil

Of my blessing
That you may know the safety
Of my arms.

Come 
O, love
And join my footsteps
That our path be one
In sunshine
And shadow along this river valley.

Come
O, love
And we shall, together
Feel the heat of summer
And the crisp of winter.

We shall, together

O, love
Raise lambs
And defy wolves.

We shall know the trill of night birds
The speech of the barn owl
And cry of the coyote.

Come
O, love
And lay with me
Beside my fire
And be warmed 
In both the flickering light
And steady beam
Of my passion and industry.

O, love
Come
Taste and see... 
My love is strong
Firm
And fashioned
For you
O, love.



 

the promise

let's just call it even
my lover and my friend.
best just let it go
and it be done and end.

can't be done so easy
she said quick to me.
too much water gone by
so we can't just let it be.

ain't no currency ever made
that'll recompense me to you.
ain't nothin' that i know of
that'll settle it and make do.

i figure i owe you as well
she said to me through tears.
i saw it in her eyes and frame
i saw she had concerns and fears.

i reached out to take her hand
but she pulled it fast away.
can't make it all better
she said, that kinda way.

love is a strange addiction
said i into the empty air.
it first feels good and warm
but ends always in despair.

slowly she nodded and sighed.
i suppose you're exactly right.
so, yeah, let's just let it go 
and let's not end this in a fight.

i nodded and turned around to go.
but she had one further word to say:
i will find you one distant morn'...
and when i do i promise you, you'll pay!

 

Over & Over Again

my 12 year old self sat in the back
of dad's Impala
i on the left, my brother on the right
of the sticky-hot vinyl bench.
looking over my right shoulder
i was amazed at the bright sandy-pink spray
of dust our tires raised
into the hot Arkansas afternoon.

uncle Garlon lived miles 
into the tabletop cotton land
of northeast Arkansas.
the roads were little more dusty trails
than roads.
every mile or so we encountered
a poorly constructed
narrow bridge
spanning a slow creek
or mumbling river.
i never said a word
but i was terrified we'd plummet
through the roughly hewn floor planks
to our deaths, below.

when we arrived, Aunt Zella said
it was much too hot to sit inside
so we sat in the shade of the house's only tree.
in minutes my blue shirt had soaked through
and it seemed nearly impossible to breathe.

strange i never recall leaving Uncle's farm
with its razor-straight rows of beans and cotton.
returning to Grandma's house meant air
streaming through the open windows
with such velocity it was impossible to hear
the music on the local a/m dial.
it was such a relief to find any moving air.
but six decades removed those memories
my brain locks in time are always in the going
and the arriving, never in the leaving.

maybe that's the way we are... 
hard-wired in the anticipation of the arrival
no matter how uncomfortable the climate.
 
we watch the rooster tail plume of dust
lift into the breezeless air...
we cross bridges of dubious construct
to sit in the company of those we love.

my memory treasures those moments
that took effort to visit
but seconds to elapse.

i would do it over
and over again... 

to watch the dust billow and spin away
simply to sit 'neath a shade tree once more
with those who loved me best.
 

what you would die for

all those things that defined me
i've put carefully away.
my badge lies among the clutter
in my bedside table.

my deep blue tunic and pants
with the razor edge crease
is hung in a plastic cover
in the guest bedroom.

my white command level shirts
with the patches on the shoulders
and the silver emblems on the collar
rest in the dark in the back of the closet.

my cover, with its silver oak leaves
hangs from the hat rack 
by the front door
beside my Charlie One Horse hat.

my 9mm pistol rests by my head
in the master bedroom
with its loaded magazine
waiting for me in its leather holster.

i have come apart, for all time, never to reassemble.
when i pass, my kids will snicker
and throw all the parts in plastic trash bags
or save them for Halloween.

but for me, it was the stuff of life
and i gave it everything for more than
twenty years of heart and service.
but it only meant something to me.

strange, don't you agree
that those things you would have died for
all come to nothing, in the end
in the back of a dark, crowded closet? 
 

easy chair dreams

i've learned there are two ways
to sit in an easy chair.
i've experimented with them
so i know.

the first is the sitting posture
of an aggressive young man.
i was one once.

such a man falls into the chair
quickly pushing the seat back into
a recumbent position.
he will stretch his lean muscles
then return the chair to its upright
position. 
his leg muscles will tense 
pushing against the floor.
he will quickly arise and be 
out the door in 14 steps
and won't return anytime soon.

then you have the old man
who easily and slowly
falls into the chair's open arms
the way he used to softly fall into
the arms of a lover
reluctant to ever rise again.

he will fall asleep 
the way he once slept so easily beside
Connie, or Brenda, or Susan
or any other name that's on the lips
he forbid ever utter that name again.

but in that chair
she returns to the sleepy memory
of an old man
who
along with his easy chair dreams
is turning to dust 
with each fond remembrance.  

i dreamt

last night i slept 'neath a Joshua Tree
and dreamt the stars were open to me.
i dreamt i left footprints on the moon
but had to leave there all too soon.

All the same were night and day.
i dreamt i swallowed the Milky Way!
i went to Mars and Saturn too
where i danced on her rings with Lucy Loo.

That Joshua Tree had to be magical
'Cuz nothin' i dreamt was tragical.
i rode a comet to Andromeda and back
and gathered black holes in an 'ol tote sack.

I saw amazing things the Hubble never did
and pushed stars into a can without a lid.
i dreamt and dreamt and dreamt all night
and saw red dwarfs and gas giants fight!

When the sun finally rose in the eastern sky
my Joshua Tree and i had to say goodbye.
but i know where he is, and i'll see him again.
he said i can come from anywhere and any when!

Land Mine Love

Second Deployment

Yours is a land mine love, baby.
On the surface you're pleasant.
Appealing.
Winsome.
An easy-day lover. 

But I have learned your danger.

At any moment
Without signal
Or arbitrary warning
You will detonate
And inflict thousands of BB-sized gashes 
Others the size of grapefruit

Through my trusting flesh.

Days afterward I am still doing triage
On the most bloody wounds
Keeping my distance
Being quiet as you protest
That it's I who make you crazy
And if only...
If only...
If only...
I would not say this or that
Or the other
I would not cause you detonate.

I have run this jungle before
And I swore, if I survived 

I'd never return to this
Valley of the shadow of death.

I am a fool.
I thought a "second deployment"
Would surely be a snap 

Because I've been here before.