the mercury rider

 well, if you really want to know

i'll try my best to explain.

you ARE the payload.
they place you, none too gently
into the space no bigger than
a phone booth.

you sit there
waiting for 'Go to Launch.'

if a flock of damn geese stir
from those marshlands
they stand down the count indefinitely.

you're laying flat on your back
looking through this tiny view port.
Couldn't call it a windscreen.

then, eventually it's a "Go.'

to me, it's not as dramatic as it must seem.
you see, you're busy working all kinds of data.
no time to think about it.

avionics, telemetry information
and communication to downrange operators
takes all your concentration.

then they light the candle!

it looks like a slow lift off on television
but inside that tiny capsule it's like
a mighty kick in the ass!

the entire craft vibrates like a horse with a wasp up it's rear!
it bucks and snorts
tosses one way
then another
and you are
pressed
flat
by
G's.

you weigh a zillion pounds
and all you can do is keep talking to Control
so they know your brain still works.

and up.....up......UP you go
until that triangle viewing port turns a strange blue/black
like you're in the bluest ocean, and you swim over an under-water shelf
and it's the blackest of black......

and suddenly all the G forces are cut off, like you didn't pay your bill
and you're free in your restraints! you could float if you un-belted...

....so you do.
you do.

oh, god
you do.

my old man

 He was my old man, but I never referred to him that way out loud.

All my years under his roof I never disrespected him.
He was, still is, my hero.

My old man wore old, broken-down boots, busting sod as the son of a share cropper in North East Arkansas. He was taken out of school in 6th grade, to follow a mule with a plow. But he was the wisest, most intelligent man I ever knew.

Six days a week, sunrise till long past sunset, my old man
pulled on his worn, brown leather boots, ice and snow or scorching sun
my old man hung on the sides of houses, fitting, jamming, installing.

Before i came along, my old man pulled on combat boots for the 2nd Armored Division, pounding from North Africa to Sicily, Normandy, France, Belgium and Germany. It was miraculous he survived, but my old man always did.

I have no idea how many pairs of boots he wore out, but the new ones
always looked exactly like the old ones.

I never thought my old man would die, but he did. His body simply gave out. I guess you are allotted a set number of boots, and time's up.

When he died we spoke to the mortician. "Don't put his shoes on him," we asked. "We believe he deserves to take them off awhile."

I think my old man would've liked that.

photo prompt #1---21 lines for a new poem for A Father's Shoes Contest, by James Woods6 (in tribute to (Cpl.) HL Woods, my dad, my old man.) © 13 hours ago      

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the hungry kid

 the kid looked like he'd never eaten.

he sat in the door of that hootch
scratching a stick into the dirt.

he might have been any kid, back home.
hunger is an awful thing.

it gnaws your guts
they say

and then there's no gnawing
no ache or pain

just grim acknowledgment
you will die.

i wonder where on this continuum the kid is?

his mama-san
briefly appears behind the kid.
maybe handing him a chunk of bread.

he looks at me and smiles
almost shyly.

i have a chocolate bar, and gesture the kid over.
he will love this!

hands behind his back, he trots over
extending a hand to me......

and he's holding
a grenade.

the specimen

 my heart had been reduced to cinder.

i thought i was cherished by her.'
she cheated.
often.
so, when she left
i was determined to conduct
a little experiment.

i built a kiln to precision standards.
i fueled it
i fired it
i stoked the furious inferno
to white hot...

....and then i poured in more fuel
and the combustion was mighty and angry!

then i took my skewer
crafted of heat resistant material...

...and i opened the freezer, reached inside
and grabbed my specimen...

...a squirming, very much alive subject
capable of experiencing much pain...

...and i thrust my skewer deep into
LOVE.

it hung there, writhing, trying to escape the skewer...

...but i slowly, carefully, deliberately
plunged LOVE into my kiln.

then i went to bed.

the next morning i went to see what (if anything) remained of
LOVE.

i slid the kiln door open....but there was no LOVE...
just as i thought.

i returned to my lonely room.

....and there was LOVE waiting for me.
and she spoke to me.
She said....

"I am at my best pierced and placed in fiery trials."

it seems all that time, LOVE was testing me.

the midnight train

 the crossing caught me

at midnight
on the empty two lane
great red warning bulbs
flashing
in the still air.

shoving the gear shift into park
i shut the engine down
and, windows open
i fastened onto the rhythm
of the train.

shuka SHUKA shuka
SHUKA shuka

from deep southern illinois
coal cars lumbered
laden
to light chicago
to run its workhorse factories
to fuel its ovens
and blaze its highways
streets and alleys.

shuka SHUKA shuka
SHUKA shuka

expansive fields of grain
yawned to my left and right
their aroma
heavy and sweet.

my thoughts traced
decades distant
to the arkansas
cotton belt line
three miles
from my bed
lulling me to sleep
its great horn tumbling
back to my little boy ears.

shuka SHUKA shuka
SHUKA shuka

a midnight train
assumes the duty
of not simply transporting coal
but memories as well.

when it finally passed

shuka SHUKA shuka
SHUKA shuka

and the gates rose
the red flashers resigned
to midnight blackness
i sat a moment in the
space between yesterdays
and tomorrows
and absorbed the comfort
of the fading...

shuka SHUKA shuka
SHUKA shuka

...midnight train.

Whether it's an electric toy train around a Christmas tree, or thousands of tons coal train...they all move freely through my heart and mind. Once upon a time, I worked for the Illinois Central...the only thing Abraham Lincoln and I share in our histories.

Somebody! / Everybody! / Somewhere!

 i stay outta the ocean

i avoid every sea
i'm terrified of big fish
---afraid they'll eat me!

if it swims and has sharp teeth
and a taste for people
i'll be somewhere high up
on a water tank or steeple!

there's lotsa fearsome stuff
that'll bite and leave a mark.
to somebody, everybody
somewhere's a shark!

TICK..............Tick...............................tick

 every step is a double transit..................

..............one away from the past and the other toward the future.
both from and toward contain minefields......
leaving the bad can be good...unless you arrive at a brand new bad.
arriving at the good can be good.....unless it becomes bad.
leaving the bad can be bad...if you had stayed it may have become good.
or, perhaps you are fortunate and become one of the extremely rare ones to find your nirvana....the cherished pot of gold (but, trust me, it won't be at the end of a rainbow).
the journey itself may become bad, if you hesitate and become confused
and stray from the path.
absolutely no step we take is a guarantee of well-being.
if you stop, even momentarily, you may never again continue.
perhaps the most intimidating part of the journey is the deepening sense that we seem utterly independent.....this sometimes results in over confidence, ending in tragedy.  why? because we grow increasingly aware of the deafening TICK....Tick....tick of the unseen clock.....leading us...where?
and we have not even begun to consider the condition of the road.

Charge of the Word Smyth

 Scribe me a sonnet, Word Smyth.

Not so saccharine as to cause upset.
Write that it resolve restlessness
upon the breast of contentment.

Fashion it in reasonable meter, Word Smyth.
Give it cadence
like unto the hooves of a horse
sparking upon midnight cobble stone.

Light your words in candle glow, Word Smyth.
Avoid the harsh, brazen sun of noontide.
Turn from the bright glare of industry
and the tawdry illumination of taverns.

Cast your vocabulary to the winds, Word Smyth
that it travel unto my senses
in the linen-breeze of country
scented in lilac and bluebells.

Add to your poetry the whelm of your voice, Word Smyth
undo the bondage of duty
and permit concord
that I may recline in peace tonight.

Ka------Clink

 ka----Clink

dad unconsciously thumbed the top
of his old army Zippo

he wouldn't strike the flint
to spark a tongue of flame...
....he would close the top, then.........

ka----Clink

i lay in my little boy bed
listening to my father
smoke in the dark
one cigarette after another
but always the steady, rhythmic.....

ka----Clink

and he was back in Germany
reassuring himself
his weapon was ready
as he checked
checked
and rechecked the bolt.....

ka----Clink

Cherokee Owl

 i am the owl.

i am Cherokee.
only the cougar
is like unto me.

just as an owl
patrols by night
nobody sees me.
i am stealth. i am quiet.

i will speak truth.
my wisdom will last.
i tell of your future
and the pain of your past.

fools say i "hoot."
but you'll hear my cry.
mark when you hear me
somebody will die.

spreading my wings
i cover the moon
but my greatest secret
is your greatest rune.

i am Cherokee.
i am the owl.
i secret in shadows
when i'm on the prowl.

My Heavenly Visit

colors that defy description

scents no nose ever smelled

creatures of wings and light
absorb the mind
and befuddle my sight.

pearls and gold are common
diamonds and crystal too.
joy fills the air
people from every nation
dancing, singing everywhere.

most amazing to my ears
we all spoke a common tongue
and communicated easily.
peace and love were pervasive.
this perfection was clear to see.

angels served us dinner
but it was not meat we ate.
the taste, most peculiar, was better!
whatever God provided
had a far more amazing flavor.

oh, i nearly forgot to tell you
we all have our own mansions there!
they were each hand-crafted by the Lord.
if you could see yours, you'd say
that was something you couldn't afford.

but it's a free gift, without price!
you can have your family and friends over
any time you want.
there's no need to grill, dine
or pick up the check at a restaurant.

everything you'll ever want is provided.
but i've saved the best for last.
you're perfected there as well!
how do i know, you ask?
if that weren't so....you'd be in hell.