Monday, December 24, 2007

A Light

Snow fell like the whispers in the back of the room
When she entered
Accumulating
Susan would just dig out again and wait for the warmth
Of the daylight to melt it all away
Music danced down the street
And couldn’t even be silenced by the cold winter’s wind
It was Thursday and his night
He could have his two malts and enjoy the tunes
A good song was like a good draft
Enjoyed while listening/drinking
But left around too long it would go flat
His thoughts were interrupted by the unlined young voices next to him
A low rumble about something Susan had done
She was a friend of his
Friends are better than diamonds
Diamond worth is artificially controlled by just a few
Friends are like the beauty of the night sky
Owned by all
Starshine was a gift
The TV was blaring a news item
A cheetah was found by a farmer just on the other side of his fence
It wasn’t dead on the face of Kilamenjaro
Just a lifeless fur coat tangled up in wire in the dust
The smooth browed environmentalists were up in arms about the loss
Of habitat
They were picketing the farmer for encroachment
A body lay dead in an alley
It didn’t even have a fur coat
A shopkeeper complained about the smell
No one knew its name
But shoppers had seen a homeless person hanging on the corner
Just days before
No one picketed the alley
As he left the bar the first few snow flakes began to fall
He felt the cold uniqueness of each flake hit his face
An individual flake is lost in the crowd that falls
And either melts on contact or is smashed together with the rest
Susan waited for the phone call that wouldn’t come
She stared blankly out of her window
Doing the dishes
Disconnected
A slow smile crept over her face
The stars made the sky not so dark

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Point of Reference

Some painted turtles danced a slow jitterbug
While the bright noon sun was high in the sky
The reticent fish looked on from the shallows
Where the reeds grew thick
A train headed for Chicago clanked quickly past
Knowing that there was another train heading its
Way
No one was watching as the tree silently fell
A single thought does not stand on its own
It follows on a line as does one point to the next
The couple on the blanket in the field did not see any of this
Only each other’s company
As they ate their sandwiches and drank the tea
Languid eyes meeting their opposite pair
Creatures in the high summer grasses looked on
In anticipation
There would be crumbs left over
A gentle brush of hands reaching for the same glass
Shy smiles shared
Tumbling thoughts of what might be
Futures twining like the vines in woods on a single tree
Each reaching for moments beyond this one
Skin warmed from both sides
The light of day matching the glow from within
Thoughts danced like the painted turtles
Doing a tango on the floating logs

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Sand and Tide

Early morning soft sea breeze smiles over the salt marshes
I taste it
You’re still wrapped in the sheet, asleep
On your side pointing to the north
Like some present still hidden beneath conscientiousness
Shallow slumber breaths
That last light dream before awakening
I feel your warmth
The sky is just beginning to lighten
From the darkness of night
I hear the waves gently kissing the sand
As sounds start to drift into the open window
The whine of another day
That large machinery is not yet in gear
There is still time
Somewhere outside someone is calling a name
I see your eyes flutter awake
Not yet aware of what’s outside of your last thoughts
Good mornings are yet to come

Friday, December 14, 2007

John's Corner

My face is getting warm
The sun has come over the building behind me
I should take off one of my coats
“Good morning.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“Oh well, maybe someone will give you some
“God still loves you and that’s more important.”
“Whatever.”
I will put my coat in my box, it’s a sturdy seat
“Good day John.”
“Oh hello there, how are you this really good day?”
“Well John, we’re having a little trouble at work.”
“I find that if you just know there are flowers, it all is ok.”
“That’s a nice thought, John, thank you.”

Everyone is a son or daughter or sister or brother or father or mother
I didn’t even know that Mom’s dad was alive
She never spoke of him
Then I found out he’s the old man on the corner by the library
I ride the bus downtown and take him a sandwich
When I can

“Thank you young lady; I bet that your folks are proud of you.”
I had children once and they were my delight
But they are gone somewhere
I’ll save some of this for later
I will put this somewhere where I’ll remember
Oh, here’s some from before

Can you believe that he’s my father and he lives in a box
He hangs around on that corner and talks to people
What if people find out that he’s related
I don’t know how mother put up with him for so long
She was glad when he drifted off
He should have gotten better help; I bet he didn’t want it

Sun’s almost in my face, I should put on my hat
“Hello there, how are you?”
“It’s suppose to rain John; better get indoors.”
“Oh it’s sunny now, I’ll work it out later; but thanks for your concern.”
I have some plastic in my box for that, I think
It’s in here somewhere
“Hi John.”
“Hello there; I have a coin for you I found.”
“John, you should keep your money.”
“No, I just thought of this coin and you said hello so it must be yours.”

I’ve watched him chat up people on the street
He’s kind and gentle but lost under that great gob of gray streaked hair
There’s no yesterday or tomorrow
Just whatever moment he’s in
Someone should take him to a shelter

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Embers

The sun’s path is low over the horizon
Summer’s memory is as faded as light at the end of day
Sky’s blue has gone to blue-gray
A single cumulus cloud still shift changes with imagination
And what sun’s light there is belongs to all
“Another suicide bomber blew-up a five foot hole in front ...”
The news reader’s hair is perfect, it doesn’t move
She’s describing the bomb’s crater
Human suffering is too much to tell
“In other news, he walked into the mall and began shooting...”
He stares straight into the camera, smiling
He tells about the number of shots
But nothing concerning the number shot
“The ice storm caused electricity outages all along...”
The map showed counties but not faces of the cold
Cries, wailing, screams, were louder than the sounds of flames
Black smoke from bodies and buildings raced to cover the summer
Sky
Villages, stone buildings, towns, cities,
Elderly, youngsters, men, women, children, heaped or single
Litter the ground
Through the ages
Stones, clubs, knives, spears, arrows, lances, swords, bullets, bombs
Hand-to-hand, bombing runs, or long-range missiles
The sky is dark with fear
I was there, in a village, when the dream was shot with an arrow,
Saw it stabbed and another poisoned in a town,
Watched it cut with a sword on a field,
I was there at the shots in Memphis,
And in California
It was critically wounded and hid
But it has not died
Laying dormant, waiting to arise like a phoenix
Sunlight belongs to all of us
Bathing faces in its warm glow
When the clouds part

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

So Much More

It was so much more than a silent night
Voices raised to the joy in the world
Each register reaching notes on high
Pure human sounds transcending emotions
Tones stirring visions of angles on the wing
Many voices becoming and sustaining a single sound
A warm hand in a warm hand
Fingers entwined, a double helix of life
Sideways glances catching/sharing ocular light
Waves of sight and sound washing, cleansing souls
Sharing the air of breaths
What was carried in was sitting on benches
Worn shiny by decades of shifting bodies
But what is carried out in deep pockets
Of understanding
Makes all the difference
Each step away from the building
Echoing from the canyons of glass and steel

Saturday, December 8, 2007

How Can This Be A Christmas Song?

Rita

She stared at the phone in her hand
What her sister told her could not be true
She had her ticket to visit him
Hadn’t she just spoken to him two days ago
The phone held no answer
She was the youngest but always his favorite
She had only been away this first year
After taking the new job out of college
It was a good position writing copy
For a the local newspaper in Alabama
Now she would have to spend more time
With her sisters and her mother
It would be a hard visit
Merry Christmas


Penelope

Suzie was there looking at old photos
It didn’t help, but it was better than the funeral home
He always said he didn’t care so she didn’t understand
The fuss
She wished that he would have waited
Until after the holidays
This was not like him to call attention to himself
He was the dad, always there, but no one remembered him
Silently sitting on the bleachers watching the kids
He even made her fall tennis matches
Walking up, sitting by himself
Encouraging her later
She knew that Rita was his favorite, but ...
“More coffee, Suzie?”


Suzie

She hated being the oldest and having to always be
Responsible
She would deal with his papers
And if there was any will
She was sure that mother already had everything
His affairs were always scattered, at best
The call to Rita was the hardest
Telling Penny was difficult, but at least she had the old photos
He was always smiling or laughing
Always seeming so happy
He called her his little serious miss
The tears would come later, maybe
Why now is all everyone said
He seemed to be doing so well
No one knew what had happened, if it was anything that did
Rita had just kept catching her breath
There must have been something she missed
She should have known
And now she would have Rita at her house for the entire
Visit

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

White Light

I open my eyes, the sky thick with stars
Light started on its way before there was
The rain had stopped at sunset
The history of our fire is just glowing embers
I’m warm and dry for the first time in days
Shaking off the last of deep sleep and dreams
I walk towards the stream for fresh water
Coffee would be nice
I feel a breeze behind me
The sounds from far away drifting among the trees
Light so bright it makes the space between my cells
Translucent
White light, not the yellow-red light of our sun
But the bright white from a growing exploding giant
Brilliant
There is no dark matter existing among the molecules
I have become totally engulfed joining what was me
Into what is it
The light is through me, in me, and from me
All at the same moment
Time is gone and meaningless
There is no distinction between
There is no definition, just
And then it’s gone
I’m not sure if it lasted a second or days
I look at my hands
I look at the line draw from the stream to the trees
Bend and cup my hands and take a deep drink
From the cool waters
The light from the stars are fading as the sky lightens
For day