And More Rain Comes Down

We’ve stopped watching the news
All they say is that more rain is coming
But I knew because of the heavy winter snows
And if the rains came all at once
We’d see the river roar outside its banks
The river is running fast and angry
Swallowing all of our fields and streets
Taking back what we had stolen
My great-great grandfather had escaped the trail of tears
And became European to settle this land
But he secretly kept the spirit of the people
And it’s been handed down to me as I have
Passed it along to my sons and daughters
Spring planting will be late this year
The river doesn’t bring riches to our fields anymore
Just mud that hardens like cement in the sun
We spent last night sandbagging the river bank
And I heard someone’s dog go by yelping at the dark
I moved as much as I could upstairs
Our second floor is groaning over the amount of stuff
That we have
And hope to keep
The wife is worn with worry
Over more than her great-grandmother’s porcelain
But we’re the lucky ones
Charlie’s house was taken
It sat on a bluff that the river ate away and then
His house fell into the muddy waters
The state guard would have been here to help
But no one is left here in our state
They’re all over there, fighting
Just another administration killing others on a path of tears
I’m tired and this is the last flood that I’ll battle
What’s left will be left – time to move to higher ground

Touching the Stone

Two spirits hearing the same distant plaintive train’s whistle
Feeling captured in amber
Words are sometimes without meanings
Spoken as light as air and with the same consequences
Whispered in that mindless wind that won’t settle
Circling each other with the majestry of love-sick cobras
One move life
The other death
You leave me an emotional puddle
Curled up on the floor
Weeping dry tears because there is no more moisture
Switch
Focus
The dirty bedraggled unkempt poet still in the clothes he’s worn for months
Mutters at his clubfoot as he crosses in the middle of the busy street
Carrying all of his belongings in plastic bag
Over his shoulder
The tin cans rattle as he limps away creating their own song to the heavens
And her words hung on the edge of his ears, whispering
“You were probably good looking once”
Switch
Focus
He reaches out to touch her shoulder
And hopes her skin doesn’t tighten and her back curl away, this time
He pictures rubbing lotion on her burnt back
To comfort her for her lack of discretion flying too long near the sun
He knows what he is not and that he can never be that bright light
She holds nature above nurture
And follows the sight line of the horizon
As clouds spill over the edge of the world
Switch
Focus
An elderly couple sit on the park bench
Sharing the sound of the song coming from the children at play
On the swings
Back and forth
Giggles reaching for high squeals
From joy to easily forgotten terror
Theirs is a shared smile
The contentment of his hand on her shoulder
Teenagers holding hands never realize how important that can be later
In life

Beyond

Beyond language, learning, science, and knowledge
I feel your existence, uncomplaining
Incorporeal
Taking me to where I know that I can’t walk
Riding vapors, updrafts of drafts
No mortised joint holds anything
I’d cry at this beauty, but its reach exceeds tears
Breath is so bright it burns
But there is no flesh for it to sear
As I look out of old eyes
You lead me back in and out of time
There is no metered measure
So there is no beginning or end
Beyond speech, we nod in agreement
As I bow to the power of no words
No concealment or congealment
Floating past the boundaries that would have been placed
On these thoughts or movements
We dance upon the tips of grass in summer
Before the dew forms in morning
Forming and reforming with wisps of clouds in the
Afternoon
I lose myself in the formation of your thoughts
Hearing the music that comes from your unblinking eyes
A rose bloom waits on a song you might sing
You return me to what was myself and won’t be again

Ode to the Chocolat Cookie

Tasty siren calling to my heart and soul
Peeking peaks of rich dark gooey chocolat
Melting in a warm brown confection of delight
I place a piece on my tongue and press it to the roof
Of my mouth
I do not chew it, but let it dissolve
Enjoying the sweet sugars, buttery flavors, and
Slight bite of the semi-sweet chocolat
I take my time and each piece is its own reward
Satisfying like
A summer night at the ball game
The giggles of your child at the sight of a caterpillar
The smile in the eyes of your lover
And then the last piece
Not lamented because it’s gone
But celebrated because it was there at all
Those moments added to a life well spent
Ah, so much in the conviction of a confection

On Poetics (part 1) – the poem

Spinning atoms around atoms in the first black darkness
Swirling about the dark matter of gravity
Creating universes
Until there is the denseness of the spark of light
And time
Unseen atoms to molecules to the majesty of surroundings
Fired in heat and pressure until carbon and quartz
Become mountains reaching upwards
A chunk broken off of the Mountain of Poetry
Hurling into the flow of time
Sinking,
Waiting,
Flowing waters sent from the crying sky
And weeping mountain snows
Wandering their way, creating mystic canyons cut through the sandstone
The poetry chunk using the water’s flow to hone its sharp edges
Smoothing out the language of the spark of star-stuff
The quartz flakes grab the light and shine up through
Defused muddy H2O
Using the time’s seasons to work its way up from the depths
Each cycle of time, flood to drought to flood to drought
And on and on
Moving a millimeter per cycle, up
Slowly creeping to the river’s edge and poking a smoothed, honed
Head out of the water towards sun and shine of time
The rock became a gemstone
A definition of time and existence
Working its way to wait and dry to be found
And shine in someone’s hand
It’s taken eons to work its way towards the shore
From the depths of what once was solid and hidden
Ah, but wait...
They’ve flooded the canyon to wash silt down river
The stone is picked up by the unrelenting white-water rush
Weight and worth slams it to bottom
It will need to spend the next eons of ebb and flow
And attempt to work its way back to the light and edge
Until found and seen
But, here’s the question – who or what will understand
What it offers... its unique explanation of beginnings and eternity
Or will they just see another wet rock?

come Sailing

Come sail the azure sea with me
Feel the pull of the pulsing waves
The whisper of the breeze singing softly
Tasting the salt from the spray as we knife
Through the water
Seeing past the curve of the horizon
Skin warmed and shining in the Caribbean sun
Gleaming under the night sky’s swirling stars
Barefoot wet flaps as we run around
The small deck like children chasing dreams
Laughing
Sitting after dinner, chatting about what we read
As the day grew long, becalmed
Bobbing in the ocean like the last Cheerio in the bowl
Holding fast, lashed to the mast using a short rope
Wet in raingear as the summer storms beat the bow
Wave after wave
And after years of tacking back and forth
Laughing into the wind and crying to the lee
And keeping those storms at bay
With our hands callused from the ropes
Twining our lives to one purpose
Your smile that holds the blazing heat
Tilting our heads together over the tiller
We’ll pull in port
And say what a ride it was
Please don’t say no

Love In Masonic Time

Theirs was a family of masons
There is no mystery of the square and trowel
Just its practice
Somewhere back in history
A great-grandfather to the tenth power
Fit one rock on top of another and the family building trade
Began
His dad was a block layer who could hold four blocks
In one hand
A huge man who saw life in black and white
Mortar and block
He started out as a brick layer who now built brick facades
For luxury apartments
Wondering how the world is moving at the speed of light
The level line was his measure and mean
His daughter is an architect designing eco-tech high rises
Using pre-formed Chicago concrete materials
Understanding stresses that he could no longer comprehend
His brother was a crane operator who use to swing the ball
And now runs a demolition team
Bringing down in a single blast what it took men at one time
Years to construct
His son owns a green materials company
Using methods that didn’t exist when he was born
Layer by layer, craft on craft
Coral build on the layers of the living to sustain life
Continually building on the past
Sustaining a life in motion for existence
Reaching ever up and adapting to increasing light and warmth
Understanding the golden mean without ever knowing a
Square or level line
Parent to child with love and mastery of the trade
Building on the past without setting the crushed stone for the base pour
Will topple the structure

Dream In Prime Numbers #351

A body at rest tends to stay so
One in motion goes until it runs out of energy
It runs into another object
Or it dies
The sun sat on the horizon as if it couldn’t take
It’s eye off of the site below it
Burning and tinting just
The edges of the high wisps of clouds
Melting away the layer of smoke and sweat
The field was littered with men,
Dead, dying, or wounded
There were no victors, no parades, no songs of conquest
I heard the sound of moans from the dying
And the cries of those they left behind
I held your sagging and baggy, craggy face in my hands
And could not wipe away the sardonic silent sadness
From your eyes
What was passing as my friend
Was hanging with the sun, holding onto that last
Instant of light before the dusk
But there was a small smile on his lips
Welling up from somewhere from your broken body
Whispering the joy that you once were
Could there be laughter again?
Having played the fool so long to the brave
It’s hard to have a joke puff out of my mouth
However, I know that you would want to hear
One last silly collection of words
Making fun of meaning and language