Posts for June 14, 2015

Poem 14, June 14

Walmart parking lot

When you park,

I get out and tow

a shopping cart

away from your Rogue

& shove it into the corral.

“I do that, too…” you say. “All

the time! Not to be in vogue,

or make someone think my heart

is big. No… No…”

You make my life a question mark.

“I’ll meet you inside the store,”

I tell you. I begin to run toward you,

but I’m halted by thoughts of: how beautiful

feminine form is, a straight back,

a gait as effortless as a doe…”

I feel myself riding the flow

of so many possibilities as I  track

through the mud of creativeness, a mutable

poet with nothing to do

but create images that soar

eagle like, seeking unsuspecting lines.

your hair in firelight
                        He feels her heart beating.
                        The pulse of her breathing
                        flows across his chest.
seizes at my wanting heart
                        Her body settles into sleep
                        like a child into dreams
                        as he holds her in his arms.
as if eyes and throat
                        He loves to look at her, love her.
                        Mid-night thunder grumbles
                        as it stalks away unwanted.

Jogging the greenway
head down
I bump from behind
a woman
with a shepherd:
“sorry”
“hey you, watch it”
My sidelong glance of
her leotard shape
hair a field of timothy
eyes color of dry earth
slight smile simmering
  in the heat that radiates
  from my old exertions

In the straight stretch
on my way back, we pass
on the wooden bridge
over Crooked Creek and
pause for canine admiration
local weather predictions
the condition of her fridge
Barely able
to leave the small space
of our separation 
I fight the pull
of calf and thigh
i fight the unintended
collision

                                    Jim Lally
                                    (6/1/15)

                                        The Deer

Early morning frozen
in the high grass
ears on high alert
would bolt
with a change of scent
in the breeze.

I freeze
as she does
each mesmerized
by the other.

Mama always said
Sundays is church days

dreamed I was
a butterfly at midnight
enchanted

by the glittering dark
like ancient Chuang Tzu
wondering what was real

in that famous
dream Chuang Tzu became
confused

did the butterfly also dream
she was Chuang Tzu?

if I dream
I’m a butterfly

at midnight
will I forget that once
I couldn’t fly?

am I the butterfly
or just a midnight dreamer
identity lost

in glamorous flight?
close my eyes and wonder

In this vale of tears we must take what we’re sent
Feathery, leathery, lovely, or bent.

From Pish, Posh, Said Hieronymus Bosch I wipe the mold—
a book to read to my grandkids when I am old.

What made up Vivian Maier’s secret life?
200 boxes of photos show no sign of her strife.

Which part was closer to her heart—
discovering her subjects or surveying her art?

We plan our days and reduce them to lists
while deciding what long term care plan is best.

We pass a simple marker on the Overlook Trail—
a modest plaque for a cat on a humble scale.

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear,
does it disappear, with no one to hold it dear?

Let’s bring sorting and tagging to an end
and instead go out and have fun with a friend.