Posts for June 24, 2019 (page 5)

 Four there were, handsome, intelligent
Savvy. When they walked in something
Intangible, an aura, surrounded, ushered
Them to the midst of those much lesser.  

Their destinies seemed etched on the future
Of their class, leaders of men, succeeders.
We watched in wonder as they walked
From our circle of influence, so confident
We were of their tomorrows we smiled.  

The first lost himself in the whirl of high
Pressure days and nights blurred, dazed.
The second victim of cancer’s scourge which
Ignores the hope of its victim’s promise.  

Third young man settled for less than he should.
Restless, much married, frustration filled.
Four? Promise fulfilled, family, fame, with
A humility hidden when with the others.  

Pomp and circumstance come full circle,
We anticipate pomp and ignore circumstance.
Black robes, mortar boards tell half the story
Time only can spin for us the final glance.    

Your scent 
lingers
in the stale summer air

I breathe you in
hold you in my lungs
until my head grows weak

from the weight
of our memories still living
from the breath your presence takes from me still gasping
from my inability to believe

that 
you have
vanished
into 
thin
sweetly scented
air

With the weight of glory on my head
every day I pray for rain
I pray for rain every day
My memories are dim
every day I pray for rain
I pray for rain every day
I rise to meet the morning sun
every day I pray for rain
I pray for rain every day
I rise to fall again
every day I pray for rain
I pray for rain every day
What can wash away my sin?
Every day I pray for rain
What can make me whole again?
I pray for rain every day.

I heard that some young people
are turning off the big networks
and going around Instagram
posing with giant sunflowers.
That’s why you stole it.

I heard that their poems
are easy on the eyes
and light as whipped air;
general, beautiful, stupid.
That’s why you stole it.

I heard their chubby faces
are so full they still squeak,
but, I heard you read Rimbaud.
You know too much.
That’s why you stole it.

You heard they will be stacking rocks,
undrunk and sorry for themselves;
looking back, legless, unholy,
racing to their prior madness.
That’s why you stole it.

You must believe
the writer loves you
that she wants to cup
your face in her hands
and turn the dry twigs
of time into pouches
of loose leaf tea.  

You must believe
the pages are capillaries
the chapters veins
and like fresh rain
you are flowing into
a literary watershed
moving toward a beating
heart, a conclusion
that thumps in your ears.  

Civilizations have crumbled
Nation against nation
and the people starve
Goverments corrupted by the corrupt
and for sale to the highest bidder
Religions destroyed by disciples
and fed to the fearful
Stock market floors
littered in pills and suicides
I myself have been relatively successful
As a child I built a sandcastle
and watched the tide sweep it away
Now I fix my lawnmower
and the grass keeps growing
And the universe keeps expanding
  

(for Steve and Giles)

Watching out the window of the north gable
wind dances across the sorghum fields
individual paths of micro bursts
dance like the buffalo that once roamed those fields. 

Buffalo wallows still remain across the expanse
deep impressions fade with each passing of the plow
wiping away what has already passed from memory.

Preparing a garden bed close to the house
where the location was taboo by tradition
was like peeling back a quilt of time.

The garden raised on that fertile land
produced more than could be put up or give away
while yielding the secrets of the past
yearning to be known.

Remaining remnants were of the finest craftsmanship
leaving a story only told in words of arrowheads
and daily life essentials reborn through the surface
with each summer rain. 

 Forgotten are the stories, names, love, joy and loss
that cannot be articulated in the sculpted stone
never intended to tell their story.

What will be known of our love and loss
when the blanket of time is peeled back
and our unintentional remains yield our story?

After Midnight

Drunk again, 
an all night bender
turned into a buzzed sunrise. 

We watch as the morning wakes
Dawn engulfing the darkness

You arent tired, fire burning in your bloodstream. 
you have another drink, 
and smile when I offer you mine. 

Ready to sleep off the night I say goodbye, 
Stumbling and smiling
I dont regret falling into your drunken abyss.

Nights like these will become some of my fondest memories.

I wonder if parenthood must feel like walking
along the edge of a highway and, having lost
your glasses in a ditch twenty miles back,
it’s nigh impossible to tell the difference
between a stick and a snake.