Posts for June 23, 2020 (page 6)

Pouring rain kissed the earth before sunrise
and the crickets’ song celebrated each drop with jubilation.

Swamp’s edge
& grandfather’s chrome
Ray-O-Vac shines ahead
in the humid dark. Deep rippling
of bullfrogs. Smell of duckweed
& water moss. He aims
his three-pronged spear. Hindus say

Shiva’s flesh is whitened
by the pale fragments
of human ashes. That his trident
commands earth, sea
& air. My grandfather feared
the god of the Baptists, never heard
of Shiva, but in the sweltry west

Tennessee night, with his pouch
of Red Man, pint of Jack
& heavy iron spear,
perhaps he felt the power
of destroyer & restorer, maybe
the indwelling. The silver
beam of his flashlight dances

with river shimmer, making his skin
ripple & glow like lightning bolts
in a raincloud. I think of his
left hand, calloused & firm,
steering the motor from behind
& when he reaches the marshy

edge of the frog-filled
water he becomes as exuberant
as a smiling God-drunk saint. He pierces
the bullfrog’s pale yellow belly & rules the world
for an hour or two in the carpet-thick
moss, not yet knowing 
of the hard years to come.

Walking around
palms-up supplicant,
open-mouthed & vulnerabilities
spilling out
coating, like second skin.

They see
armor
say ‘she’s so strong’
‘look how she gleams’

This warrior, bearing weight
wants only shelter
someone to see through the shine
wants
only
surcease.

I expected it to be temporary,
For the feeling to slowly fade away,
However as time passes,
I strangely feel her getting closer,
Yet she’s still so far away,
So distant,
I find myself longing for that beautiful mind,
For that perfect and radiant personality,
I find that as time passes,
My love has never faltered,
I long for days past,
For futures never explored,
I long for her flaws,
Her comfort,
She may be gone,
She may have moved on,
But our memories together remained,
And my love for her remains unchanged

Lemon yellow folded
wings to dip and coast like a wave
paths of purposed flight.

As darkness spreads
and wind tumbles through,
I peel my eyes open
despite fear of the unknown.

Knocked off my balance
and I come crashing down
into my grandpas
favorite bush. I remember
the day we planted it:
him delicately placing each root
in the ground
and me stomping all over them.

Still lying among the bush
with wind forcing me
in deeper
I bat my eyes to be met
with his face.
Noticing every detail—

the over baked color of his skin,
crystal green eyes, and perfect artificial
teeth. I know as soon as I
blink the wind will crash through again

rearranging the leaves
and taking him back with it.

Maybe a ghost haunts the dean’s office

Pine Mountain Cemetery XXIII
             The Magnolia

Climb with me to the mountain top,
Breathe in clean, cold air, rest your eyes.
There is a timelessness here to feel.

Just beyond we can see tips of stones
With tales they tell. Tip toe in, they never
Care, or if they do they refuse to say.

There are other facts to hear today,
Let’s listen to the boulder tell why
It is here so far away from its like.

That Magnolia there growing so fine,
How did that seed fly so far from
Stately lawns from deep down south.

Right behind that outcrop’s shade
If I’m not wrong there will be a Jack.
Never more than one, I guess to

Keep mother from hauling it off
To fill her wildflower bed. Nature
Has a way of thwarting man’s intent.

Look close at this rock, see the shell?
Now where on this mountain did this
Rock find and keep this fish’s coat?

This hill has much to tell if we will listen,
Secrets sought by those who care are here
In more abundance than one life can know.

Plants to heal, plants for sleep, plants
To make our faces rosy. Trees with
Tales of fire, flood and ravages of man.

Here, let’s sit down, this tiny bloom needs
A friend. I don’t know its name, we will
Look it up when we get home, drink

Some tea and remember all we saw
Today high up here on this special
Hill with secrets yet to tell and all those
stones and stones and stones.

In the midst of my darkness, she told me I was made of honey & glass
She admired the way that my mind and body were not strangers to the sun
In her darkness, she believed herself to be the night. 
She felt that she brought her darkness upon herself
It’s not her fault that she’s so fucking sad
She’s the moon. 
The darkness that caresses her only forces her to be the brightest thing in sight
I’m simply honey and glass. 
In my darkness, it’s her light that holds me until the sun can shine again.