Time Machine
A classic refreshing coke
At the cinema
Breakfast club on the big screen
Cigarettes in a parking lot
The star watching above
Laughter fills the air
A disposable captures the moment
A classic refreshing coke
At the cinema
Breakfast club on the big screen
Cigarettes in a parking lot
The star watching above
Laughter fills the air
A disposable captures the moment
Old Men
The sun shines bright
on the faces of old men.
Like a mirror
it reflects the youth of their past.
The warmth radiates
through their souls and
refreshes memories
thought long since gone.
They sit on benches
and watch their life as it courses through the sky.
It is an orbit
that lives in their hearts always.
Then at dusk
when the mirror is dark
they lay down and dream
those same memories
again.
Tony Sexton
Powder Saves the Day
Fresh powdered scents keep mammas gay.
Talcum tapped on a baby’s bottoms
keep chaffs and diaper rashes away.
Stinky poops gag shut airways,
a newborn’s gift of blossoms,
but powder scents make mammas gay
Teen stank ranks up the days,
leaves clothes and skin smelling rotten,
but powder keeps the baying dogs away.
Rolls, sags and udder-like-bags weigh,
like a wrecked ship’s flotsam,
but powder’s slip-n-slide keep the hefty gay.
Loose and thwapping lips of a woman gray,
like a day in the land of Sodom,
but powder, without talc, keeps the chaffs at bay.
The latter year legs don’t splay,
menopause induces desires to boot hims,
powder’s fresh scents make the old smell gay
and the keep the chaffs and rashes away.
Pine Mountain Cemetery XII
Doc and the Poplar Tree
Popular trees built this country. There
Is the myth that the mighty Chestnut
Wins that prize, but it had other uses.
When Doc Parks was laid to rest, crowds
Of grateful people took the hard journey
Past this one stump to witness his burying.
No wonder. Some sixty years of cutting
Us open on the kitchen table, birthin’
Babies in Granny’s bed, wound stitchin’,
Bone setting and even tight holding
When the answer was no earned his
Place in heaven and a big funeral.
Back then before kids got so important
They can even eat at first table, I got
Pushed to the back where I belonged.
Not seeing I climbed to sit on a relic,
The cemetery’s Poplar stump. Room
Enough for three big people it stood.
Rings of time marked maybe three hundred
Years and bored I counted ‘til I ran out then
Made up more to seventy eleven and past.
This tree could have built fifty houses. Top
Reached way beyond the neighbor Pines.
A target, she must have been easy to spot.
What a lot of life that tree stood over, wars,
Moonshiners, lovers, with storms enough
To fell weaker sisters growing in that grove.
Same with old doc, now sleeping in that box.
Most of the crowd alive and well because he
Never slept an easy night or finished a meal.
Doctors and Poplars might seem a pair
Contraire, it was a Poplar that showed me
Mourning that much life was our anchor.
strip –
discard symbols and other data
Show summary of options to strip.
Display all.
Treat the original as object.
Remove section, in addition to whatever.
This option may be given more than once.
using this option inappropriately
may make the output unusable.
The wildcard character * may be given at the end.
If so, any section will be removed.
Remove all,
leaving the remaining intact.
Remove all
if it would normally be stripped.
When stripping, retain names.
Note—the choice is arbitrary.
Also optional.
It does not make sense.
—
Found poem (erasure) from the Linux Man Pages
Complete text at:
https://man7.org/linux/man-pages/man1/strip.1.html
Juneteenth 2020
(Inspired by Dan Beachy-Quick’s Variations on Dawn and Dusk)
Let’s not lie, there are a sinful number
of hymnals and albums full of fatality, enough to
fill acres and acres to the sky. They took root in the stories
repeated and repeated and repeated …
The old horse is again on fire, the
young pony, too, but
he is the distraction, and his blur of heat
is a sensation. He was bred to win and he wins he wins
he wins as we hear and repeat and repeat and repeat
Science knows every known and unknown pattern.
Patterns become songs,
become dance steps, steps we take and steps we did not take become the “Tarantella”
Ask me to look in your teacup and read you a fortune.
I see a horse bucking off its rider.
I see a dancer, her skirt turning around her.
I see a mountain. I see a rabbit. I see a crescent moon.
I see a banner. I see an eye. I see you are you.
We repeat. The horses. The horses are on fire.
Keep taking steps.
My head cracks from the headache
my mind runs like a TV between the channels
as I sink into my meditation, the stars aligning
my deepest thoughts reflect on my deepest self
My mind runs like static
tired and weather-worn
floating gracefully on inner-deep-water
the purple petals of my mind
Tired, worn threads keeping their grip
the galaxies unfold like old fabric
looking for the Lotus
I focused my meditation
Spinning in place behind the moon
all the stars aligned
when my third eye opened
my head cracked
I don’t know what is wrong with me.
Surrounded by treasure,
I stare at the dragon.
Throw gold,
Juggle diamonds,
Frolick in rubies,
And wait
For the eye of Smaug to turn.
