The hopes I had for the end of June
were to be content with my life
and the gray area surrounding my existence
being neither employed nor in school
while accepting what has happened to me the past seventeen years
and eventually what will for roughly the next seventy.
What I’ve learned the past month since graduation is that
it’s my turn to be an adult
with complex emotions and intrusive thoughts.
If I were a man, I’d probably have a five o’ clock shadow.
That’s all from me, folks.
I’ve tried for so long
to recognize when
expressing my opinion
is a fight or a win
I developed a sense
whether right or wrong
of staying out of places
where I don’t belong
But still it’s so hard
to give logic a pass
cause a friend may suffer
if I look like an ass
and say what I’m thinking
when nobody’s asked
though it looks like the story
is clearly a mask
Dedicated to the James Still Cabin, Hindman Settlement School
Even before you were born. You were born, still
in the hills of Eastern Kentucky. You were dew-bound leaf
weighing a nearby tree and Mr. Still wrote something down
then looked up, straight into you, and you both knew you
before you were named. He practiced the naming.
That’s when anyone could have pointed you out
as what you really are; wild, untamed ribbon of creek,
leaf vein swinging, salty tear, beckoning wind.
And now, again, at the desk that’s been waiting for you
since you moved into humanhood. Quiet in this house
built by the words of a woman.The nerve of Lucy Furman.
Sit still and listen until you see them where you were
You be the namer. It’s your turn to try to be tamed.
The little red truck, its relentless
This is a cento made from lines of my previous LexPoMo 2025 poems.
Time won’t ask if you’re ready to mend,
It just moves forward, friend by friend.
Some wounds don’t close, they just grow kind—
A softer scar, a stronger mind.
what matters most
is having a good soul
don’t let them shatter hope
truth’s like a dagger in your throat
what matters most
is the passion in your soul
making someone else feel less alone
we’re all messes yes i know
what’s all that stressin for
that’s all we ever known
your truest self did you let it grow
or did you just let it go
for some car or some home
for some silver or some gold
the best things in life
can’t be bought or sold
the best things in life
aren’t things at all
cut the strings let it fall
this puppet show
entertain us for follows
make us more vain and hollow
don’t go against the grain
best do what you’re told
if you want some fame
if you want out of that hole
you’ve dug your ditch
you love to bitch
about the actions of others
but how are you taking care
of your sisters and brothers
of this world
you can’t make it fair
but we can make it more
than it is
Where were you
The thing no one tells you
about fulfilling dreams
is not that it is like
hunting mythic creatures;
no, the fact they leave out
is which creature you hunt
and why its difficulties doom you.
Oh, what you would give
to attract another unicorn
in a deep crystal clearing,
yet you find unicorns on the daily
even as the world crushes your own horns
for potions that prick every curiosity.
The dream instead merges and morphs
and flits and flutters
as readily as the morning sun and the clouds,
but the only truth that keeps your dream alive
is not knowing the truth
or not knowing your dream–
or not knowing if you cannot achieve it.
Our farm was only four acres; but it was cross-fenced,
and we had this big, old barn and a fruit orchard,
which fed us and the livestock, too. Sounds idyllic;
but whether it was or wasn’t, we were just surviving.
Every week, without fail, the kids and I went to the
livestock sale barn. We’d pack a lunch and be all
excited just thinking about what we might bring home.
Livestock that we’d would love on and treat with respect,
even though none were thought of as pets.
The meat we received from these animals would be preserved,
either salted, canned, dried, or frozen so we’d have it
come winter. Perhaps some today don’t think about
the origin of food before it gets to the stores, but we knew,
since we raised most of it ourselves out of necessity.
Some animals were resold to create a positive cash flow,
and that was a win-win situation in my book. Our nanny goats
provided us with the cutest little baby goats, plus fresh milk.
And the rabbits gave us lots and lots of baby rabbits,
but since I could neither kill nor eat them, they were sold.
Poco, our woeful Basset Hound had the most beautiful howl,
and it kept away predators and salesmen. The barn cats
caught mice, keeping the feed barrels clean and mouse-free.
We got to eat lamb, veal, duck, beef, pork, and even barbequed
goat, which was delicious. We had a vegetable garden, too.
Since we didn’t own a truck or a trailer, we hauled our animals
in the trunk of the car, but put a tarp on the floor, in case
“somebody” got messy. Hauling animals this way was weird
but also a necessity, so we dubbed our little car, Noah’s Ark.
Though our Ark didn’t save any animals, it surely did save us.
We had a special routine for baby goats, lambs and calves, since they were
tall and had to travel while lying down. We would ease the trunk shut ‘til
it clicked, then bee-line for home, where it was all-hands-on-deck,
getting each animal safely housed, caged, or corralled, not leaving
any alone in the trunk, where they would, for sure, stand up and go pee.
Most of our critters came home this way, including a box of newborn piglets
whose mama had died; scores of bummer calves, with long tongues
searching for a teat (though it seemed any elbow or sleeve would do);
orphaned lambs, with their baaing, and showing off pale pink tongues;
so many mouths to feed, but such fun to watch them romp and play.
And there were the squealing weaner pigs, which made my children
want to cover their ears with both hands, and cute baby goats who
loved tasting shirttails and collars; and liked racing across the yard
with the children when they played tag, and loved most of all
to follow my daughter, probably because of her flying pigtails.
We brought chickens and ducks home inside boxes, too, with covers
on them so none could fly out, though all our birds, including geese
and guineas, had been bought through the local call-in radio show.
And now, I am thrilled to say we finally bought a truck, but I don’t think
I’d ever like to see another livestock auction unless I keep both hands
in my pockets or else take my grandkids along.
Test and re-test
Everything’s within normal range
Let’s test some more
Tough it out there is nothing
We can do but wait
Test and re-test
Everything looks fine
Nothing to worry about
Test and re-test
So many PhD’s and everyone knows more than me
But tells me a whole lot about myself and NOTHING
All at the same time.
Maybe they will figure it out at my autopsy?
