steady as you go
rhythmic bass kicking in hard
a call to march forth
drummers know the pull
of the beat’s relentless drive
addictive cadence
rat a tat tat tat
left, right, left, pivot tightly
martial unison
Category: Poetry
Just Words
Those words,
Punitive
Words.
Wishing violence
On her
Future self.
Cringe worthy,
Words.
Cruel,
Hateful,
Damaging,
Shaming.
From your
Grown-up mouth.
The balance of
Power,
Unequal.
Her heart,
Broken.
Choose your
Words more
Wisely
She won’t be a
Child forever.
Her damage
Traced
Right back
To your words.
And will you feel
Justified
When she
Fulfills the
Bad girl
Schema?
You told her
She deserved
Only the
Worst.
Time (A Collaboration with Julie Powell)
Be sure to click on Julie’s link (below) to get the big picture. It’s gorgeous!
Time
Time doesn’t count,
Unless you’re counting on time
To heal a broken heart or
Comfort the mourning soul.
Feel the watch’s weight,
Note the imprint in the pocket.
Time waits for no one,
Yet claims everyone.
This fob in my hand
Its heft, the smooth silver
A metronome in the round
Time’s own keeper.
Call Me
Call me, she urged, then felt her skin flush red. Had she really batted her eyelashes coquettishly?
Out of character, out of her league, but her outrageously raging hormones won the day. Even now,
Decades later, she cringes at the memory. Hoping at least that he’s forgotten her flirtatious
Demeanor. Maybe someday she can laugh at her fumbling, mumbling attempt at seduction.
Oh girl, she laments, Whatever possessed you? Age brings wisdom, but ponders regrets.
A House with no Doors
“Twenty-four!”
Drawn by the sound of non-rhythmic counting we approached a house. At least it appeared
to be a house–four sides, a peaked roof, an old stone porch. Even so the roughly cubed structure
was devoid of doors, and on further investigation presented no windows.
“Twenty-five,”
intoned a disembodied voice. What manner of edifice, we wondered, looked like a family
dwelling, yet gave no opportunity for entry or exit?
“Twenty-six.”
After circling the structure three full times, I banged my fist against the place where the front door
logically should be situated, just up the three stone steps, centered on the building’s apparent
Anterior surface. “Puzzling,” my partner ventured, his antennae twitching, when no response
resulted from my knocking. Suddenly, the house lifted and came crashing brutally down on him.
“Twenty-seven!”
I scampered away across the sand as quickly as my six legs could carry me, thinking, “What madness?!”
Author’s note: This tale came to me at 2 a.m. I’m not sure what it means, but it insisted on being written.
On the Cusp
I’m on the cusp of nothing
Hanging on a thread,
Every day seems pregnant
With a certain kind of dread.
Headlines scream, portending
Tales of glee or maybe gloom,
Depending on one’s politics
Seen as bonus or as doom.
So here we stand in limbo
One foot toeing on the ledge,
While the other seeks purchase
Having fallen off the edge.
Flawed Logic
In his search for the moon, he discarded the sun, then wondered why he floundered in the dark.
He cursed as his shins cracked against the base of an antique bureau, and he was heard to mutter,
“I swear, it was right here. Big, and round, and full.”
His lady tsked, “Come back to bed, love. All will be well come the morning.”
Stolen
Moments taken, undulating, slipping through the fingers of my mind. Slowly marking
Time when all we had was time. Permanent markers. Red and black indelible print on soft
Surfaces. Everyone could see that you belonged to me. Except for you. And her. Thieves.
Wrinkles
Wisps of fleecy clouds
Do not mar a summer sky
They define the blue
Gift me with crinkles
Life’s perfect imperfections
Memory’s index
Smile with abandon
Frown without retribution
Claim each earned wrinkle
Mourning
Come, bring your flowers,
Your condolences, the
Awkward and the eloquent.
Bring offerings of food,
And sincere expressions
Of loving concern.
Those I love have lost
A husband, a father,
Grandfather, and friend.
A life well lived,
A loss deeply mourned
With grace and faith.
Early on Friday morning our son, Jason, texted us the sad news that his father-in-law had passed away. We’d known that “Jamie” had been battling terminal cancer, yet the news still hit us hard.
We never had the opportunity to meet Jamie, but Jason loved him, so as soon as we heard of Jamie’s passing I hurriedly packed a bag and headed west towards the town of Hemphill, Texas.
Even in the midst of her grief Jamie’s wife, Fran welcomed me into their home. She and her daughters, Pam and Liz (our daughter-in-law) are, separately, forces of nature–strong, beautiful, and independent. Together they are the best kind of formidable. I went thinking I could be of some help, but soon learned that these ladies had everything in hand.
I know they will have hurdles to overcome in the days ahead, and they are in my prayers. But I won’t waste any time worrying about their coping abilities.
My brain keeps trying to formulate a tale around Jamie. While I didn’t know him I feel like I have an idea of the kind of man he must’ve been. Maybe one day I’ll have the right words. He deserves the right words.
Peace, people.
Praying for Eyebrowz 