Category: Poetry

Fast Cars and Life


I’ve long had a penchant for fast cars, and have even owned a few, though I seldom exceed the posted 

Legal limit. What does this indicate about the nature of my driving? That I feel the need to speed, but lack the 

Necessary courage to press the engine to the full extent of its ability? Or that I only use my car’s 

Excessive horsepower as a tool to avoid potential collisions with less observant or less capable 

Drivers? There is probably a metaphor for the way I live my life embedded in the 


Lines of this poem, but to analyze it, I’d need to either slow down considerably or speed way up.


The Hurt

Friends through skinned knees and brownie scouts, shared all the secrets we’d figured

Out. Built our circle of misfit toys, hardly noticing the slights of those boys who found us too

Juvenile. We weren’t easy, but neither were we prudes. Eager to please, shy around those

More crude. Then I moved away, torn from our safety net; you found yourself caught in

Another web. Do you recall telling me that my leaving was the best thing that could have

Happened for you? I cannot imagine saying that to someone who’d been my friend.

But then maybe friendship was an illusion, and being discarded was the ugly truth. 

I’ve forgiven you, but no longer trust you. Your silence now speaks volumes. Who are you?

Strings 

Cue the violins
Tugging hard on my heart’s strings;
Mournful strains of loss.


Ties that closely bind
My yearning soul to your own;
Ever tightening.


Invisible routes
Crossing ordinary lives
Connecting ley lines.

Collapse

The end of everything might’ve begun the day somebody told Donald Trump that he

Could be anything, even President, if he told enough lies and threw the right people

Under the right bus at the right time. He cowed his Republican opponents, one by bitter one.

Now, a tombstone engraved “R.I.P., G.O.P.” rises plaintively from a grave between 

Reason and insanity; a silent symbol of the demise of the once proud party of Lincoln.

Summer Day on the Farm

Plucked me an apple
Firm and red,
Forked up some hay
To store in the shed.
Climbed an old oak tree
Surveyed the land,
Scratched a mosquito bite
On skin smooth and tanned.
Hitched up the pony
To a little red cart,
Hied to the meadow
Where I left my heart.
Played chase in the rows
Of slender bean stalks,
Slipped out in the dark
For a sweet summer walk.
One brilliant summer day
From my innocent past
Lingers forever
In my memory vast.

One summer, maybe when I was eight or nine, I took a trip to California, Missouri, with my paternal grandparents. I remember very little of the trip except one magical day spent in the company of a distant cousin whose name I cannot remember.

Even as I near the great age of 60 this day stands out as one of the best of my life. I hope this simple poem conveys a little of the wonderous experience.

Listen

A million voices multiplied
Who will Trump have crucified?
Vote third party, risk it all
Watch our country in free fall.
Soothe a conscience so betrayed
Bernie laid it out, dismayed
Until we all perceive the threat
And rally round our candidate.
We suffer from our hubris grand
And so will fall in hate’s last stand.

Cry

Just shy of midnight she sobs into her pillow. Gut wrenching, heartbreaking soul-searing expulsions of unmitigated sadness. 

Down the hall, behind a sterile and locked door he offers a handkerchief, white, unsullied, starched and ironed to perfection.

Fat lot of good it does to hold out a hand that she’ll never see. But it’s all he has. All he can risk, this offer of quiet condolence.

In the Quiet

In the Quiet

words by Leslie Noyes

After all is done and said,
When the world falls away
Will you still be faithful?
Will my fears be allayed?

I only ask in the quiet
The depths of darkest night
When offense seems unlikely
When the questing seems right.

If you answer directly
No hesitation in your voice
Then I will sense the truth
Then I’ll discern your choice.

But if there comes a pause,
An answer bracketed with sighs,
Sure I’ll keep on wondering,
Sure you’re telling lies.

Beautiful photography by Julie Powell. See more at juliepowell2014.wordpress.com

Flags and Patriots

Stand, don’t ask
Pledge allegiance,
There’s a good boy!

Otherwise, those
Flag toting
Patriots cry no joy.

Never mind that
Soldiers died for
Your consecrated right

To speak your mind
Wrapped up in the
Constitution, tight.

Unblinking, unthinking
Loyalty to words
Written by a racist

Sing them anyway,
“Oh say can you see”
That doubts persist?

Courage lies within
Your conscientious
Objection,

Yet some say
Your rights unworthy
Of protection.

Screw that,
Give ’em hell
Stick to your guns,

Wrap yourself in the
Words of our founders,
Amendment number one.

Connection

We lingered over drinks, chatting about inconsequential topics. I like the Rangers,

You follow the Royals. I’m a Cowboys fan, you think I’m a fool. We laughed until

Tears traced meandering pathways down our cheeks. I claimed one lonely drop midway down

Your face, but you didn’t reciprocate. Maybe I mistook this connection. Maybe you aren’t

Invested as I am. Tell me I’m beautiful and I’ll forgive your lapse. Maybe I’ll believe you.