Tag: free verse

Rusty Whiskers

He walked tall, that Rusty Whiskers, said what he meant and meant what he said.

Devoted to doing the right, if not popular, thing, while spreading peace, love, and

Fried shrimp across this massive land. His life a benevolent mystery, marked by epic

Climbs to far off mountaintop gurus. The meaning of life intertwined with the taste 

Of beef jerky and dried sunflower seeds. A brief dance with cocaine kept him humble,

Unaddicted, but slightly paranoid. Always up for a good story; always there for the 

Woman he loves. His pottery and her signs bringing enlightenment to the masses.

  
Several days ago the words “Rusty Whiskers” popped into my mind. I rolled the words around trying to decide what needed to be done with them. Then, lo and behold, I meet a man named Rusty and his lovely lady, Sherry. It seemed like a sign. 

I’m pretty sure Rusty Whiskers will appear in future posts. That name is just too great to let go.

Keeping Count

I measured out the moments, one by one and piece by piece

Too many to count and too many to be dismissed.

Life slips by in those imperceptible increments,

And now I’ve lost the numbers so how will I know

When the sands have run out and I can no longer account

For the seconds left in the reckoning. It’s anyone’s guess.

  

Red Wine And Solitude

I might get drunk tonight
on red wine and solitude
lost in the depths of a
full-bodied zin and the whir
of a palm-leaved fan.

Disappointment weighted
afternoon, damn fool who let
you in? Now I feel the scorched
earth aftermath while he eats a
well done steak.

A better woman might have
walked away, held her tongue,
but she does not live here.
I said my piece, now there’s
a consequence.

Pardon me, I’ll be in my room.

Mi Favorita

vessel clean, bone dry
scrubbed until nothing
of substance remains.

colors long faded, rust
brown in the deep bowl
long dormant orange-red

stripes run horizontal
on a sad blue-tinged,
chipped background.

perched on a shelf behind
a small glass pitcher
and an oval turkey platter

brought out for special
occasions calling for
authentic Mexican salsa

the hot stuff made with
jalapeños and cilantro
chased with cold Corona.

  

Judgement Day

Today is judgement day, as was yesterday, and the day before. Tomorrow will hold 

The same status. For those who claim a day of reckoning to be lurking around the 

Corner, I cry, Indeed! Both the corner facing us and the one ’round which we’ve strolled

Already. We face our God each sunrise and answer for our sins. We are sorted by our

Love or lack thereof, by our compassion and generosity. That book of life I reckon

Lists not the rolls of church membership, but the names of those who stand with the

Downtrodden, the marginalized, those who are shunned by the establishment.

Tell me to get right with Jesus, and I’ll ask who you’ve fed today. Tell me I’m bound

For hell, and I’ll plan a party for us both. I hear marshmallows toast well down there.

Paradise, the last panel of Fra Angelico’s tryptic, “Judgement”

Harva’s Place

Prairie sky resplendent in ozone scented spring

Promises made by rainbow’s arch spatter way out yonder

Concerned eyes watch storm’s progression stringing out hope for moisture

In a land that’s always thirsty, cumulonimbus delivers mixed blessings.

Distant rumbles echo over endless grassy acres, singing the clouds home.

My friend Ann (a.k.a. Harva) shot this picture on her land Monday afternoon. There is nothing like a prairie storm.

Time Travel

mastering the art of traveling through time took less skill than anticipated.

even so, i lifted weights, jogged for hours,
and deeply meditated.

finally i prepared to leap into the fourth dimension

engaged the machine and catapulted in a westerly direction

behold, i left at 1 p.m. eastern and arrived at 12:30 p.m. central

thus proving for once that time travel is somewhat preferential.

of course on my return to feathered nest the hour I did give back

So naught was gained on this fair day; my methods sorely did lack.

Something of Substance

The name meant nothing to her. She’d heard it murmured by others 

once or twice, and whispered it to herself in the grayed shadows of night. But still, 

the word was just a pair of syllables, having no weight or depth of their own. 

Why then did she find her fingertips bruised, nails chipped and bloodied from

repeated attempts to scratch the letters into the stone she’d tucked inside her 

pocket? Surreptitious strokes, thumb circling, reassuring.

  

Stranded

Somewhere between
I want to and I did
were a lot of dead
spots filled with
I can’t and
maybe I shouldn’t and
even girl, don’t you dare.
I got stranded once
on the island of
I’m not worthy, but
the good ship
I believe in you
saved me and brought
me to safety.

  
Peace, people.

I Told You So

The drapes are closed, no light shines through,

Darkness exceeds expectations.

Lovers find their way by feel, stubbed toes not withstanding.

Stifled giggles, shedding of clothes, stumbling drunk in anticipation,

Oh there you are! A touch, a taste, bodies all aquiver,

Hesitate on the precipice. Pull away, fall into, immerse, succumb.

Oh mercy!

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Peace, people.