“Besides,” she said, out of the blue, “We have nothing to gain now, yet nothing more to lose.
So take my hand, no, this one. Hoist me up from my place in the sand.”
Together they eyed the waves, sidelong glances at one another
Wedged between sighs masquerading as cogent thoughts. Neither had the means,
Nor the answers. “Will you love me still once this is done?” He asked.
“What makes you think I love you now?” She replied, as the gulls wheeled over head.
Peaceable Kingdom Revisited
I woke from a dream, soft gathers of light, distilled spirits at the edges, last vestiges of night
Wandered in from the wastelands, shining city on a hill; I’d visited before, when the illusion held still.
Slept with the lions; lunched with the lambs, before this peaceable kingdom came tumbling down
Now the eagle has landed, poached, plucked, and sautéed; the bear lies in waiting, his meal already made.
The Peaceable Kingdom–Edward Hicks
From the border lands
We feel the children weeping
Lord, please hear their cries
Agents cold as ICE
Breaking families apart
Following orders
What would Jesus do?
We don’t have to speculate
Lord, hear our prayer
Matthew 19:14 King James Version (KJV)
14 But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.
I created something there on stone strewn grounds
Scattered the remains across the fields
Shook my fist at an orange sky
My works crumbled in the making
Two figures approached
Appraising, frowning, drowning
I tried to explain how the piece should look
My entreaties were not sufficient for the cause
Melting words in a melting world
Pompeii
Do you go where the pavement leads, facing sternly forward, the periphery merely, well, peripheral? Or is your
Head on a swivel, a series of exclamations perching just atop your tongue? Look there! Did you see that? Oh! That cardinal!
Those colors! The gypsy in me sees the forest, the hidden pathways, the possibilities in every turn and untaken road.
Murmurations of starlings, point no way and all ways, unlike the Canada geese who arrow forth, eyes forward, honking
Relentlessly. Following the curves I discover a stand of firs, surprise a doe and her fawns, utter a cry of delight.
For today this poem was wishful thinking. I am traveling, but I have no time to dally on my way to the airport in Panama City Beach. My flight leaves at 9:45 a.m. and should arrive in Austin, Texas, at 3:15.
Knife-like, the blade wounds
Slicing through civility
Severing all ties
One moment shatters
False securities wiped bare
All hope stripped away
When this old heart hurts
The pain seems unbearable
The burden, unfair
Occasionally I write poetry, and when the spirit moves me these poems deal with the horrors of gun violence. When I came across a piece on Facebook about a series of poetry reading events across Florida to keep the conversation surrounding gun deaths front and center, I thought to myself, “Oh, I’d do this if an event was scheduled for Tallahassee.”
Scrolling down the list I read:
Oh. I see there is one here. Deep breath. Myself isn’t feeling all that cocky right now.
The thing is, I don’t know if any of my pieces are good enough to present. I’ve only ever read my own works in front of an audience once or twice, and then I shook so hard my teeth rattled.
What say you, friends? Is this one of those things I should allow to fall by the wayside, or should I jump in with both feet? Awaiting the wisdoms of my readers, especially the poets among you. Please be honest. I’d rather not make a fool of myself at this event.
Here’s one for your consideration:
Guns in Church
Will we take our guns to church now?
Jesus take the wheel, but leave me my pistol
Dylan Roof opened fire in a South Carolina prayer meeting
Now more dead occupy the pews in Texas
Just wondering which firearm goes best with Psalms.
Yea, tho I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil,
For I am armed with an automatic weapon.
No doubt lawmakers will offer meaningless thoughts and prayers
Their mantra sounding weaker by the hour
Who will answer for these deaths?
And here is another:
Guns and Thorns
the fetishists have cried,
“leave our guns alone!”
when no one has called
for their removal.
paranoid fools who fail
to see or care, cry time
and time again that any
move breeds futility
while still more innocents
die and we offer up only
thoughts and prayers.
Peace, people.
Don’t
Don’t be shocked by another school shooting, the eleventh in this brand new year.
Don’t tell me we are better than this; obviously, we are not.
Don’t send up thoughts and prayers. God honors action, not weepy hand-wringing.
Don’t try to console me; your words are empty.
Don’t tell me you are pro-life when clearly you support the industry of death.
Don’t.
Odds and Evens
I’m on a roll with the odd word, feeling lucky in this odd world, moreover,
Never tell me the odds, even if I plead, even if they favor me. Odd one out,
Even Steven, even playing field, even I can read the writing on the wall. After
All, I’m an odd duck, even on my best days, even when I try to fit in. By
The way, this isn’t even one of those days. Odd, don’t you think? Then we’re even.
This piece of nonsense came about when I realized my previous two posts had the word “Odd” in the titles. Since two is an even number I had to go for a third post using the word “odd”; because I believe in evening things out. Or something.
Additionally, I spent the day frittering away my time, getting my hair cut and colored. Holy cow, is my hair dark! I’m even odder looking now. See what I did there?
Peace, people!
My waistline is more a suggestion now, instead of a well-defined feature of my anatomy. Because the pecan
Pie I made for Christmas dinner and the baklava my daughter sent packed in a box of gifts,
Were deemed too tasty to ignore in spite of the calories they boast in abundance. Do I feel a New Year’s
Resolution in the making? Elastic waist pants in my future? A regimen of calisthenics in development?
Ask me in a week or so. There are still gourmet marshmallows wrapped in pretty paper on my kitchen counter.
Calories be damned.
Praying for Eyebrowz 