Tag: poetry

Granddaddy’s Gas Station

I grew up in a Fina gas station owned by my granddaddy. My days smelled of petroleum and cigars,

No wonder I’m a little on edge all of my days. When the world is combustible with the errant flick of an ash,

Everything becomes precious to a precocious five year old. Grandaddy kept candy and red fuses in a glass counter display.

I had the run of the place, but was cautioned about dashing about and around the old pumps, lest someone

Run me over. Pretty heady stuff for a little girl who only wanted to ask, “Premium or Ethyl?” as she washed grimy windshields.

My heart is all tied up in that place. Bound by diligence and the smell of Grandaddy’s Old Spice. The strength of his hugs.

The Cat in Question

The cat in question,

Snuggling, purring on my lap,

She finds her warm place

Never questions life,

Not a care in her safe world

Relaxed, yet still poised

The cat in question

A lady of advanced age

My boon companion

Darts in the Dark

Darts in the Dark

My time is now spent throwing darts into the dark, hoping that one sticks and makes its mark in the cork.

My aim must be off, maybe, or the target has been moved. I only know that my darts miss their marks

And clatter harmlessly onto the concrete where they’ll remain until the lights are restored. I’m a fool, but not

Inclined to go searching for sharp metal objects in this room, this tomb, where the light is forbidden and my feet bare.

Fireworks

One hot summer night

She sent him off with fireworks

Exploding mid-air

Reds and blues bursting

Sparklers lighting up the sky

Oohs and ahhhs ringing

She prayed he’d return

But the heat left when he did

Dark skies, quiet hearts

Breaking Hearts

Every day hearts break

Shattering like fine crystal

Starting with a crack

You’re ugly, stupid,

Fat and flat unloveable

A great waste of space

Those cracks never heal

Ask anyone who has heard

The shattering glass

Butterfly Collecting

I collect butterflies,

But mine are never displayed

Pinned under clear glass

Loosely assembled,

Mine aren’t arrayed in cases

Alphabetically

No, mine flit about

Pausing to sip at petals

Eliciting smiles

Lost Humanity

Chaos does not sleep

Just points his gun and takes aim

Chips fall where they may

Collect your fallen

Move along, nothing to see

Prayers and thoughts sent

What’s one more life lost?

After Sandy Hook we shed

Our humanity

For my Friend

She’s forged in the fire

Of unspeakable sadness

Such weighted sorrows

Loss, her companion

Her memories, filled with love

The pain, hers to bear

When darkness threatens

She wields the brightest of lights

Searching for justice

Turning the Other Cheek

I heard him before I saw him

Loud pipes announced his impending arrival

As I angled into the left turn lane

He came up on my right side

Big truck with bigger tires

A veritable fortune invested in chrome

Two flags waving proudly from the truck’s bed

Two expressions of his rights

One flag displayed the Stars and Stripes, a noble symbol.

The other, the Gadsden Flag: “Don’t Tread on Me!”

The flag hoisted by the alt right.

What an overcompensating loser, I thought.

Mouth breathing, Neanderthal, I added for good measure.

But even in that moment I acknowledged his right to express his feelings.

Was he offensive? To me, most definitely.

But did he have the right to offend?

Beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Protest should make us squirm.

Otherwise, it’s merely the status quo.

Musical Musings

Dissonance, we’re told, followed by harmonic resolution, heightens emotions, takes us beyond the ordinary.

One chord away from our comfort zones, straining our understanding, challenging our deepest beliefs.

Every piece worth keeping keels on an edge of unease, hiding a slip of protest between the lines, so we may join the refrain.