stacks of notebooks
like cordwood
fending
off the cold
paltry fire
barely big enough
to keep my fingers warm
so i can write
and count the pages
as they flutter
into the fire.
Kindled
post-apocalyptic
STUNTED
Like the precursor
to a best-selling
teen dystopian novel series
with half-heartedly-made
cash cow movies,
the cherry tree in our front yard
has failed to blossom
for the first time
in twenty-six years.
We do not buy
into symbolism,
yet trees being
the lungs of the earth
those that still stand tall at the capitol
boughs branching out
embracing
amid further political unrest
pushing back
against barricades
for certain unalienable rights
each ones’ ideas
of freedom
under banners
such are false flags
and comes at the cost
of choking on the pollen
that is tear gas
as flowers fall
gracefully
like defeat.
But home
is where the heart is
(no insurrection here
though unsure as to what this lack of affectation means)
while our love
written in lines of
poetry, stories
carved into the skin
M.L.M.
+
G.R.H.
like tattoos
bleeding that sap
sticky, sweet lifeblood
still pumping
rings
true
for you, our children
rings
chronicling the years
the orbit around the sun
rings
around the rosie
ashes
take upon new meaning
as we hold onto life
neverending.
Another Chore
I found a teakettle
at the high water mark
after years
of riversong
movements
magic lamp
water djinn
beaten up
broken in
boiling off
impurities
because all that mess
is still serviceable.
Three wishes
after dishes
because we still have cleaning up to do.
MARVELS
Marvels
The old rugged cross
splinters and all
thorn in one’s side
festering
‘fore it let go.
Devoid of the deity
destined to be there,
simple sheep
beast
burdened.
1.
he used to imagine:
The Hulk.
Hues, shades
unable to see the forest
we walk among,
for that one
damnable
tree. Low-hanging
fruit, making all of paradise
one sticky situation.
Anger of the Father
flaming swords and all,
gamma-induced
mean streak,
counting to ten.
Commanded from the first
judge, jury,
and executioner,
throwing the Good Book at them.
Idle worship
of this,
that,
and the other
makes Him
green with envy
GOD SMITE!
His incredible wrath
setting sin upon his Son.
That day the sun,
stopped shining.
Veil torn in two,
yet this was but one of three.
2.
he used to imagine:
Spider-Man.
Nothing spectacular
or amazing
in appearance
that we should be attracted to Him.
Swinging in,
a man of sorrows
and acquainted with grief
your friendly neighborhood
Savior. “A menace!”
shouts J. Jonah Pharisee.
Suspended there, webs
hold our hero in place
until he nailed things down
got his story straight
all the world
and all the weight
“With great power comes great responsibility.”
3.
he used to imagine:
Vision, blinding
light
and sound–
a voice
disembodied.
Road to Damascus
neural pathways
synapses
flash
mental math
making leaps of faith
tinkered tin can,
less
than a man.
The 1s and 0s
do not compute
aligned
within the mind
and the soul
is but a stone
the builders rejected.
The weight of it
brought him to his
knees, dirtied
hurried, a hasty pace
placed
‘pon simple Simon
scuffs of dust
on shoes not yet walked
floorboards.
It shows in his own scars.
Child’s Play
Child’s Play
from Metro
a Traveling Tales of Waybackwhen book
He was here before.
In another life
removed from the
hustle
and bustle of
making
ends, and beginnings
meet. Always
toeing the waterline
as it rises
rises
rises.
Castles in the sand, king
surveys his land
as the fortifications
lay bare, wasted,
washed up child’s play
sowing his wild oats
and beans and barley grow
but nothing
in this barren marsh.
based upon the photo
Dreaming of Sanibel
© Bruce Wallace
Two-Step
Two-Step
from Homelands
a Traveling Tales of Waybackwhen book
What a tangled, mangled
web they weave
dancing
with the dewdrops,
mirroring universes
reflected
in each others’ eyes.
Hung up on the harangue,
breath catching
the sticky
sweaty stench
suffocating
beneath the spinning
twirls and dips
however harmless and halting.
Music
strums the heartstrings
and it triggers
something else…
primal
that which
needs to feed
waiting patiently
black widow
wearing white
hourglass
is but a mask.
Hot Pursuit
Hot Pursuit
from Metro
a Traveling Tales of Waybackwhen book
The cold
does not bother him.
Etched into his bones
as the emptiness
resides there.
It has found
a home, to languish in.
It is where the heart is:
to have
and to hold
as it bleeds out
bridging fate and fiction.
What once
they shared
wrested between,
gate forever closing the gap.
Snow having fallen
flakes like teardrops
make their own tracks as well.
Ties and ballast
holding the rails
in place
his purpose
a shape.
Parallel lives
lines that will no longer
cross,
but that one
once he catches up.
Penned In
Penned In
from Homelands
a Traveling Tales of Waybackwhen book
Cock-a-doodle
how do you do?
Rooster, fair weather
shaking his tail feathers
strutting his stuff
never enough
that comb on top
preening, scheming
non-stop.
Rudest of dudes
leads his brood.
“with a
cluck-cluck
here, and a
clack-clack
there, here a
cluck
there a
clack
everywhere a
cluck-clack
cluck-clack
cluck-clack
cluck-clack”
chicken run,
racing down the tracks.
Which came first?
The ‘lectric or the lights?
Boxcars, larders laden
gently laid in
a mistake to break
a few eggs for
omelets.
Yard bull
the big shake
seeing red
busting heads
toe-to-toe
with hobos.
All the while
the wily fox stalks
over in the henhouse
picking up chicks
yip-yapping
yadda-yadda-yadda
jaws flapping
gotta gotta gotta
Autumn Retreat
Reds and oranges
joined the chorus
skish and crunch
listened to the leaves
beneath the feet
of those that
forge the forest floor.
Ogethan pondered on
his path marked out for him
map, yellowed
at the edges
like calendar pages
falling
as time went by
quicker
and quicker
with the dying light of day.
Sharpe, Garth Addison, Jones…
…Lynnae.
Cheery cherry
pit in his stomach, turned
grew dense
caught up in
lives of little sparrows
and breathed
chest,
too narrow
inhaled the crisp
cool air, breathed
out a sigh of relief
and his heart
fluttered
migrated farther
and farther
how much more the Lord cared for thee.
