By the fire
The son shut his eyes.
Words traveled slowly
Like dying stars wandering
Into dark corners of the night.

You were done - said your part
You saw the light,
Set yourself down on the
Frozen ground.

You hardened your heart
Said it looked better in stone
As you kept your eyes open to the flame.

I saw you walking away from the sun
In the stinging wind and a coat of dust
Through the star juniper and bitter sagebrush.

We watched the sun spider for hours
Splayed out on the concrete wall
Like an ancient relic unearthed -
An Alexandrian myth.

We laughed at the thought of death
How does it bite?

I knew your laughter was deceptive;
Something hidden, aromatic and bold,
A breathless groan uttered
By the old -
Obscuring sadness.

I still looked away
And you were gone.

~
Or migrated pod
       Or fleeing refugee
            Or corban
                  Or carbon dioxide
                       Or yubitsume
                            Or van Gogh's ear
                                 Or black Friday
                                      Or lazy evening at the carnival

                    (Tomorrow has already started)

Or free range
     Or gated community
          Or breast exam
               Or storage crisis
                    Or fallen leaves
                         Or germ warfare
                              Or temporary file
                                   Or permanent wave
                                        Or thigh gap
                                             Or physiognomy
                                                  Or soap made of heroes
                                                       Or multiplanetary living
                                                    
(There's a floating graveyard between this world and the next)

Or logical fallacy
     Or irrational number
          Or elementary analysis
               Or college guess
                    Or cardiopulmonary resuscitation
                         Or extrasensory perception
                              Or ten fingers and toes
                                   Or a dozen eggs

                  (They say there's strength in numbers)

Or fifth floor, corner room
     Or high as a kite
          Or bellwether
               Or mingled with bells
                    Or police sirens
                         Or loitering around in silent films
                              Or rule of thirds
                                   Or tombs of second-hand kings
                                        Or face in the rain
                                             Or pareidolia

(Otherwise, at first light you might be smiling...)
~

Once in a while,
my poetry will bring
women.
They read my stuff.
They find me.
The talking is great;
very literary.
We speak of all
the little gods:
Hemingway
Pound
EE
Shakespeare
Dickinson
Buk
Ginsberg

Some­times, we ****.
That's always nice.
They soon find I'm
fallible and have
bad habits.
They prove human too.
They **** and drink my
*****, occasionally
burn dinner.
We try though, while
Joan of Arc burns at
the stake, Robin hangs
himself, and
Don Quixote fights
windmills.
I always love them.
And in the end,
we accept our
limitations and
humanity.

his appearance was ordinary
same amount of human parts
distributed as usual
he was not special, in that way

yet….there was SOMEthing about him…
something in his blue-sky eyes
his attractiveness
his cleanness
the allure of his voice

he oozed wisdom
protection
goofiness
smarts
laughter
quick responses
anger where merited
terrifying adeptness
horrifying experience
patience
spoke only Truth
loved to prank us
gave second-third-fourth chances
got angry when we died
acted out at our funerals
mourned our deaths forever
always said Yes
and, most importantly,
Loved
as God Loves
gave forgiveness
generosity of heart
Sacredness
to all, no matter what
no. matter. what.

Sun-crowned
he used himself up
in God’s Service
Spirit-crowned
he gave it all to his Heavenly Father


c. 2023 Roberta Compton Rainwater

I wish I could be your tree
That you sit beneath and ask
questions
For guidance in your confusion
Clarity on windy days. My branches
Would brush together and shake out
Answers in the rustling between
My leaves
And you would go with answers
Into the sunshine

i stare to sea where autumn's night-winds tease
and sea waves crash and run with all their fire,
i feel a sense of rest that doesn't tire,
caught up in sea-rose reds and heady breeze
and like the fiery waves and sea-blown trees
this love of flames that once burnt with desire
now nothing seems, all fallen though once higher
than love's sweet dream that waking quickly flees!
oh, love's sweet dream! the metronome-like waves
beat like a pulse, a love of moon and tide,
the whispered song has faded, bitter-sweet
and drowsy as the water near my feet,
magnolia now blooms near these old graves
and i no longer yearn to be his bride.

there's a place called the Lowe
the Lowe Hotel
100 plus years of souls
passing in the halls
leaning against the walls
that view the Ohio River
in its majesty
the Lowe
where stories were born
and still thrive
the room breathes
and crackles with sound as I sleep
whispers...taps...creaks
they are my connection
and I theirs...
window to the living
there are no years
no time or space to measure

'We get you' she said
in a voice as clear as crystal
and as close as dead can be to the living