I see
the moon, in its fullness
surrounded by curls of clouds

I wait
...for the frog to croak
....in the mist of early evening

i wait,
but...it seems, there's no hope
in hearing its sad song tonight

i hear,
instead, the dark roof creaking
followed by calculated footfalls

and then,
i hear soft scratching on the gate,
soft voices......seem to be calling

i rise,
to see three stray cats lazily slouched
on the sidewalk, purring, looking at me

quickly,
i see this black dog....joining the crowd
its glimmering eyes...looking...asking

and through
the moonglow, and scant light from the
lamp post...i see its *******...all swollen

my God!
where could her puppies be? my eyes wander in
the dark midst of mango trees and banana plants

t'was fed,
along with the cats...black dog ran when its
share was brought there at the dark vacant lot

tonight,
as in past nights, time is slow as a snail,
while i.....am thinking over and over,

how i,
can bring that black dog and her puppies
to safety..........here in my own backyard

in life,
we're like horses rushing...stopped in midstream
by homeless cats, dogs, kids, old, disabled people

either
we keep running...............or, we screech
we halt...and allow them to touch our lives...


Sally

Copyright March 2, 2018
rrab

Another love poem? I ask myself.

She's a red streak
where the waves froth her feet white
a girl scouring the sands for shells
in the ageless haze the sea spews
bending and rising like the doubt
if time by some quirk has stopped
and the slanting beach is that warped space
where for long has homed
all the free souls of the world
love being their only name.

I walk up to her richer
by another love poem.

Divisiveness is a sword wielded by a leader fool.
The people suffer while the leaders rule and huge
profits for them ensue. A game as old as when
human man did first rise up to stand, within his
own small clan, picking up a club to strike down
his fellow man.

Thousands of years gone by and we have learned
nothing new, still the leaders rant and we implode
and like addled sheep too easily led we march out
to our own inevitable slaughtered end.

Kings and Despots rule for their benefit not ours.
Divisiveness is but one of their deceitful tools.
Divide and concur is the rule.

I had been dreaming
about eating bruised peaches
that grew from a tree
by the river, its water
thick and sweet as sap.

I thought I saw an old woman
shaking her dustmop,
but it was only the moon
and stardust in the dark
that never stops.

In the fields
there was something barren
like a journey
and echoes of salt
sprinkling on a table
with food laid out for a wake.

The fog from the dream
by the river was smothering;
I was suffocating lying there
where it is said a young mother
once walked into the water
with the pockets of her dress
stuffed full of smooth rocks.

I woke when I heard
shouting that tore out the light
as night came flying by
like a bird dressed for a feast
wearing his finest black feathers.

the weight of seven
hummingbirds -- 21 grams --
is what leaves the body
after death

on that hummingbird breath
the soul leaves
a wispering whisper
of seven tiny, winged cavatinas

being sung back
and singing themselves
forward
into the chorus

to enter again
a melody -- in
the Eye Of God

shimmering
iridescent
wings beating
the rhythm of Love



c. 2018 Roberta Compton Rainwater