Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
r Jan 2014
Weathered boats with empty holds
Docked along the frozen bay
Old men  laughing at the cold
Drink to tales of colder days

Snow and sleet come down in sheets
Aged sea widows cast their lots
Children play on icy streets
She-Crab soup in cast iron pots

Rare the snow on Sneads Ferry
Rarer yet the snow that stays
Only in January
Are villagers apt to play

r ~ 28Jan14
A rare and merry winter storm underway in my village of Sneads Ferry.
r Jan 2014
A lovely name for a lane
Wonder how it got its name
A lady poet weaves her words
And grows her flowers and her herbs
Lighting fires of inspiration
Casting spells of abjuration
Creating for us prismatic spheres
Of plants and sea and salty tears
The poetess happy in her abode
On 3 Welsh Road

r ~ 2013
Repost of one lost and recovered.  For Lady KMae.
r Jan 2014
South of the Great Salt Lake
In the Valley of the Skull
Living was make or break
And the days were always full

We walked the desert dunes
In the land of the Goshute
We slept beneath the moon
Drank water from desert roots

Living on borrowed time
Waiting for the sun to rise
Youth was our only crime
Happiness was our disguise

Tooele County days
Counting days till we deploy
Striking camp in a haze
Shoulder arms and **** the joy

r ~ 23Jan14
Thoughts of my long ago days at Dugway Proving Ground, Utah.
r Jan 2014
Somewhere
between
two breaths
and death
lies truth.

r ~ 26Jan14
r Jan 2014
I can't recall
The writing on the wall
It wasn't me who put it there

Our time went fast
It wasn't meant to last
It disappeared I don't know where

You came to me
Asked me to set you free
Knowing I would because I care

Cut it in half
Love is a photograph
A painful memory to share

r ~ 26Jan14
r Jan 2014
Sitting alone staring out the window at the frozen air and slate colored sky with every inch of the desk covered in stacks of paper like strata of life.  Book shelves impossibly arranged so that no one would ever decipher  the code of the last 30 years.  Wondering
what happened, but knowing it didn’t just happen.  It was the long road taken to this place where the bland stale toast
sameness of life had become boring  and without sweetness or flavor. All of those years now behind and the
memories all that are left to mock.  What to do now, hotshot?  Now that this is all that has been
accomplished.  All of this and nothing.  Which drawer did you hide the bottle from
yourself in?  Seems so long ago, but was really not given how many years it
kept you company. Let’s explore those drawers and see what can
be salvaged of the past.  Let us toast you in memoriam…

r ~ 24Jan14
Apologies to Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892), and A.H.H.
And thanks to Diane whose Banner photo knocked this one loose.
r Jan 2014
My right ear has triple tinnitus.
It's true. I kid you not.
First there is the deep, low mourn of a foghorn,
with a louder high pitched ring above.
But stuck somewhere in between
is a beautifully sad Charlie Parker saxophone number.
It's soft notes range frome mid to low and drown
the foghorn and annoying ring while carrying
me away to dream.   My own nightly internal
Charlie Parker radio.

r ~  23Jan14
The tinnitus would drive me nuts if not for Charlie.
Next page