i met her at the crow bar -
a mescalero from amarillo
- her name was lily
and she was in from the field

wearing tiger stripe camos
cut short like i like 'em
and she liked to hike them
- all commando

she had a tattered boony hat -
a kevlar vest and a tat
that said - the wild, wild west -

her shoulder holsters
were packed with two .40s

- lordy, lordy -

she said they bolstered her
fire power


we were commando stylin'
...on the blue mesa.

12/5/14  
:)

it isn't all black and white
the choke-hold of history

shades of red and brown
paint the scenery, too

the documented imagery
forgotten in the fray

a little big horn playing mournful
songs as the cavalry marches on
to the tune of galleons and guns


no passport required
when the port was young

émigré and immigrant
displacing native sons

who also once were pilgrims
breathing in the sun.

when my son was younger
he asked -

how old are the mountains
from where did the First People come
why does the sun sleep in the ocean
what is the color of rain

now that my son is older
stronger, wiser and bolder
he asks -

how old are the mountains...
...what is the color of rain


some things don't change.

We take a shortcut
through the narrow walkways
of the old village

across the cobblestones
and by the white-washed tabby wall

to the waterside where slave ships
once plied their trade

My dog lingers nose down
as if each stone has a story to tell

and ***** an ear to the wall
where the auctions were held

She looks at people differently now.

i've had wild turkey-
kinda gamey
but it'll do in a rush

i've had jim beam, too
along with a little kush

but- jack daniels kicked my ***
and knocked me on my ****


this thanksgiving
i'm going with plain old turkey
cuz i'm smarter and braver

if god will only grant me the serenity.

11/27/14

in all the photos
he was a young man -
my father

handsome and smiling
a useful smile

i tried to find one from later
when he was a bystander
on my street -

older, unsmiling, obsolete
- there were none

i wish i had known
how he felt

now that i do.

r ~ 11/25/14

as fragile
as a songbird -

her hands

knotted and spotted
from many winters


november came one last time -
i held her hands in mine - gently

- gently, she flew away
to where songbirds go
when it's cold in the mountains.

r ~ 11/18/14