He must be deaf
God, that is
I've been cursing him for days
And I'm not dead yet

Sitting up there on his throne
Eating cheese on Ritz
All gray-haired without a care
Not hearing my pleading tones

Maybe the choir's making too much sound
Or perhaps he's jamming with Townes
Possibly; passing a bottle 'round
Gettin' down to Snake Mountain Blues
With Townes Van Zandt. Yeah. That's it.

r ~ 5/16/14

Sorrow is a lonesome river,
she feeds a deep blue sea.
She'll take all the tears you give her;
open the gates and set her free.

When it rains in Georgia,
it's flooding sacred ground.
From Augusta to Savannah,
that's holy water coming down.

Lift your chin up off your chest,
raise your eyes up to the sky.
The flood has reached its crest,
let the warm sun sanctify.

Sorrow is a lonesome river,
she feeds a deep blue sea.
She'll take all the tears you give her;
open the gates and set her free.

r ~ 5/16/14

Before your eyes fill
with fading,
come rest them here.
Let my shoulders bear
your burden;
let me absorb your tears.
Give this day a rest;
your wounded heart
is weary.
Close your tired eyes;
you've done your best.
Close your tired eyes,
and let me do the rest.

r ~ 5/16/14

What do you say to a child in pain
when nothing can ease the burn,
          the hole,
the enveloping wave
          of darkness?

Words are not a chain
to fastly anchor
          one's soul,
to cling, to save,
          to harness.

Time is the only healing rain
to calm the churn,
          make whole,
to fill the vase,
          drown the sharpness.

And love. Mountains and oceans of love.
This is all I have to give.
My words are not enough.

5/15/14

My ink may run
as black as coal,
as dark as
a dark night
of the soul.

Or flow red hued
like the morning sky;
as red as love,
or red man's blood
on hard-baked clay.

Yellow ink hues
my many suns,
my moons
the color of
dry bone.

Blue-inked waves
may wash my
blues away,
or sing the blues as blue
as muddy waters.

Gray ink clouds
on a fog-shrouded
empty highway
take me from here
to the Blue Ridge
mountains.

White-capped sailors
sail the arctic
as lost as
my white ink
on a blank page.

r ~ 5/13/14

A fading shade; built with care
once bright, now reminiscent
of coming winter.

Time-bent frame; piney dreams
of summer days, gone
now splintered.

Binding rings; stretching link
rusted chains, cold rains
blow bitter.

r ~ 5/12/14

Her onyx eyes
burn in my mind.
Black alibis
hide hidden heat.
Forbidden nights
in darkened rooms
on darkened streets.

She stills my screams
with silken thighs
in wanton dreams
on twisted sheets.
She leaves me spent
in unknown rooms
on unknown streets.

Her hunger fills.
our emptiness.
Stiletto thrills,
crescendo beat.
Two bodies move.
In hungry rooms.
On hungry streets.

r ~ 5/11/14

Hey Dad,
It's been some time since we last spoke. I miss you, still. I'm writing to ask that you pass a message on to Mom for me. She never was one for sentimental stuff; but you know that, already.

Tell Mom that she is missed by all of her children; we miss her especially on this, her first Mother's Day away. I will miss not calling or seeing her. I missed sweating over what to get her this year. I miss her voice those times when I just needed to hear it; the first time that Noah had an ear infection, those times that I needed to know what was wrong with my roses. She always seemed to have the right answer no matter what. Just like you.

Tell Mom that I'm doing well. I've stopped drinking. I know she never liked that. Tell her that Noah is graduating from High School next month. You both were always so proud of him. He misses both of you very much. You should see him now, Dad. He's as tall as I am. As tall as you. He has grown into a good man; he is a lot like you in many ways. Noah sends his love to you both.

Well, I just wanted to say hello, and ask that you tell Mom that I love her. Tell her that I understand. It was time. She missed you. You were waiting up in the high pasture for quite awhile.  I'll let you go, now. I know that you two still have a lot of catching up to do.

Hugs to Mom.

                         Love,
                         Rick

r ~ 5/11/14

Come morning,
when darkness lifts
its veil of mourning,
the warm sun gifts
her day to praise
with sweet refrain
on a grassy grave
in the mountains.

r ~ 5/10/14

You said I love you.
I say I love you more.
But love is a prime number,
and zero squared is still zero.

r ~ 5/10/14

Paul,
   Paul
you plucked those two strings
and **** near took
me to my knees.
Knocked the breath
right out of me.

r ~ 5/9/14

The Black Guitar

Clearing out ten years from a wardrobe
I opened its lid and saw Joe
written twice in its dust, in a child's hand,
then a squiggled seagull or two.

                                                    Joe, Joe

a man's tears are worth nothing,
but a child's name in the dust, or in the sand
of a darkening beach, that's a life's work.

I touched two strings, to hear how much
two lives can slip out of tune

                                                then I left it,
brought down the night on it, for fear, Joe
of hearing your unbroken voice, or the sea
if I played it.

The Black Guitar, Paul Henry

Searching for a book of matches,
I came across one of your poems
from 1993. It wasn't written on a
matchbook; no.  It was written on
a page torn right from my heart.

The line about how a blind man
helped you to see that words hold
more love than truth still burns my
eyes.  Seems you were right; and
you were wrong, too. The ink was
no longer as blue as your eyes
that day when we last held hands.
That day you penned these words
to my heart. That very day; our last.

Your poetry used to make me smile,
or laugh, or curse your soul for writing
words that I could never seem to find.
This poem was your best; your last.

The ink has faded and ran  in places
from all these years of tears shed and
long dried. More tears would do no good. 
I can hardly read these faded lines. You still
would not be here to kiss them away,
to tell me that everything is going to be
alright; no.

r ~ 5/8/14

Morning comes slowly/
    White paint on a blue canvas
    Lofty masterpiece.

r ~ 5/7/14

White linen,
needle sewn.
Worn denim,
fades too soon.
Horse venom,
evil rune.
Hard water,
silver spoon.
Dead daughter,
red balloon.

r ~ 5/6/14

Would you have
     our stars not shine?
Would you have darkness
      be your shrine?

r ~ 5/5/14

If I could sing
You'd throw me back
Say I'm not a keeper
Cuz I can't sing
Your song anyhow.

But if I could
I'd be singing
Something sweeter
To make you cling
To me...all day long.

If I could sing
You'd throw me away
Call me a dreamer
And there's not a thing
I could say to say you're wrong.

When I sing
Toss me into your river
Cuz I'm a dreaming swimmer
I could swim in your water
All night long.

r ~ 5/4/14

Lovers whisper-laughing,
stumbling home in the rain.
O, to be so drunk again.

r ~ 5/3/14

Asked to write a poem of yellow, what could I possibly have to add that would celebrate this word found within the sun, the moon, at times, the stripes of a bumblebee, a butterfly, a yellow jacket's sting,  the brilliant splash on a painted bunting, the goldfinch, canary, a yellow breasted warbler, baby chicks, a rubber duck, a baby duck, too, a dandelion in spring, a sunflower, a rose of sorts, a lily, daffodils in a field of wheat, rubber boots upon your feet on a rainy day, a slicker, too, a school bus, a number two pencil, a taxi when you're running late, a tangy lemon, a banana, sometimes a grapefruit, butter on a pancake, egg yolk for your western omlet, lemon drops, cheese, macicheese, and a cheese pizza, too, yellow hair on a farm boy, a piece of straw in his father's mouth, his yellow-haired beautiful sis, her yellow polka-dotted dress, a yellow kitten, a dog in a sad movie like old yeller.

So nice, the color yellow, on a sunny day in May.

r ~ 5/3/14

O, river
that has washed so many sins away, where catfish without two heads are freaks, while bible printing paper mills host their conventions in vegas;
flow free and clear again with one-headed rainbow trout.

O, brown sky
that falls beneath the weight of strip-mined mountains of coal black as industrialists hearts and rains enough acid for a very long strange trip to a grateful dead show on the jersey shore; give us again your sweet air and pink mares tails sailing by.

O, epa
where art thou while koch siblings pay lobbyists to paint your science a fuzzy shade of mucous green spat on the sidewalks of k street helping elect politicians whose sole job is to get reelected. Use the power of thy pen.

O, sea level
rise again to wash away our sins and start anew. Show to us good science.

r ~ 5/3/14

Measure our nights
by the sighs of the moon.
Count the stars
till we run out of room.
Lie here beside me
'neath the comforting sky.
Make me a pillow
of your warming thighs.
Bring my roar to your lips
as my salt you sip.
Twice kissed silken cries
your wakened delight.
Measure our nights
by slumbering sighs.

r ~ 5/2/14

In my next life
I wish to be a saddle.
I love horses,
wool blankets,
the feel of old leather,
the comfort of a stable.
Yes, I love them all.
Mostly, though,
I love cowgirls.
In my next life
I wish to be a saddle.

r ~ 5/1/14

I awoke this morning before the dawn.
You were gone.
You forgot to turn the coffee-maker on.
Ai.

r ~ 4/30/14

She hides her smile
behind black lipstick.
Her voice is low
and in between.
She smells of loneliness
and cigarettes.
She sings for me
when she is high.

She gets me higher
than I can go.
She takes me low
and in between.
Her heart's on fire
when she sings.
Her voice is smokey,
full of pain.

She sings of loneliness
and broken dreams.
Her dance is low
and in between.
She gets me high
and lets me down.
She kisses me
with black lipstick.

r ~ 4/29/14

Home Depot does not sell azure paint.
No. They do have Morning Sky,
Tropical Lagoon, Morning Breeze,
Ocean Cruise, Cozumel, Empress Teal,
Almost Aqua, and Navy.  But no azure.  
No cyan, either. No plain ol' blue.
I will take my verdant money elsewhere.
Home Depot should be more poet friendly.

r ~ 4/29/14

I could write a poem about you.
It's true.

But a poem would only make you love me
more than you know how to.

I could write a poem about your eyes.
They're blue.

I could tell the world you make my day all day long.
Nights, too.

I could tell the world all about you.
The world would share my view.

I could say that your days live inside
my heart. They do.

I could write a poem about you.
It would be true. Would you?

r ~ 4/28/14

I could write a poem about myself.
I could write a poem.
I could write.
I could.
I.

r ~ 4/28/14

I once painted a dartboard in the corner of a room.
Half on one wall, half on the other; hit bullseye every time.
I thought I had found an answer.

I once jumped out of an airplane.
Nowhere to go but down.
That wasn't the answer, either.

I once walked a trail bordered by a swift river and a sheer cliff.
I could go where I had already been, or someplace else.
I found the answer.

r ~ 4/27/14

I haven't drank in ninety days
Way to go you fookin' saint
You haven't killed in thirty years
But St. Zachary you ain't.

Her husband sells used broken cars
I get to kick the tires
While he gets soaked at all the bars
I'm putting out his fires.

I'm pleading down to purgatory
As Satan winks at me
Though punishment be mandatory
I'll not burn for perjury.  ;)

r ~ 4/27/14

Fade to faded photographs
You know the ones
A battlefield from long ago
Broken horses
Broken cannon
Broken men
Faded broken men.

Fade to faded photographs
You know the kind
A desert scene from long ago
Wild ponies
Feathered lances
Proud warriors
Faded broken lifeways.

Fade to faded photographs
You know the places
The ones so hard to find
Clear waters
Untamed wilderness
All God's creatures
Faded fading landscapes.

Fade to faded photographs
You know their names
Seats of power then and now
Wooden desks
Feather pens
Prideful men
Faded broken promises.  

r ~ 4/27/14

Sing me a song of rain.

Strike lightning in my eyes.

Blow a warm breeze through my hair.

I'll dance a happy Wood Stork dance for you, my flower child.

Pretending all the while that we're at Yasgur's Farm.

r ~ 4/25/14

I call her Moon.
              Why, you ask?
Because she is light
     when my nights are heavy.

r ~ 4/24/14

Whispers
     in alabaster ears
words unforgiving, unforgiven
      year after year after year.     
Whispered secret secrets.

      Laurel leaved lies of liars
traitorously spilling wine while
      tear after tear after tear
shed and shredded truth
      cut sharp with guile.

      Cloaked smiles kissing
hands of befriended strangers
      in strange lands lighting fires;
fire after fire after fire
       burning hatred blind to danger.
     
 Sentried angry glowers guarding towers
      o'er ever changing landscapes of desire
 hour after hour after hour.
      Come little child, take to your lips
a bitter taste of this our power.

r ~ 4/24/14

I long to meet a Guinevere
So many poems I'd pen
Like Guinevere by the Azure Mere
Or simply, My Sweet Gwen

I taste the sound of Guinevere
Tis salt upon my lips
Perhaps she'd be my Gwenhwyfar
Sweet wine of Arthur's sips

Smooth and fair my Guinevere
Of her so many songs be sung
I'd love you o'er and o'er, my dear
Tomorrow I'd have ye hung.

r ~ 4/22/14

It's not the rain
that makes my eyes wet.
It hasn't rained in forty days.
Nights are long and quiet.
The silence cuts to bone.

It wasn't rain that quenched the fire.
It hasn't rained in forty nights.
The well is dry... so am I.
Nights I sit in silence
while it rains.

r ~ 4/19/14

Listen
Listen now
He doesn't sleep here
Anymore.

Smile
Smile somehow
He walks upon that shore.

Look
Look inside
Look inside yourself.

Dream
He's dreaming
You'll find him in your dreams...
Somehow.

4/18/14

Steady lads
You're the farmer
You're the scythe
Sharp like a knife
They're the wheat
Stalks in the wind
Steady boys
They come again
Time to reap.

r ~ 4/17/14

Solitude found a friend in me
Winter stole the rest
Wondering where my heart might be
While soul is sinking west

A paler shade of night comes 'round
Moon forgets to rise
An empty lamp of light surrounds
A view of starless skies

With eyes shut wide to lonesome light
Dreams escape my thoughts
Silence awakens fear of flight
A journey all for nought.

r ~ 4/16/14

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Led down from the tower
Head high and hands bound
Blindfold declined against the wall
Black square pinned to his heart
Eyes afire and shining proud
He sang...

He sang of Caruso, Townes Van Zandt
Pavarotti, Bocelli, Mercury,
Carreras, he sang of Antoine,
Of Sinatra, Lennon, Morrison, Redding
He sang and songbirds paused in flight
He sang like them all

He sang a song of himself
Of leaves of grass, of second comings
Of Byron, and Bharti, and Cummings
He sang of Neruda, and Plath, Tagore
Dickinson, Kamala Das and Naidu
Oh, he sang of them all

He sang of art and beauty
Of Mona Lisa and starry nights
Girls in green dresses and pearls
He sang of Van Gogh, of Picasso
Of Rembrandt, da Vinci
He sang of Michelangelo

He sang of sadness, pain
He sang of My Lai, Sand Creek
Of Guernica and Krystallnacht
He cried and sang of Wounded Knee
Of Katyn Forest, Sabra and Shatila
Oh, he wept as he sang

He sang of history and wonders
He sang of Olduvai and pyramids
Machu Picchu, Tikal, and Angkor Wat
He sang of a great wall, the Taj Mahal
Stonehenge, Easter Isle, Mesa Verde
His song took us to them all

He sang of courage
A song of Bunker Hill, Gettysburg
Of the Alamo, Normandy, Stalingrad
Of Lincoln, Guevara and Dr. King
He sang of Bolivar, Bhutto, Ghandi
He shamed us with their song

He sang his song...
As women sighed and peasants cried
He  sang until the rifles fired, he died
Songbirds fell from the sky
Soldiers broke their guns on stones
And marched into the deep blue sea.

r ~ 4/12/14

A wisp of gray cloud slips by
like a passing doubt.

A fleeting black thought flies
with the shadow of a wasp.

An unfelt feeling of cold fear
seeks warmth through window light.

Striped feral cat creeps too near,
sees red-tailed hawk in flight.

Time spent with toes in sand,
washed by water clear and cold.

Empty thoughts to understand,
one wave comes, another one goes.

r ~ 4/11/14

Telling.
On the news I see
in the cradle of mankind,
bloodlust  rampaging.
Killing machines laughing
as children cry and mothers
stare silently at nothing.

Telling.
On my porch I see
three birds sharing a perch,
eating seed.
One brown, one red,
one olive green.
One gently feeding the other.

Telling.

r ~ 4/9/14

Places that once had names
changed by wind and rain
and sun and shifting sands
once mapped and framed
bad lands claim
dry bones.

Desert meets sky
   and rivers run dry
and road is lost
    to all who try
to find their way
    to shining pools
of silver lies
    miraged below
forgetful skies.

Days go past in time lapsed
skies changing fast to black
to red to blue to white
and back again
to no end
in sight.

r ~ 4/7/14

Somedays, the tide only laughs
at the sandbags we put up.
When the ocean of emotion
breaks with waves above our hearts,
we swim or drown.

The swell of current overrides
and riptides pull us down.
Move parallel to shore against the tide
till firmer ground is found.
Swim.

r ~ 4/6/14

Thinking back on that day
so long ago, I always have to ask myself
if my recollection is true.

Did the sunlight and the spray from the falls
really create a rainbowed halo above you?
And did the trout all rise to the surface
at one time just to feed on your beauty?

On even the coldest days the memory
still never fails to warm my heart.
Funny how tomorrow I might smile
thinking of that day so long ago,
and the next shed tears abundant as the falls
that in concert with the sun
sang you forever into my heart.

r ~ 4/4/14

Now tethered to a lonely space

A place without a warm embrace

T’is hard to break the ties that bind

The rope that hope could ne’er unwind

To want that love once unconfined

Could sail to Rome, or Greece, or Thrace.


Was want that placed within this vase

The scent of rose so to efface

The mournful song of nightingale

A blushed cheek song behind red veil

Now tethered to a lonely space


Where thorn once pricked now left no trace

Wrapped now in sails by lover’s grace

For stars aligned and wind behind

To break the tether in my mind

Dreams not tethered to lonely space.

r ~ 4/4/14

Another letter today
Just one more step along my way
Check that box and forget about
Whatever tomorrow brings
Even if it's only for a little while
Close my eyes and try to smile
Close my eyes
To the light.

4/3/14

All this sentimentality.
A sign I'm getting on?
Or have I always been that way?
Getting on, I mean.

I cursed like an old bar keep
when I was only five.
Killed my first bear
when I was only three.

Or so they tell me.
Seems even then my memory
wasn't what it used to be.
Excuse me my sentimentality.

r ~ 4/2/14

I remember the last doctor appointment that I took my father to. At the VA, of course. He wouldn't go anywhere else. Said he didn't like doctors in general, but at least these ******* didn't tell him that he needed to quit smoking. It's been a few years since the old man passed, but I recall so clearly how unfazed he was that day. How accepting of it all. How he remarked to the Doc so matter-of-factly "Of course it's spread. That's what cancers do. Just like us, they do what they have to do."  He never asked how much time he had. He knew. Told me not to tell "the girls". My sisters. **** fine old man. Always did just what he had to do.

4/2/14

April came with a sigh.

4/1/14