Shiny black spit-shined shoes
on the walk
in the Memorial Gardens
hurt my feet
to look at their stiffness
and his swollen ankles
in them.
His worn and creased pants
too short, belt buckle aligned
dress-right-dress
with the button fold of his shirt.
He wore
an old faded USMC campaign hat
pulled down
almost to his white eyebrows.
Almost comically.
I pitied him
in the way we sometimes do
the old who mumble,
never knowing
just who they are talking to.
I heard Inchon mentioned,
and Chosin a time or two,
and every time he said Puller knew,
yeah, Chesty knew.
I quit taking my lunch
with a book in the Garden
when he stopped coming around
and after I saw his picture
in the obituaries
with a description of how he won
his Silver Star and two Purple Hearts;
wishing now I had listened closer.
More’s the pity
I never spoke to him.

r ~ 6/27/14

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

A year from now a man
will be thinking aloud
asking God if he eats right
and quits drinking and smoking
will you rid me of the cancer
but God will start laughing
and that will be the answer
so the man will move to Africa
and then to India where there
are many a God and naked
dancers but the chancre
wouldn't go away so he went
to New Hampshire where a doctor
said so sad, so sad as he said
to his secretary who was pulling
up her *******, oh yeah, honey,
take all of this poor man's money
and make him feel younger again
and so swell, so she did and the old
man returned to the mountains
and his cabin staring at pine knots
on the wall that all look so strange
so he'll pick up his gun and shoot
his old woman, his dog, then himself
thinking life is a rotten godforsaken
place when a man can't afford to live
and our healthcare system is a disgrace.

Arriving in the dark
like a listing ship
at your dock
my fingers skinned
all ****** at the knuckles
from christening your door
like a bottle on a prow
or a broken mirror
in the morning, caught
in the hurricane
of your crazy hair.

Sometimes I drink by myself
like too many do, maybe you, too
when the wind blows like it does
here on the coast when it’s clear
and the light of dead stars come
down to swim in your circle of blood
while thinking back about the sisters
of boys I used to run with, oh, you know
we’d give our trigger fingers just to
touch them again, but the war keeps
seeping back into us like the poison
that pours into our rivers and creeks
from long gone cotton fields now paved
where the clouds of those days
are all that gets weighed in at the gin
I swear, there’s a pattern to all of this
like the weave of a tight skirt on a girl
who I once fell in love with in school
I went all crazy from watching her twist.

My son told me that I had a worse singing voice
than Neil Young, Bob Dylan, Townes Van Zandt and John Prine
all combined.
I just smiled and said "Thank you, son".

r

In the dark age before reason
warmed his sharp knife,
I took things to heart
that left scars with no wound,
like lightning without thunder
or melody, that barefoot gypsy
I fell in love with, like Night
and her moon, woman with child
sinking below frozen ground,
I learned the loneliness
of cold seasons, and the wood
of the wild cherry will **** you.

ripples in the pond-
  fat toad on a skinny rock
  i wish he would croak

r 6/26/14

When I was young
I didn't have any doctor bills
now I get statements
special delivery, envelopes
full of X-rays I hold up
to the moon, that rock
sinking deep in my gut
looking like all of those cold
feelings I've swallowed
the many curses held inside
wooden matches chewed twice
and not spat out, a cancer
like a two-headed speckled trout
swimming around
trying to find its way out
when in fact it's just a feeling
I get trying to swallow regrets
one rusty old fish hook at a time.

He sniffed the wolves
~found them wanting
Wolves sniffed of him
~found him daunting

The shepherd fears
not beast of prey
With shiverin' lambs
he greets each day

Upon the hills
and braky glen~
shepherd watches
o'er his friends

And when the night
calls lambs to sleep
the shepherd sings
while grey wolves weep.

r ~ 25Mar14

I miss Sunday
in a skyblue sundress
with sunlight
shining through
that gap between
thighs so soft
like cotton clouds.

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

I saw a girl in a wheelchair on her porch
and wasps were swarming in the cornice

She had just washed her hair
taken it down and combed it

She could see
just like me

That one star under the rafter
shining like a knife in the creek

She was thin as the hereafter
and made me think

Of music singing to itself
like someone putting a violin in a case

And walking off with a stranger
to lie down and drink in the dark by the lake.

Night is an old blanket
asleep on my pillow.
Night is the mist on the river
covering the willows.
Night is the moon turning blue
brushing her hair.
Night is a black dress
on the back of my chair.

Her body is a plantation
I worked on for twelve years,
all of them solid, deep
summer, uncleared timber,
backwater, ditch and slough,
times of bad cotton, dark
nights and no crops, hard rain,
riding shotgun over my love.

When the seed
of envy grows
into a big tree,
the fruit is bitter,
and the tea
from the bark
stains your soul
and your poetry.

Here I am

by the sea

Shanghaied

from the mountains

a long ways

from loving

let the record read

I'm ****** if I don't

and ****** if I do

and let the moon

hide in my boot.

homesick for the little things-
a hello, for instance
-how was your day

can i just say-
small kisses
would go a long way
towards improving
the manor

i remember when-

i remember
small kisses
in a friendly manner-

granted
and planted-
and love mattered.

r ~ 9/24/14

Those things these hands have held
gently -textured care-
tactile curiosities
life's measure

A small, blue bird's egg
broken -sadly-
mocking nature's symmetry

Ice
cold -cold-
water making shape

A stone arrow point
sharp still -old-
black as death

My mother's hand
warm -caring-
now long gone

A small dog
wiggling -happy-
nipping, licking fingers

A woman
smooth -soft-
curving heat

My son
my son, my son -my son-
now grown, love unmeasurable

A coin
gold -only-
worth little

Those things these hands have held
measured -treasured-
memorized
lifelines.

r ~ 8/12/14

Sailing feathered clouds across the blue sky
Haloed sundogs clinging to white mares’ tails
Storied concentric glories way up high
I’ll leave a soft rainbow colored contrail

Sailing feathered clouds across the blue sky
Flying towards the sun’s healing golden crown
Come and sing when you see me sailing by
Let go the darkness and let light resound

Sailing feathered clouds across the blue sky
Shards of memories and rose colored ice
My love my love my love let go the sigh
Please remember me to the by and by

r ~ 3Mar14

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

With broken wing
She tried to fly
A broken wing
The ruse she tried
On broken wing
The sigh, it died
For broken wing
Her lover cried

r ~ 12Mar14

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

r ~ 4/24/14

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

Their words
Like the softest cannon fire
Shrapnel finding every mark
In blood and brain and bone
and heart
Leaving us to bleed
for more
Till fire, now silenced
turns to dark.

3/30/14

Rubies glistening
'neath light of the moon
as rabbits feast
and children sleep
'midst dreams
of a strawberry morning.

r ~ 6/13/14

You can’t unring this bell
       of sorrow with your heart
as dark as tonight in El Paso
        Texas by texting more lies
between rounds of golf
         with twenty lives lost
just because you’re El Presidente.

You walk across the room
in your black *******,
a cigarette in your hand
and turn off the fan
in the open window,
like an undertaker waiting
by the door for the headlights
in the driveway debating
another swig from his flask,
like a ***** blowing smoke
in the dark flicking ash.

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

Her touch is as cold
as the snow on statues

I wait in my dark suit
like a suitor in the shadows

cast in the courtyard of the dead
alone in the middle of the night

she shows her folded hands
holding the Ace of sorrows

black like the flowers
I bring her tonight

beneath a silent moon
gathered like dust on my boots

late in the afternoon
as I walked along the low road

to call on her
in the garden of stones.

mystic line between
blue and blue
stretching yonder -

- i wonder at the wonder -

a whispering sea
confides in me

- an ancient mystery -

the plaintive song
of the baleen.  

r - 10/23/14

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

For me, it's not courage
or a lack of it
that keeps me hanging
'round. When I boil it
down, it's love in the bottom
of the kettle that keeps me
breathing. I don't think it is
possible to love too much,
but man, I feel like I've been
breathing for a long **** time.

r ~ 16Mar14

stoic, solid
stolid and bolder
made colder the soldier-
death's hand on his shoulder
and eyes the color
of green flies.

r ~ 8/19/14

Here at the end
of the continent
everyday the same
sea and sky elemental
endless blue planes
interrupted only
by a wayward bird
a flash of white
like a gull
lost out in the null
as September wanes
into Autumn's moon
breaking like a spell
casting my shadow
like a sundial
measuring my footprints
away and alone
on these wind(s)wept
bare lonely dunes.

I'm sick to death of me
living vicariously
through meaning-
less words like
a mocking bird
mocking a gull
on a wave-less shore
or a man without oars
(f)or a life (raft) on a lost
ship adrift in an angry sea
and no anchor or eyes
on the horizon somewhere
west of anywhere but here.

Guard's boots echo on stone floor
Crash of ocean pounding rocks
Roar of wind across the waves
Lost gull cries against the storm
Clang of iron door slamming shut
Key rattled lock clunking tight
Stifled whimper, slap of skin on skin
Maddening laugh follows screams
Psalms 23-4 whispered over and over
Sounds of hell slide through my bars
like wisps of black smoke in the night.

r ~ 6/15/14

A whispered
call to prayer
across the pillow
my muezzin
your adhān
awakens me
to the sun
a new day.

I rise and kneel
in worship
in supplication
I hasten to you
my confession
in adoration
I vow, I bow
to please you.

r ~ 6/23/14

You know how you're down and out
on the river, three sheets to the wind,
doing some night casting, a little
moonlighting to pay off the bill,
and you decide, by god I'm tired
of drifting, I think I'll anchor here.

Me, I'm living on beer, boiled eggs,
and ruined mascara. Tonight,
I'll make enough to buy a roll of dimes
so she can play the box, so she can drop
them in the sawdust, on purpose
and lean over, oh me, oh my.

Sometimes I come to
while the moon is still up
i have been dreaming
way into the night
of a sad woman
in the corner of my room
sitting at a loom
weeping, and weaving
her own shadow
and my silence feels
like an intruder
to her sorrow
an unnatural light
to the darkness
she will face
for all the rest
of her tomorrows
if I could only dream
a way into her
dark nights.

From Hatteras south to Ocracoke
The Queen Anne she did soak
A'bar at Springer's Point
Where kin of Teach
Take pride in speech
And with pirate's blood anoint

On down coast by Emerald Isle
Eighteen sailor  miles
Till  sail through Tops'l Spit
Beneath the waves
Lie many graves
Of fools whose widows knit

r ~ 11Feb14

He had a way
with a pen,
my friend
the part-time
con artist, full-
time drunkard
with twinkles
in his eyes
like stardust,
and wrinkles
from laughter
as loud as
a clap of thunder,
and it was
really a wonder
to watch him draw
his last breath
with such depth
like an outline
of a shadow,
a sinkhole
in the shade
on the side
of a dark ridge.

When I am the guest of my brother
sleep watching shooting stars
in a black dog's eyes
asleep in a star drift, dreaming
of tides and spiral galaxies,
I am an ice sword dipped in wine,
death ringing in your ears
like the darkest shadow of night,
a lost sailor drifting through
the centuries in a black ship,
a man standing vigil over a grave
cleaning mud off of his boots
with a knife.

Four patties of ******* he wears
Two upon each shoulder wing
Polished gleaming egocentric air
Marching like a king
His Chief of Staff
And parade of sycophants
Make me want to laugh
All aligned like **** ants
Until their buckets of *******
Are sloshed upon my desk
Right or wrong just do it
Another *******-filled day

The coldness of morning
penetrates in proportion
to the lonely nights before
and the winds that blow
in from the north
like sadness wrapped
all around me
a coat without pockets
no warmth for my hands
that once held yours
like ashes without fire
and there is ice on my lashes
that burns like the last words
I heard you say to my back
as I walked away out the door.

Messengers bring me no messages,
teachers do not raise your voices,
like a flag I will raise my hand, like
a mad dog looking up on a hill
in the afternoon, I will smell you out
in the dead water where my tongue
is held captive, if it is to be silent
it will be silent in my mouth
where darkness and the scent of roses
come out like smoke, I smoke alone
in the woods to be smoking
so I can say I have smoked,
I call out madam
shall I undress you for a fight,
the wars are naked that you wage tonight
in a bed as broad as a battlefield
as the sword you mock the fallen with
and the angel says what is dead is
dead, I dream what I dream.