#dustbowl
I want to be subtle
adroit
mysterious
instead my thoughts
thrash about
for all the world to see
like worn sheets
blowing
in the wind
clumsy and drab
what I write sounds insipid
no mystique
no complexity
I call to my Muse
she does not come
what would it take to bribe her
I'll sell my soul to her
does she not know this
I'll give her my heart
doesn't she know
it's already hers
others have steadfast muses
who walk with them
who dream for them
then
guiding their hands
recall those dreams
my muse doesn't dream anymore
not at night
not in the day
my mind is dull and bare
a dust-bowl farm
nothing grows
winds removing
layer
after
layer
my heart and soul arid
like parched
white
desert bones
lying lonely
on expanse
of
graveyard
where nothing moves
save tumbleweed
brittle
and empty
where barbed
sentinels
hoard
the moisture
within
tough
impenetrable
skin
will there come
a rainy season
will there?
will springs refill
the well?
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 8:24 AM UTC
This is a story from very long ago,
I suppose some might remember it from their own reminiscing,
but I learned it from my Pa.
It goes like this.
There was a man named Anthony,
he was married to a younger woman,
Sophia.
The two had tied the knot one year prior,
In 1931.
Anthony knew not to fully trust Sophia,
(although he himself was not a man of great moral character)
because she was never loyal to a soul.
It was systematic,
even if she loved who she was with,
even if she had everything to gain,
she found a way to justify infidelity.
Anthony did not know about all her scandals,
just enough of them to keep his eyes peeled.
The two of them had owned a tobacco farm,
In the middle of Oklahoma,
I do suppose it was Anthony's in reality,
But I would guess if a couple shares a bed,
and a home,
and their money,
the farm is also in joint custody.
This was not just a farm,
It was the heart of the town,
pumping out a vital product in all directions,
It was the only thriving business around,
I suppose because it feeds an addiction,
it was a tough time,
even from farmers,
but dust does not hurt Tobacco plants.
The time came around however,
when a successful business owner came to town.
He was asking what was making the money in this village,
Anthony and Sophia's hands were always raised,
in preparation for this question,
they had enough pride to fit twice inside of a musician.
The man asked to buy their property,
along with the plantation and all the workers.
the money offered was somewhere between,
one hundred and fifty thousand,
and,
three hundred thousand,
the exact number has been lost with age.
Whatever the case, It impressed the couple,
who proceeded to sell,
and buy a small house in the town.
What hasn't been told to you is that Anthony's father was gravely ill,
Anthony promised if he ever ran into money,
he would pay for better care for his beloved father.
When Anthony Remembered this promise, he wrote his father.
Sophia, did not like this,
the fortune was theirs, and not for some sick man,
with only half the life,
(if he got better)
that they had.
Even with her tricky seductive ways,
she could not convince him to keep the money,
Anthony wanted to give the whole of their new fortune to his father.
Anthony saw the rage of the devil in her eyes,
and every day she blocked him,
the monster within her had come alive,
roaring with anger, and retaliation to nobility,
which caused his inner beast to stir.
It never awoke,
but turned his empathy to dust.
They always tell of how small the sum of money Anthony sent was,
but maybe its more important to count what he did not send,
whatever the case was, his father could do nothing with it,
it was not enough to pay for better care,
just more of his original care.
Anthony and Sophia,
dressed in the most stylish clothes,
and wearing the most elegant jewelry,
soon went to visit his Anthony's parents,
when they walked in,
there were typical greetings,
just what you would expect from semi-estranged family members.
When however,
Anthony's mother took a hard look at the two of them,
she cried, and hit them,
cursing them for wasting their money and lying,
(for Anthony told his parents he didn't have enough money,
and that he gave what he had to his father.)
She told them to begone,
and that they could not have cared,
because they could not be bothered to give any more money,
Anthony left the house and Sophia trailed behind him.
On their way back to where they parked the ford,
Anthony and Sophia were struck down by a car.
they were killed instantly,
and the police came to claim their bodies.
That was the plight of a young couple not many people know of anymore,
Why it ever became famous I don't even know,
perhaps it was the despicability of Sophia,
or the unknowing victimization of Anthony,
but it holds an important lesson,
and I'm glad to have told you about it.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 9:27 PM UTC
the windshield is caked
with dust and decay
the air is harsh with sand and pollen
my skin is cracking in the fiery sun
and not a single drop has fallen
the Devil spins a dustbowl of sin, suffering and desperation
the crops are dying
and the children are crying
and still we lie to ourselves
about our dire situation
PRAY FOR RAIN
CLEANSE OUR PAIN
WASH THE FILTH AND DIRT AWAY
PRAY FOR RAIN
CLEAR THE STAINS FROM THE AIR
SO WE CAN BREATHE AGAIN
...is it enough yet, to change our decadent ways?
if mother earth is angry, we should listen to what she says
the fish keep dying out
from the lakes drying up
the wildfire situation worsens
our earth is hurting
as the world keeps on turning
and everything we know starts to burn
PRAY FOR RAIN
CLEANSE OUR PAIN
WASH THE FILTH AND DIRT AWAY
PRAY FOR RAIN
CLEAR THE STAINS FROM THE AIR
SO WE CAN BREATHE AGAIN
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 2:49 AM UTC
The thing is, the town grew restless
living deep within the dustbowl,
so they placed mountains behind the hills
gave the general store a roof,
then each bar a row of stools
which will never sit empty.
We sewed eyes beside our buttons
as eager as our own
and asked eyes to reveal
the depth of our despair.
And because the present blurred our future
dusty hands met moonlit faces,
triggers received a finger;
their bodies sleek, shining handles.
Even what lay hidden from our vision
was radiated from their fires;
we made memories into bones,
photographs screaming out,
wet tongues lashing,
so we could walk into sanctuary.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC