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Cliff Perkins Jan 2019
I just wanted the paper
To grab and pay and run
I had places to go
and things to do

But the guy behind the counter
had a funny name
so I took a chance and asked
“Where are you from?”

He laughed like earth’s first sunrise
And said “You gotta guess”.
I could not leave
unless I played along

His degree is in physics
But then he quit that job
So he could be
a gas station cashier

Taking up our money
Taking up our time
Taking us to places that we fear

Taking up our worries
Taking up our cares
Charging us nothing but good cheer

I wanted to keep playing
I didn’t want to leave
But there were people
backing up behind

So I said I’ll see you later
And knew that I spoke true
Knew I needed
this man so fun and kind

So if you’re in a hurry
Have too much to do
If you see my smiling man
Say thank you to Ebu
Cliff Perkins Jan 2019
Sitting on the deck
Hot humid afternoon
Gin and tonic
Melting fast

A whisper of a breeze
Begins

Approaching thunderstorms
What did my Grandma say
Too much wind to be any rain
But at least cool air

I walk down to the lake
To see the show

The deep water has gone dark
Reflecting the trees
A green that is closer to black

And clouds too
More black than grey
With El Greco tumult
Making them boil
Like Shirley Temple’s hair

Some bird
A tiny speck moving closer
To ride these wild currents
As they increase speed across the open lake
Then meet with the huge trees on the far shore  
And burst upward
Giving awesome power beneath the wings

Ecstatic over this opportunity
He whirls and twirls
Others join him
They cannot contain their joy

Then like all things
This too is gone
Normality returns

But in those dying breaths I swear an oath
I shall remember this
Cliff Perkins Jan 2019
Rumblings of expectation
Herald something crucial
About to burst forth from the blank page
Like Lazarus from his tomb

Words emerge like crocus tips
One here, one there
Promises of what might come
If all goes well

Stops and starts
A promising phrase
A natural rhyme
Become false prophets
Die upon the vine

The cursor
Wanders aimlessly over text
A pilgrimage for meaning
Nothing points the way

Like a vague dream
Snatches here and there
It fades into oblivion
And will not come again
Cliff Perkins Jan 2019
One foot slow
Then another
Held in air
Settling soft on leaf litter

A sudden freeze
Stock still
Seconds pass like hours
Eyes, ears, legs
locked in tense suspense

trip wire
pin pulled
dog explodes
furious fur
toward the waiting squirrel
Cliff Perkins Jan 2019
A rising tide of pink blush
Climbs the bedroom wall
Pries sleepyhead from his bed
With its siren call

This old man stumbles down
To watch the world awake
Sun tells the truth, but tells aslant
Across a foggy lake

I’ve spent my years and spilled my tears
Doing what I was supposed
Now time has come and time is done
And what has my life showed

One last chance to dance the dance
To do something worthwhile
To leave a mark so angels hark
To truly make God smile

But how to choose before I lose
When so much is at stake
All I can think is take a drink
And sit and watch the lake

It screams aloud that God is proud
What use meek little me?
God can’t prance without audience
He needs someone to see

Augustine said:  “Do what you will”
That is the crux of love
And so I sit in awe of it-
Creation’s treasure trove

I am not by conscience bound
I reap but never sow
No higher purpose can be found
Than to enjoy the show
Cliff Perkins Jan 2019
An alien world is coming
So imperceptibly slow
We see it change only in memory
Frogs boiling in water

We creatures of the day
Mesmerized by the onslaught
Slow stalked by dark
Like by a lion or snake

Bats gyrate in flight
Aerial roller coasters
Flying blind with sounds we cannot hear
So much unknown to fear

Soon water will lose its soul
Its own reflection
The gossamer green
Become an ugly black

An empty void
Yet pregnant with every evil
That we diurnal creatures
Can imagine hiding there
Cliff Perkins Jan 2019
I walk these woods
Wild azaleas, ladies slippers and sweet shrub
Bobcats, deer, turkey and bear
Towering pines and hardwoods
A cushion of straw and leaves
Knee-deep in some places.

I remember rabbit hunting here as a child.
Back then, there were still open spaces
Filled with broom sedge, honeysuckle and bare red clay.
Blackberry briars and pine trees no taller than my head
Red Cedars and hollies everywhere for Christmas
We always came and cut our tree here.

It seems an untouched wilderness now
But if you go slow and look closely
You can still see faint reminders of my people

Flat stones stacked three high
The pillars for a barn or house long gone
A stone chimney half fallen
Because bees have stolen the mud chinking.

The outline of the springhouse
Where they kept the milk cool
The hole where later, when they could afford the time
They dug a well by hand.


Rusty barbed wire growing out of the center of huge trees
A reminder of better times
When there was money to buy wire
And enough neighbors that the cattle no longer roamed free

A whisky still by the creek
Dug down into a hole to hide it
The still full of axe holes
Cut by the revenuers
When they finally found it

Irish whisky to grease the fiddle
At the barn dance
To make the feet fly in a merry jig
And to drown the sorrows  
There were plenty of those

The farm next door
Where the husband went out to the barn one day
And hanged himself.

Ditches deeper than a man is tall
Zigzag across the landscape like lightning strikes
Reminders of what they learned
That the rains would wash the top soil down into the creek
Leaving nothing to nourish the crops.

In the end, the government offered assistance
Men with book learning called County Agents
Men who knew how to survey elevations
And design terraces that still curve through the deep woods

It was too little too late
But farming was all they knew
So the farmers spent weeks and months and years
Digging and damming to build
Those little pyramids of salvation
To save their soils

They were poor as the dirt itself.
And now, even the dirt was gone

It was no way to live
Finally they began abandoning the farms.
Slowly at first, then an avalanche
They went to the towns and cities
Assembly line workers
Who didn't mind 12 hour days
Or amputations.

The farms stood there
Little ghost towns on every 50 acres.
Snakes and mice moved into the houses.
The buildings burned or rotted
The storehouse, the smokehouse, the barn, the chicken coop.

These are my people
I walk where they walked
I see what was lost
I cherish what remains
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