prelude to a promise

Though snow cover the whole world white

and death descend on the land like night

this season will pass ‘neath a coming storm

to wake us anew in a heavenly form…

 

 

 

 

 

questions in the dark

when I was twenty-three, I thought life was chocolate cake…

yet so many sobering faces confronted me

from the crowd that lived the longest-

no sunshine in their veins,

nor smiles in the topo lines etched in flesh 

their passing like the scent of a faded gardenia

or an old musty beige house,

sadness lingered like a mist about them.

 

solace was my grandmother’s friend

but a clueless mystery to a boy of nine

clinging to the porcelain edge while taking a bath

as if the flood of memories would invade the bathroom

and I the drowning captain of a big white boat…

but solace slept with sadness

and I saw her sleeping at an instant

when the grey eyes drooped and the mouth dropped.

 

but it terrified me at six when I tried to remember the sobbing sound

that came when I closed my eyes and opened my ears in the

dead of night, the purple black.

listening to the snoring wheezing of an old one in the room beside me

and wondering if it was catching, this sobbing sound-

would I get it too when I became as crusty as the old woman?

 

 

 

 

 

 

fire in the tree

we, like grey spindly-legged sentinels

move for nothing but the wind

or the cascade of the rain upon noisy ground

 

you, bleeding on fire-touched leaves

move time’s sunset to timeless sunrise

and capture trinity in my photo frame.

 

 

 

 

 

carnival

you wait in line as  every one pushes forward, and they ignore you…survival of  the favored…carnival of the wanted

…you are a creature on the edge of the edge….of the great divide.

selfie sticks and virtual smiles…the cell world capturing triangular horizons…and sudden cliques…carnival of the political

…while a creature takes center stage across the grey divide.

scene change…take two steps and dance backwards, and call it a choice…watch them skim the issues in a crowd of three….carnival of the liked

…and the spotlight dims and a creature finds himself the center of attention

standing in line at the sno-cone stand…eye contact, eye contact, ear contact, and you think you hear it, but you don’t…carnival of the coveting.

…as  the incoming black rolls and reels forward, sucking up the light.

like fingers massaging piano keys, it all sounds so fresh and crisp…welcoming, waiting for the moment,  the memory…carnival of the desperate.

…wheels crushing orange against grey, deflating flesh and blood, victim of another moment without remorse…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

looking up…not down

when the mud is so thick

and the world is so cold

look to the heavens

to that city of Gold,

your reward awaits you

for all those long nights

you prayed for a miracle

for wrongs to become rights,

for all those long seasons

when hope kept you from fear

and you walked in the grey-light

your angels were there near,

for God has been watching,

indeed, God has been true,

so keep your eyes to the heavens

until God sees you through.

 

 

 

 

 

 

you capture my mood

you capture my mood

you capture my sun

so sorrow surrenders another day

dissipating droplets from finger-limbs

 

the rails will rust through another rain

and tears will wash away in the torrent

as you capture my breath

as you capture my wish

and I like these seasons

am renewed once again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

in the void of time

the world is cold, and unafraid,

but that world won’t let you go

the weight of my hands on this clod of dirt

as i stand before your throne

it’s not the Hill of Tara nor a piece of my mind

but a picture of you going home….

warmth, rush over me

hide me in the nothing 

the everything, the all you are

in the void of time………..

finger to tablet, lips to screen

you can kiss it a million times

before these eyes see another flower like this

they will be digging them inside my mind

and as the fierce wind blows, and the fire grows

there’s a silence of a different kind…

warmth, rush over me-

hide me in the nothing,

the everything, the all you are…

in the void of time…………………….

warmth, rush over me-

hide me in the nothing,

the everything, the all you are…

in the void of time

Cupcake Rap

I once asked a group of poetry students to define bad poetry. after ten minutes, no one came up with even one for an academic list. they could tell me what made a good poem, but not a bad one.

and perhaps that is a problem today…because, well, because we have such dreadful teaching, among other reasons. So much is relative, not academic. at least  in the divided states of america.

so i can write the most horrid poem ever to grace the face of a screen…and someone finds it “enlightening.” i am, once again, reminded that there are many people out there not as intelligent as me driving around on the roads…and egad…reading and evaluating poetry.

it is with serious face that i must tell you that there is a disease rampant in the decaying western world known as stupidity. given enough exposure to it, with the right incubation period, the disease can be fatal. especially to anyone with a brain (not playing with the gray matter). that includes all of us who write poetry and who do not write rap lyrics. the latter usually resembles llama excrement on a page, and when injected into headphones/ear plugs can cause cancer of the intelligence.

but i digress…or digest…so….back to the point (please forgive my ADD, it is the only math I know).

you thought your neighbors were stupid? …well, you have not seen or heard anything yet. wait till you hear this rap…

 

the cupcake rap

 

i can selfie like a fashion pro

eat my jello with a wigglin toe

and my cupcakes theys the ones to beat

pickin up bakery from down the street

yo – i’m doin it all day long

like rappin while writin this song

yeah the cupcakes theys beyond compare

you can stick them in your fridgidaire

you can drink them from a bottle of wine

they be talkin to you all the time

they be sayin it in some kind of rhyme..

hey baby hey baby hey baby hey

hey baby hey baby hey baby hey

yo…we be doin this…doin’ this…yeah

yeah doin this…doin this….yeah

yeah we doin this…

ah, we doin this…

you are tempting, tasty, and true

you are tempting, tasty, and true

on a lightly

toasted

bun

or another kind of one

flat or crispy…

you…you tickle my tongue licking my lips

you are better than pastry

better than bread

butter

in a stick or in a spread…

nothing like you

in this world of the living

not dead.

butter

o lovely butter

you have my heart.

it is that time of year again when poets around the globe begin polishing their poetry for the Bad Poetry of 2014 Poetry Awards. Are you ready? Do you have an offering for the white porceline throne?

or, are you engaged in serious poetry?

i am not yet engaged, nor single minded…but eagerly awaiting the final four…

a tornado comes to Garrett Hill

gray outstretched arms

waving without and within,

a song sent over the ridge

ridge-crest-covering crescendo,

ripping siding from wall-sides

snapping the breath from my dried lips…

face to the ground, face to the ground…….

a glob of bright red acrylic paint

and a whispering, a whispering above my ears

the breath of God came and took her

though the body on the tailgate…

these tears painting are painting her face