Aftermath

The fatigue
that follows
a funeral
dwells
in the
belly
of the
casket,
slipping up
stealthily
as you
stand there,
stealing
a slice
of your
soul,
pulling it
ever so
silently
down
through
the
satin
seams
and holding
it there,
never to
see the sun
again,
returned
to the
earth
before
its
time

Journey

It’s not far
to the
river,
just one
green hill
then through
a sunflower
field
eternally
blooming
and worth
the trip
I’m told.
One day
I’ll go
and hitch
a ride
on a
leaf
and we’ll
flow
as one
to the
ocean

Quiet

The coo
of a
single
mourning
dove
rides atop
the hum
of a
distant
road
while the
breeze
strokes
my
skin
ever so
lightly, a
feathery hint
of something
new and fresh,
a wordless
telegram
from
Fall
to herald
its coming

Still Missing

I can’t find
my gift,
the one every
man and
woman
is said to
possess,
that personal
chandelier
to swing from
that makes
life a
party
and work
feel like
play,
no, not today,
not yesterday
or days long past
have I
found it
and I’ve poked
around a
fair amount
so I write
and tell
myself
“yes, that’s it!”
to offset
the hell
of
wondering

No Map Required

For much
of adolescence
my destiny was
archaeology,
embracing a
certainty
that I would
traverse
undulating
blankets
of desert sand
reading
ancient scrolls,
reclaiming
lost pyramids,
and mummies,
and hordes
of gold
but now,
old . . . “er,”
I’m content
seeking
odd
little
stones
from creek beds,
treasure
redefined
by
time

1914 – Unedited

Here is some late night scribble. I haven’t edited it at all – just for the fun, (or embarrassment) of it.

 

Weep for the horses

All the beautiful horses
driven into service,
worn to death,
blown to pieces
to serve men –
stupid men,
ready for ANYTHING to die
to accomplish their ends,
stupid men
all shined up with courage,
the traditional veneer
of death
but the horses,
the beautiful horses,
tossed along roadsides
as casually as
bullet-ridden
canteens.

All the beautiful horses . . .
weep for the horses

Bane

A little
madness is
surprisingly
delightful
spread about
as delicious
quirks
across
many
but when
copiously
cast
upon a
clueless
few
it is
naught
but
malicious,
injudicious,
a highway
for hell to
afflict us