Fifth Masters
no more so
than yourself
in your ear
an echo
in your heart
the truth
what is great
in anyone
is not a trophy
a cover or a coat
the intangible
is what separates
the good
and the great
and no one
can tell you
which is which
less you let them
don’t let them
just be
TL
Working
the soap
on the sink
shrinks
and shrinks
to make
a bowl of suds
for hurried hands
in need of gloves
devoid of soil
spit and oil
clear of can’t
and won’t
free of salt and sugar
spilt milk
and cracked eggs
a burn that bled
red and red
run the water
run it right
‘til it runs clear
and moonlit bright
like a lake
in summer
slow to speak
pew reposed
an unhurried verse
Frost wrote
TL
Abuse
what scar
have you
baby blue
did your mother
rock you
your father, too
was it gentle like a lapping wave
or rough like a crashing cascade
was there a song
for you
was it soft and soothing
or did it scream away the cow,
the moon
did you grow up
too soon
was pain your spoon
was there a choice
in choosing
to stay, to go
or were you too young
to vote
but not too young
for war
did you watch
the bodies fall to floor
was that your mother
on the ground
was that your step-father
with the gun
did he turn and run
and catch a bullet in the back
did you hear the shot
did it bust your drum
this ringing in your ear
do you still hear …
baby blue
what scar
have you
TL
Storm
turned on
the faucet
and it broke
in my hand
and kept gushing
out water
into the sink
spilling over the side
onto the floor
like it never had before
and then it was up
to my neck
and I swallowed a breath
and held it
and swam out the door
and the water kept rising
and rising and rising
up the walls
from the floor
punching out windows
busting down doors
and I watched
everything I’d saved,
and thought I’d need someday,
carried away
but I was ok
and then I woke up
and it was
today
TL
Women
she …
this woman
that is
every woman
will be strong
in ways
that have no weight
in brawn or beauty
for a woman is
what every woman is
from the moment
of her birth
there beyond
her perfect form
and clear complexion
is a being
that even then
draws reserves
for whenever when
she is called
to be
what it is
she has no choice
of being
for within
each woman
is an endless stream
that she will weep
whenever when
and from that well
she draws
her strength
the strength
that comes
from all the women
that ever were
or ever will be
TL
Understand
it was what
he wasn’t saying
that I heard
and I wish
I’d had the words
but only
his Mama would
and I know
what he’d give
to have her here
to tell his troubles to
and she’d know
just what to do
“and they’d laugh
‘til they turned blue”
no more
and the sunlight
would stream
through the windows
of her country kitchen
and she wouldn’t waste
one minute
there’d be flour
everywhere
and pots bubbling
and chicken frying
and casseroles rising
and pies puffing
and lemons swimming in sweet tea
and he’d be whistling all the while
a happy tune
of better days
and it’d be
the best meal
he ever had
there
with his Mama
in her country kitchen
filled with words
of whispered wisdom
(I wrote this for Mitch Sneed
after we ran into each other at a yard sale in 2011.
Mitch is with his Mama now, July 2018)
TL
Obits
you’re born
and live a little
while
and somebody knows you
and nobody does
and you gather yourself
from “Great Expectations”
dark desperation
and hide yourself
behind a wall
and only on your knees
do you let it fall
and day turns tonight
and night turns today
and you chomp
about this
and that
and the other
and everybody loves you
and everybody hates you
and you get in the bed
and you close your eyes
and it’s the closest you’ll get
save the birth of your child
when you first fell in love
and the numbers turn
and you wake up
and you get out of bed –
whatever you call your bed
crib, twin, queen, king
car, street, ditch, bridge
and you go on …
at your best, at your worst
wounded or weary or whole
preceded by … survived by … restored by …
TL
Restless
the washer water
is rising to the line
the giant hands
that turn time
have cut into
the pie face
and taken
a generous slice
the dog
relieved himself
on the fern
and thought
it was funny
and that was
before coffee
and Myrtle the turtle
didn’t make it
her tiny funeral
last month
reminded me of
Spidy the cat
who went out
for a walk
and never came back
his elf bell collar
a warning to birds
was found in the forest
and whatever got him
wasn’t wearing a bell
TL
Human Nature
“if it bleeds,
it leads …”
that’s what they say
in the paper business
and people on the street
shake their heads and say
they’d rather bathe
in the fuzzy, feel-good fluff
not death, destruction and demise
“Oh, My!”
yet circulation is high
off a homicide
not so much
off a “Syrup Sop”
and so it is
and so it goes
sad stories sell
murder’s front page
“fall from grace”
headline every time
so, remember that
next time
you’re sitting there reading ‘bout
death, destruction and demise
“Oh, My!”
TL
One Way Street
to have
a car
or a truck
or a motorcycle
or a boat
or a mower
or a golf cart
or whatever on wheels
and climb aboard
whenever you please
owner of the key
and for decades
you’ve sat at the wheel
millions of miles
open and shut
crank and back up
cruise and return
and you know every bump
every back road and dead-end street
every turn, every stop, every bridge, every track
could close your eyes
and still get back
and then just like that
the key’s on the rack
and somebody tells you
you can’t go back
and for the rest of it
there’s a window seat
and you pass the same tree
go through the same neighborhood
sit at the same lights
and watch the person
to the right
owner of the key
sitting there
at the wheel
with millions of miles
to go
and they think
they know
where they’re going
TL
Mr. Smith
he used to
stand
in his driveway
staring
not sure at what …
but he’d stand
that way
for a while
each dawning day
there in his undershirt
and uniform pants
maybe he was admiring
the pristine green
that was his lawn
courtesy of his wife’s
diligent demeanor
or maybe he was
following the wing
of a bird
or a butterfly
or a bee
he could have been
watching the wind
play with potted petals
or following the line
of his shadow
end to end
who knows
but him
later in life
he’d be joined
by a little, fluffy, yapping dog
white as his hair
that he’d treat like a child,
the child he never had
but the dog
did what dogs do
and got old
and sick
and too tired to yap
or stand in the driveway
guess he did, too
last week
he made his wife
a widow
after 59 years
but something
tells me
he’s staring
at her
each dawning day
TL
Porch
home is
an endless V of trees
a red apple
that fell up
a cardinal not of Rome
where the train trumpet blows
and the church bells chime
where the soft sun
readies for the moon
and sips the raindrops
off the roof
where an agile squirrel
swings from vine to vine
like a tiny Tarzan
where somebody’s grilling something
that smells awfully good
and the guy on the corner
catches a whiff
on his way to his horse
the one with the mechanical mouth
that chews all the grass
round his two-tiered box
where the loud voice
in the little, bitty body
draws closer
and closer
and further and further
from the creek
and then she’s there
dragging her daddy and her dog
leaves in her hair
dirt everywhere
speckled in sap
and powdered in pollen
she smells like
a forest in springtime
and where she is
is where I am
and I know
I’m home
TL
Stare
still, the cherished gift
is without coin
or care
it is a blink
like a small bird
that lands on a ledge
and sits there …
looking back at you
through the glass
that separates
the two
TL
Today
before they
sprinkle dust
on the door
let me be
more
TL
Silver
“violet eyes”
no longer blink
or beckon
or drip
TL
Away
and one day
as expected
as arguably accepted
we, too, shall
lie lone
and helpless
in the abyss
our skeletal selves
no longer ripe
or wrought with reason
our soul
at lift
no longer weighted
by our shells
or the longings
of our heart
our path
converged
“in a yellow wood”
we will
away …
TL
Orphans
is there
a deeper sorrow
than that
of a child
left on the bank
ever searching the sea
for the face
of her mother
the face
of his father
TL
Rays
opened the door
like the day before
and thought it was fall
standing there
but the breath was warm
wet with rain
sun’s been on siesta
but woke up yesterday
and walked around
with a palette and a paintbrush
and took to town
and followed a country road
like a steady stream
a dab of yellow fluttered by
lawns of green
stretched with imprints
petals ever shy
and the ladybug is back
on the launch pad
of my hand
TL
Moonlight
he couldn’t recall
any food at all
not a forkful
he couldn’t recall
any roof at all
not a shingle
he couldn’t recall
any laundered length
not a thread
he couldn’t recall
any wealth at all
not a shilling
he couldn’t recall
anything, anything at all
‘cept her silhouette
TL
Good Sleep
would that
you tire
a blanket
beneath that tree
rooted where
long you stood
long you stared
but the fog
it sat there
and fell asleep
and dreamed
of spring
an evergreen
and there you woke
fresh and free
a bed of bluebells
“far as the eye could see”
TL