Monday, August 10, 2015

Abiding Oak


“I cannot say how bad it hurts
not to have you around anymore”



(could anyone make more plaintive of a cry?)
(no, probably not)



days return
like a typewriter carriage



each waiting for the bell;
waiting for the bell to ring out
“I miss you”


Saturday, August 8, 2015

mountaintop

hey now
does the world win
in the spice of life
race of grace
for a two-bit shoe shine medal
given for heroic kicks
at a patch of earth beneath your feet?

hey now
if the world could win
we'd never know
what things above
what things below
and the spice of life
face chase
would just hound us 'til we're dead
no way to live
no home, no bread

hey now
the world can't win
as the world might like
as the world might hope
when life has got you on the ropes
but the spice of life
jerky derby
all peppered, kippered
and dried to a twist
to a twist and a wrinkle
(even a pucker)

that jerky derby all spiced of life
(just the rind that truth spits out)
the fatty rind all soap-cake white
all tremble-licious, salty rind
of fat and blood
(don't ever mind)

hey now
did the world win
in the hand-me-down moon race?
patching baling wire and duct tape
patch your craft for outer space?
baling as fast as we can
to keep the waters – the rushing flood
the rushing tide of inner space
at acceptable levels
in your neighborhood

just low enough to keep our ankles wet
and then the world can't win