7.4
khaki green falling on a
foreign soil. blue and grey
grappling across brothers
lines. everyday people
trying as best they can
to make a place for
their families.
it is what we fought for,
died for, gave allegiance
to. a nation state where
values could stand and
fall for decency and caring
and a chance to live for
as many as could come.
independence not only
from but to, something
cleaner, clearer, better
for all.
——————
7.3
the tassels brown, mauve, golden
top the corn flow, rising off into
distances. Male corn sperm ready
to give themselves to the silk.
we’ve built a country upon you
friends, food, fuel, silage for the
feeders of the world. hybrid, pure
bred, homeopathic heart of the
heartland.
maize of our aztec ancestors,
we formed you into the green
gold grain of our growth, over
flowing into cross country seas
of abundance
while Pretty Boy Floyd the outlaw
dove and died into your midst,
running for his life in the hope
that your breadth might hide him.
homes, farms, families have devoured
themselves in the resounding of
your might. tassel tips waving, silk
at the rest, come now to our aid,
as we starve amongst the plenty.
———————————–
7.2
she bronzes his poems
and drawings and words
from early years when
even then we he knew
that stories and dreams
were the way forward.
visions and gifts come
to us from somewhere
that even we don’t know
just being there like earth
and air and leftovers from
wherever we came from.
deep in a womb yes but
before the machinery
began to tick, somewhere
else where the mind soul
sprang out and said yes
I will, to an offering universe.
———————————–
7.1
Crog like cave. Cave keep Crog warm
cave keep water and wind off Crog
when cold, and cool when hot.
Cave let Crog save meat, keep woman
ward off animal. Feel safe.
And so I sit in my air conditioned cave
with running water, electric everything,
internet-ted all. Heat, light, cool, safe.
Except for all those things so complicated
I couldn’t possibly fix them.
The loon screams in the night in a land
that is his land, lake, air, sky. And there
marooned in my canoe, hidden in my tent,
I lay out of my depths knowing that I have
become estranged to it all.
——————————–
6.30
In a door out a door, in a window
out the side. snap lines, quick ins
fast riffs laughs and fines. how
many straight faces does it take
to make a funny. how many prat
falls drop ‘em down to tickle tummy.
farce screams, talent gleams, young
and yearning, flash and learning.
these are the days to do it, build
those friendships. make the sighs.
we’ll look to see y’all later, when
the vision’s come to high.
——————–
6.29
he left on the great adventure
next stop on the starlight express
that we all hope to hitch a ride on
images of heaven, joy, clouds,
whatever, speak of life as a
start. ad venture. towards.
even in winding down this, our
eyes peer forward. in hope. next
more, freer, freed, swept clean.
swept up and on,
by love.
———————–
6.28
nite-time light
finds my way
down the orange path
to safety
all is well.
———————–
6.27
left sciatic nerve kicking in,
long time coming, years
in the making
like a Hollywood epic that
traces itself to the
thirties
bodies work themselves
out of lifetime’s clicks
clacks and cracks
wounds and nippings
here and there. I would
not trade
for each is an honor point
and the battle, trial, child,
were all
worth it.
———————-
6.26
why does God let people die
in bathrooms, his son asked.
we have to be somewhere, is
all I could think to reply. Our
bodies know their limits and
their bounds.
I awoke today feeling the limits
of mine. aware that the pushing
and straining might not be my
best choice. and then the police
car showed up across the street.
and then the hearse.
Lou lay down in his bathroom. an
early riser, a meeting at nine on
his mind, that never got there.
and his son had to kick in the door
because Lou filled up the space.
why does God let people die
in bathrooms, we all have to be
somewhere, and do something
we don’t get to just be. put on
our socks or take a breath, or
stop.
6.25
turn civilization off,
the coffee, the web
and water
online banking, google
mail, gone in the blast
of a storm
we look around, gather
to chat, compare notes
on our brokenness.
vulnerable and un-eased
by the fragile web of
our modernity.
————
PoemsPerDay 