Golf townsand and spapines and pubscoddled traditions and legendsaround every corner My Grand-merealways spoke of azaleassparkles in her milky eyesand soft hands arounda pottery cup of chicory coffee another timeanother placeanother south This poem is a second one that I wrote for the photo, with the villanelle being shared on Tupelo Press’ website for thisContinue reading “Pinehurst”
Tag Archives: family
Cimmaron
End of the mountains, the end of the line.Dad used to say “the dead center of town.”The old bones resting here have done their time. Now they gaze out at the prairie, the fineendless grasses wave back. A man could drownin those mountains. He has to hold the line until it breaks, then hold onContinue reading “Cimmaron”
Absalom
Faulkner is a heavy weight of old grievancesunresolved, the fester of yearsburning an indignant holein a pocket full of rusty nailsthe bitter smell left upon thefingers that reach insidea taste like blood on the tongue It’s my Mother’s words about the familyhow her Daddy was the twin born lastseparated by mere momentsfrom the seat ofContinue reading “Absalom”
Missing
He sits in his usual place, a sturdy ocean of calm waiting. Heavy repose rests, stoic, in his lap, unperturbed by the silence humming in his drums. Gone is the beat that fanned the fire, the flames from his mouth; someone turned off the gas that combusted in his internal engine. A stroke of badContinue reading “Missing”
Bask | The Whiskered Exposition of a Verb
She flips and flopsa furry sponge soaking up the sunseeking fiery heat inside or outmaintaining a constant state of roastinside and outhot to the touchpat the pet and watch her glow This poem was in response to a verb prompt. How about those whiskers? The old girl is 100% pampered, 100% loved, 100% of theContinue reading “Bask | The Whiskered Exposition of a Verb”
Name changes — The Hermit Crab Tank
Updates and design changes – more like a total overhaul – of one of my fav blogs! Check it out. . . .
Dad
He has always been thereSailor tongued superheropockets full of dirty jokesEach step of his was fourto little scrambling feetMy progress tethered to a pinkyWait, Daddy Powder kegs of emotionI didn’t understandwhere it came from, thenPunching holes in wallsHis motor always runningnever out of gasWait, Daddy An industry of creation, explorationThe salvation of artifactsin careful orderPatientContinue reading “Dad”
Family of Sound
…..Hens cluck
Mosquitoes whine
Trees sigh
Flowers giggle
Brooks babble……
Waking Dream
Was it sleep,
when these ancestors braved to part the veil,
delivering an almighty reply
past and present uniting future,
as it is now and ever shall be
After
He has seen things
he wants to tell us but
the words won’t come
they get hung up on the way out
snagged on the bits of wire
holding his thinker together
The Poetry Patio 