“…Mama may have
Papa may have
God bless the child
That’s got his own…”
Billie Holiday -
Song by A. Herzog, Jr.
Imagination
Alice, Alice
Is an only-child
Spending her days in the wild –
Her impressionable heart
So easily beguiled
By the only friends
Of a lonely child...
Alice, Alice
Is an only-child.
Black Rhythm
I lie in my bed
I can hear the crickets sing
They drown out the thoughts
Of a thousand different things.
Humming me to sleep
With one single sound
There’s union and harmony
In this world
To be found.
And I lie in my bed
And I can hear them sing
It’s the shrill of the crickets
Simply
Rubbing
Their wings.
Odd Couple
Two little sparrows
On a long, black line
Side by side, feathers puffed
And intertwined
Picking and pecking
The two all alone
No other shadows falling
Near their own.
Two little sparrows
On a long, black line
Side by side, feathers puffed
And intertwined
Squawking and squabbling
Shoving along
Resting awhile
To sing a few sweet songs
And to see their shadow
Falling smooth and long.
Two little sparrows
On a long, black line
Free to leave
But, stay behind.
Harvest
Leaves have yellowed on the vine
Deer are prancing, having dined and dined
On pokeberries, wild grapes...all they could find
Over-ripe and so heavy, tasting a lot like wine.
Black birds and squirrels have had their fill
Of acorns and beechnuts that burst
And spilled under the golden trees.
And, now, is the time for all to retreat
Deep into the woods content to sleep
To dream away the magic of this moon-lit feast.
Their senses filled with notions
Encouraged by potions
Those strangers who dance upon sleeping heads
Images that electrify sweet-smelling beds
Rattle the leaves, wake up the dead
And they dream away the night
Curled, wholeheartedly engaged
While winter is conceived, quietly staged
In frost on the vine, the cool breath of the wind
Whispers of winter coming in... soon, so soon
Beneath the bewitching, harvest moon.
Coming Into View
Glassy, moonlit icicles
Of the night
Turn to gold
Black shadows, black spruces
Turn to blue
Hill and field take to green
Flat, dark places can be seen
Taking on depth and hue with the coming
Of the light
Day breaks
New morning
Another beginning in sight
Gone is that mysterious, single hold
Gone is the strong hold
Of the night.
On the Consequence of a Quick Dismissal
One bite
Is worth a thousand words
From one flea
Can spring a whole army
Something less
Than a wholehearted attempt
Can bring
An epidemic.
Philanderer
The weathercock spins round about
Whichever way the wind does blow
Seldom steady, seldom still
And never in control.
He’s up there on the old barn roof
With fate cast to the wind
No single direction in which to go
The weathercock just spins and spins
On his course – a dizzy blend
Of no-beginnings and never-ends...
Circular visions in constant motion
Blurring together into hasty notions.
The weathercock spins round about
Whichever way the wind does blow
Seldom, steady, seldom still
And never in control.
Gold and Green
All things
Gold and green
First seek the light
Sight unseen
Fill the baskets
With fruit and grain
Made with sunshine
Made with rain
Take them home
Eat your fill
Come what may
Come what will
Shake the night
Sight unseen
Seek the light
Becoming green
Listen to the quiet sound
Of tiny seeds
Breaking ground
For all of nature
Green and gold
First seek the light
The way untold
Straight as an arrow
The stem that is narrow
Becoming what is to be
Sunshine reflecting
From the apple tree
Sunshine reflecting
From you and me
Glowing gold
Glowing green
Seek the light
Not always seen.
Memories of Melville
Moonbird is a secretive bird
Dark creature of the night
The mist in the valley hangs heavy
Hides it from sight
And from the light of the stars
Long shadows of the hills hide
Its rising flight.
But, moonbird seeks the moon
It must fly at night
And the mist in the valley
Weighs heavy on its wings
Heavy on its flight
The hills hide the moon
Keep it out of sight.
Without fail
Moonbird sails
On course for the moon.
Moonbird is a captive bird
Unable to fly free
Seeking its goal Instinctively
And the only course on which it can be
Ends at dawn unsuccessfully
So elusive...illusionary?
But, that moon was shining bright.
Undaunted, sleepy
It rests
Waiting for the night
And without fail
Again, will sail
On course for the moon.
Stormy Season
...Whispers, whispers
From the woods
“My body is scarred by arrows
That had made their mark.
Though I bled
They did not kill me
For they did not pierce
My head or heart.
They only taught me to run
More quickly from the scent
Of the hunter... To run
From the first sound of thunder.”
...Whispers, whispers
From the meadow
A stinging, singing sound
Hesitation
And an arrow’s destination met.
Cloven hooves kick up
Clumps of softened earth.
A tightened heart pounds
Behind gentle eyes.
Heavy antlers thrash
At the dusk, the blinding rain
At the low-hanging pines obscuring
The sight, the flight to safety.
...Whispers, whispers
From the woods
As the storm subsides
The deer comes to rest
Hides in the brush beside
The widened river - pine needles
Blood, muddied rain still clinging
To throbbing, widened veins.
“I will run again. I’ll lick my wounds
By the light of the rising moon...ease
My fever with the soothing, cooling magic
Of the pines.
Soon, I will run again...soon.”
...Whispers, whispers
As the night settles in
Covers the draining pools
Made from hastily-laid tracks
Quiets... the heart
Replenishes the earth
Dresses the wounds
With the passing of time
And life will will rise
With the coming dawn.
...Whispers, whispers
Such sweet...sad songs.
Bringing in the New Year
(An old rite retold)
Little wren, little wren
Come out from where you are
Hiding in this ivy
I know you are, I know you are.
Little wren, Your Royal Highness
Don’t you like my blood-red breast?
If you don’t come out, I can’t come in
Is that the way to treat a guest...
One bringing you such wonderful presents?
For, I bring with me a brand-new year
And with it comes the Spring.
Won’t you come out to see the gifts...
Won’t you allow my visit?
You know your turn is over now
The old year can not stay
The past must make room
For changes on the way.
Don’t pretend that I’m not here
You know the bargain
And it must be honored.
Now...come out of there, little wren!
I’m sorry, little wren
You so nervously dart about.
Don’t you remember?
You must come out.
Or, do you remember more than you dare?
Or, has that raven been to see you
Trying to mingle in our affair?
Is that why the ivy rustles so?
Don’t you want the gifts I bring?
Or, did you see my knife gleaming in the sun
As it slipped from beneath my wing?
Little wren, little wren
Come out from where you are.
It’s only to cut the ribbons...
SURPRISE, little wren, SURPRISE!
...All those ties
That bind the new year in!
Didn’t you know, little wren:
Blood on the wing
Now, the old year ends...
Blood on the wing
Now, the new year begins.
Artwork from Alaska
I take a chunk...start whittling.
There’s got to be a figure
Somewhere in there –
I only have to uncover it.
I chip away and sure enough
I discover it.
Yes, this could be an antler...caribou
That’s great!
I’m getting excited, more sure of myself.
A big mistake...the antler is laying
On the floor in flakes.
I guess it wasn’t a caribou after all.
I keep whittling away
And something else starts to appear –
A wolf...or a dog, I think.
I accidently whack off the tip
Of its pointed ear...I round it off –
A bear, a polar bear!
Oops, there goes the rest of the ear.
Well, I guess it could be a seal
But the flippers aren’t long enough.
A ghost, a fish... something
But, no, there’s nothing.
It must have been a chunk of wood
(There are a few)
That’s just solid straight through.
I guess the art of carving
Has something to do
With knowing...which chunk of wood
To choose.
Show Time
And, so, on and on it goes
The Oh, So Natural musical.
Whatever the reason
Plenty of rhythm and rhyme
A voice announces from behind
“Ladies and gentlemen... It’s SHOW TIME!”
Now, come the sparrows
All quiet on the wing
Stamping their feet
And starting to sing
And the dawn is rising...rising
Rosy and bright
Flowers of the field swaying, waving
Purple and white
Whispering in unison
“All right...all right.”
Now, enter the grasshoppers
Enjoying small parts in this scene
Whirring through the air
Streaking it green
Clicking and banging...rattling the reeds
Exploding the milkweed into
Downy, white seeds
And downy, white clouds
Float off on the breeze
To the chorus of cattails going
“Ooh ee...ooh ee.”
Now, start the willows and ragged, old pines
Moaning and creaking...harmonizing their lines
Making the most of, “Oh my...oh my.”
Now all join in for the stirring finale
Here it is: A brand-new day
The chorus swells... sparrows go crazy
Singing and stamping away.
But, this is the just the opening act
Now, comes the star; this is your chance
To strut, to fret, to sing and dance.
First, take a bow nice and low
And, then, “Ladies and gentlemen...
ON WITH THE SHOW!”
In the Oh, So Natural musical.
Sun Catchers
The daisy is a flower
Simple in design
A row of perky, white petals
Encircling a little sun
Settled in each and every
One of them.
Friendly and unassuming
Daisies are steadily blooming
While other flowers just sit
Fussing...thinking about it.
It’s the daisy that has gained
Our confidence with its warmth Its openess
And it’s the daisy
That gets asked a lot
If there’s love...if there’s not
As soft, white petals are stripped
One by one
Absently dropped...
“He loves me. He loves me not.”
Amazing Stories
I am a child
Just a child
In a world that is so old
Dancing over the beauty of this land
Through stories I am told...
The earth evolving, or ordained
Beneath distant stars that reign
Upon frames of mind, scientific qualms
Prayers, songs, and upturned palms.
By choice, by fate, by chance
Or will-o’-the-wisp, I dance
Over this land through stories
That may be so
Searching for answers
That I must come to know.
I am a child
Just a child
Dancing through a world that is so old
Still so beautiful, still holding
The answers
Through stories told and retold
Still holding the answers
That I need to know.
Passing Through
To touch an angel
Is to pass your hand
Through the air
For there is no substance
Living there
They move in this world
Through the songs they sing
And when the singing is over
They take to their wings
Having already stayed
Too long
Returning
To where
They really
Belong.
Pilgrims’ Progress
Angels weave their gowns
From the translucency
Of airy, white clouds
Careful, now, about straying in too far
Once tumbling, confused
Not knowing up from down
The mist so thick...
Heaven and earth spinning round.
They wave their hair with heat cupped
From the sun
Respecting, now, angel limitations
Once, laughing, circling
Voices insolently singing, cheeks heating
Frizzy-haired angels shocked and leaping.
Their gold-fringed wings are remembrances
Of close calls, quick meetings
With lightening
Knowing, now, about enticement
Once tempted, all excited
Fantastic fireworks and Heaven lit
Overwhelming sound...hearts shakened
And Heaven split.
And their silvery halos are remembrances
Of chance meetings with the moon
Enchantment, secrets...the light
Of reason over changing moods...
And, how did they become so sweet
So meek? They dine on the flesh of
Ripened fruit transported high above
Drink it down with the salty tears
Collected from impossible love...
But, how did they become angels
Learn to sing?
It’s the natural culmination of lessons
Learned in the experiencing
Of so many things... sweet, sad
Keeping what good
Must come from bad
Falling...rising higher
Strengthening the one true nature
They have always had.
Susan
Someone started calling her
Casa Day Sue
A name misunderstood
But, oh, so true –
Though her hair is of the night
Her eyes are bright blue
And sunshine has warmed her
Through and through.
She lives in the house
Standing, old on the hill
But, her home is in the meadow
By the pond and the willows
Away from the reminders
That love can bring pain
Moments best forgotten
Left unexplained...
Voices turned violent
Listening so hard to the rain
Drowning out the sound
Covering the pain –
Nothing has changed...
Everything’s the same.
Someone had given her
A plastic rosary
It dangles from her bed
Allowing her to be
A child of the fields...
Sunny and free
And someone had given her
A heart of gold
It dangles in rhythm
To days that unfold
Into lilies and fantasies
Lovely and bold
As she runs, just runs
Over the hills
Joy on the wind...
Her spirit soaring.
Sometimes, she chooses
Pretty flowers to wear
Petals are braided
Into long, silky hair
And the world is her friend...
She’s happy to be
This plain, little girl
For awhile made lovely
With the sun on her cheeks
The wind in her hair
Purple petals trailing her
Everywhere.
Sometimes, she sits listening
To the sounds
Of morning and sparrows
The day coming around
And, sometimes, she sings
Of the love that surrounds all
Her loneliness and anger
And the strength she has found
In the joy of her singing
And birds on the wing
In the joy of her dreaming
Her spirit soaring.
Someone has heard
That voice ripe and sweet
Sounding through the meadow
Over the wind through the reeds
The humming of crickets
And quickened heartbeats
Then, the bending of branches
And quick, naked feet... the end
Of her song sung so seriously...
So lovely, so sweet.
There are those who have told her
Of places beyond
Whispers from doves
The geese by the pond.
Eventually, you must leave
That which you’re fond
Those who love you
Friends you have found.
And, sometimes, she wants
To just go away.
Sometimes, she wants only to stay
And she quickly reaches
For her old bear – so many secrets
Troubled nights shared
But, often forgotten, now...
Getting too old to care.
She hugs him tightly and for awhile
Nothing has changed
She’s still only a child
Hugging her bear, whispering
She’ll never be leaving him...
Not going anywhere.
Lately, she just stares
Long into her mirror
Looking for changes
She knows must be there.
Sometimes, there’s excitement
Sometimes, there’s fear...
But, others have told her
There are songs to sing
She’s becoming a young lady
And birds are on the wing
And, her heart’s getting restless
Soon, she’ll be going
Her heart’s getting restless
With all that it’s knowing
Songs for the singing
Birds on the wing
So many songs to be sung
And she’ll be the one singing.
Something Left Behind
Black bird, black bird
Why do you fly so low
Searching through the shadows
Where few dare to go?
Black bird, black bird
What do you hope to find –
Does the sun shine even brighter
When it’s been left behind?
Black bird, black bird
Has the darkness pulled you down
With promises and secrets
Something more to be found?
Black bird, black bird
Your eyes stare hard as rubies
As red and intense.
Does the darkness just go deeper
Have you lost all your sense?
Black bird, black bird
You’re the color of the night
Darker than the asphalt
Where you’ve fallen in your flight.
Black bird, black bird
You no longer sing –
You lie there stunned and stilled
With the sun upon your wing.
Beneath the Red Hat
A cold rain is falling
Washing away the remains
Of lingering colors
Drops of rain
Congregate in the open arms
Of pointed pines.
Ice forms in asphalt pools
Shallow yet deep enough
To reflect the view
Of stark, black boughs
Against a pale gray sky.
A sense of winter coming on
A sense of loss, of emptiness
With nothing much to do
But wait to pass
This view of stark, black boughs
Against pale, pale gray...
The changing earth, changing skies
Impressionable waters, impressionable eyes –
A slight, young girl impressed by
The weight of the world
Trudging on ahead
Beneath a hat
Of bright, so bright
Cherry-red.
The Star
The last words that I need to hear
When I’m right in the middle of
A Personal Tragedy,
Is “Calm down, calm down.”
Don’t they realize
I’m well aware that
Raving...pacing with arms waving
Is not an answer to
Arguments, rejections or utter despair.
It’s a matter of style
A chance to play the role
Of being thoroughly disgusted and
Having about as much as I can take
Of disappointments, idiots, their mistakes
Their “I didn’t know... I forgot or I didn’t
Mean it...” excuses.
The wonderful drama of “I don’t need this!”
Of not being able to take another minute
Of this rotten, unfair world and the jerks in it!
I LOVE IT!
And, for a moment, I’m the star
Taking it as far as I can
Except that they aren’t listening or don’t care
Too busy with their own affairs
Or they stare at me like I’m crazy
For strutting and fussing
Or worse, yet, they try to reason with me
Try to rationalize the situation
Taking all the beauty, the purity, the steam –
The very purpose – out of A Personal Tragedy!
Bonsai Rap
My morals are bonsai trees
All my rights and wrongs
Conforming to my many needs
Kept where they belong
In
Stylized, shallow pots
Intentionally dwarfed and bent
My morals are bonsai trees
Fitted to my temperament
For
I like to entertain
The finest money can buy
The politics of sophistication
Got to keep them trimmed and tied
Can’t
Have them embarrassing me
Sticking out of control
Trying to develop naturally
Just can’t afford to have them grow
So
I keep them hidden on the windowsill
Till I’m putting on my airs
Then I place them on tall pedestals
And announce them with fanfare
And
Then back to their rightful place
To soak in some rays of sun
While I think about new angles
New courses for them to run
Yeh
My morals are bonsai trees
Got to tend them constantly
My morals are bonsai trees
Trying to make this fool out of me.
Falling in Love
Bird-man wants to...
Would love to fly.
He climbs up high
And from there he jumps
Crying
“I fly... I fly!”
Only to hit the ground
Bruised and shakened
And for awhile
Left with little desire
To fly.
Bird-man doesn’t know
How to fly.
He doesn’t know
How to give himself
To the sky... To lose
His weight to the wind.
Bird-man is afraid to let go
To lose control.
Bird-man would love to fly...
And, so would I.
Fancy Packaging
A basic rule...
Fundamental
Don’t overdo the packaging –
Silver-tone, gold-tone wrappings
Designer prints, multi-colored ribbons
The feel of velvet...all the trappings.
Remember, you’re wrapping the gift
For the surprise of finding out
What’s inside –
For that exciting moment
When it could better than even imagined
And, you don’t want the gift to
Pale in comparison
At least not with the wrappings.
So, put more of your thought and effort
More of your time on the gift inside
And less on the packaging.
Great Escapes
Hats make for great escapes
Put on one
And, now, you ain’t
What you don’t want to be
You – with your same old personality.
Put on one
Suddenly, you’re more mysterious
More daring, more charming
Or, more alarming...you’re certainly
Taller and more than you were before.
Unfortunately, it soon becomes an old hat
And the magic is gone as soon as you
Forget you’re wearing it
Or, you start to get a headache
Or, the wrong person laughs, or worse
Someone points at it and sneers
Or, you just get tired of being more
Than you were before
And you take off the hat and relax
Freed by that same old personality.
Strings Attached
What do you do
When
Your mind is set
But, your heart’s
Dissatisfied...restless –
You know you should be sensible
You yearn to be breathless
And one holds the reason
One pulls the strings
And, you’re left
Just hanging
Caught between directions
Just dangling
In mid-air
What do you do
When you’re going
Nowhere?
Meetings
Whose faces are those I see
Those faces always changing
In my dreams?
I don’t recognize them
Yet, they seem to know me
Moving through situations so easily
Laughing, touching in such a way
I feel this desire to have them stay
To show me their ways - the ways
Of strangers.
Or, they appear uneasy, threatening
Leering in such a way
I feel this urgency to wake
To escape from those who seem
To know me, call me by name
Even though, they’re strangers.
Whose faces are really there?
Are my dreams just another kind
Of mirror?
If so, what are my desires –
What are my fears –
Whose faces are really there?
Need
It’s easy to know love
But, not always easy
To show love.
It’s easy to want love
But, not always easy
To ask for love.
Words form
And are spoken
But, only in your head
Or, they stick
Getting all garbled
In your throat, finally
Coming out unintelligible
Or, they come out
Camouflaged, hiding
Between the lines
Of what you decide to say, instead
And, then, you just walk away
Silently...needing
What you
Couldn’t say.
Peering Into the Past
This old house stands –
Its structure still grand
But, through a sharpened pane
Through spider tracings
And brittle, yellow lacings
Stained with rain
In open spaces
Opened yesterdays entertain –
A few ghostly tunes
On a piano draped in white
Covered, but never claimed
A few ghostly chairs over there
But, we didn’t come to visit...
Nobody lives here...anymore.
No need for locked doors
Open them
Let in some sun
Send dusty-gray shadows
On the run...
Nobody lives here...anymore.
Such stubborn memories –
They still cling
To yellowing walls
Of paling, floral print –
Fading photographs –
Almost gone to silhouette
Members of a family?
Friends, young love
Now grown or spent?
...Not at all this moment
Only the past
Holding fast
Beneath the ghostly stares
Of quiet rooms...
Nobody lives here... anymore.
No need for locked doors
Let’s go back. Open them
Let in some sun
Send dusty-gray shadows
On the run...
Nobody lives there...anymore.
Other Garden
Plant a garden
Watch it grow
Earth all readied
And fertile
First in secrecy
Whispering below
Seeds settling in
Breaking low
First in secrecy
Encircling home
Secured
And carefully made
From sticks and straw
Carried and laid
The earth watched
And watered, many days
Of sighs and wonder
Wings at rest
And spread, many days
Of warming... waiting
Plant a garden
Watch it grow
Leaves uncurling
Into pale-green rows
Spreading, darkening
Blossoms, limp
And falling
Babies loud and
Always hungry
A voice suggesting low
Time to break from me
Wings fluttering
Already learning how
To leave their mother
The greening, the growing
Of one garden and another
Into summer
First in secrecy and sighs
Then in piercing songs or smooth
And in lullabies
Then in silence
Encircling home.
First Love
Along the banks of the river
Lilies grow long
Stretch out for the sun and shiver
To the wind’s cool song
We lie in the coolness
Feel the earth breathe
In rhythm to our bodies
Rolling and laughing in the reeds
Along the banks of the river
Grasses grow long
Bend over the water and shimmer
To the wind’s quick song
We lie in the dampness
Feel our hearts beat
In rhythm to our passion
Rising and heating in the reeds
Along the banks of the river
Shadows grow long
Spread across the day and linger
To the wind’s steady song
We gaze at the sunset
Feel our hearts beat
In rhythm to our senses
Blushing and wanting love so sweet
Along the banks of the river
The day grows long
Searches for a climax and wavers
To the wind’s quiet song.
The Losing
Ring, ring falling from the moon
Not to be found someday soon
Falling to the earth still warm and glowing
What the moon finds restricting
She inadvertently is throwing.
The breadth of one’s hand corners yet
A ring can’t fit a swollen temperament
A night too long, too intense
Bruised, darkened places
Too sensitive, too defensive.
Pain, pain, cutting away
Forced off and cast out of the way
But, now, a clouded view, a hazy memory
Has her rolling... searching the sky
Did she throw it or hide it... why does she cry?
Ring, ring, falling from the moon
Not to be found someday soon
Hitting the earth, sinking into the ground
So quickly discovered by another...moving
Alert, restless, with the night as his cover.
A marvelous ring still warm with the scent
Of jasmine petals heated and spent
By a passionate, irritated temperament
A glowing, pale-purple ring to adorn
Those solid-black rings naturally worn.
The hyena rolls gleeful in his find
Laughing rolls with the moon glaring behind
“Give it back. Give it back... that ring that is mine
I only meant to hide it...and just for a while.”
The hyena flees with the ring and a smile.
But, when taken beneath the thick-growing brush
The ring stops glowing, becomes cool to the touch
The color of the night... heavy and worthless
The ring is forgotten; hyena’s on the run
Another scent has spilled, another tracking begun.
The moon smiles not far behind
Laughs and rolls gleeful in her find
Stars are shaken loose from the night
Streak the sky as they fall from sight
Of the moon, for the moment
Content and glowing bright
Wearing, once again, her marvelous
Marvelous ring of light.
Cherry Red
Walking, talking... yes, we were
Two young girls caught in a whirl
Of urgent matters, secrets, electric swirls
Giggles, fantasies...racing frantically
So busy chattering, hardly aware
Of our fussing with strands
Of long, unfettered hair that kept
Blowing across our view, blowing across our plans
Sticking to our lips, sticking to our hands
So busy chattering, hardly aware
Of our hands busy with their own affairs
Now, waving along to a point of view
Or prying out an anklet stretched and
slipping into an over-sized shoe
Now, straightening, deflating
Our thin-cotton dresses...pale, summery prints
Puffing up and out in the wind
Walking, talking...not interrupted at all
Then, somehow, it all went wrong
Can’t remember how it even came about
We were so involved...for some reason, we
Took a different route
Then, the call...luscious temptation
And, then, the fall.
Hanging heavy, already loose
The tree bent over with the weight of
Their juice...cherries...red, ripe cherries
It seemed only right; they were hanging
Begging in our sight – The tree couldn’t
Take it and neither could we –
So many...cherries!
We didn’t have pockets, so we cupped up
Our dresses, and they became our sacks
We were laughing and picking them
Sort of and then fast – Cherry juice
Was dripping like a quiet, summer rain
Our dresses were drooping... heavy
And cherry-juice stained.
We were laughing and eating as many
As we kept – we were throwing a few...
Everything was red – No cherries ever tasted
As sweet – they never do – as the ones
We were sharing...our secret, our discovery
Even sweeter because we thought
All these cherries were free!
But, the biggest cherries were up too high
Stretching, jumping, we still couldn’t
Reach them from our side
The next thing I remember: We had climbed
The fence and happened to be
In someone’s yard trying to climb the tree
Without squishing too many of our cherries.
Then it happened...and all at once:
Trying to help each other into the tree
Giggling away because our sacks made us clumsy;
The dog coming out of nowhere, running fast
Silently, straight for the tree and for us;
The old man coming out of his house
Shouting at his dog... shouting at us;
The fall; a lot of screaming;
Blood flowing Thick and red, from my friend; confusion....
The world closing in; promises, prayers circling;
My friend being taken away; the old man shaking
His head, yelling something about us just asking
For the cherries, instead...
But, I already felt guilty...confused as I stared
At the dog – Both of us lowered our heads.
Walking home alone with myself
The whirling, swirling of a child’s mind
Why was she the one to get hurt?
Why was I the one left behind?
Feeling glad that I was, feeling worse
That I wasn’t...reciting prayers for
Her and excuses for myself, promises
To God for both of us. So involved
I didn’t notice until almost home
That there was something in my shoe –
A cherry stone? Pressing, pressing into
My foot...hurting now, cutting into my skin
I could feel it...round, hard, wet
But, I didn’t take it out; I started running
Fast, instead...leaving it there
Until I got home and was alone in my room
I pried it out – a cherry stone
I feverishly rubbed away at that deep, pink
Impression...feverishly rubbed away at the
Whole horrible situation.
Walking, talking...yes, we were
Our childish minds all awhirl
But, that distraction – the uncontrollable
Glancing at the large, cherry-red scar
On her arm...always there... showing, coming
Between us – something we couldn’t share.
Then, my hand slowly reaching into my pocket
The cherry stone just waiting to make its mark
Deep into my palm to ease the pain in my heart
The guilt - a strange sort of thrill...
A stone, a cherry stone pressing to be real
And our friendship pressing to be re-sealed.
But, time has a way of easing the pain
Paling scars and healing hearts
She talked about it less often
And, then, almost not at all
I glanced less often
Then, almost not at all
The cherry stone was no longer sought
No longer of importance, was gladly forgotten
And easily lost.
Walking, talking, once again
Two young girls caught in a whirl
Of urgent matters, secrets, electric swirls
Laughing, happy... best friends, again
Yes, we were.
Old Woman and the Sea
So said the sailor –
A confession of love was being heard –
As he sat upon his heels
The taste of salt in his words
Old pea coat and cap
Steady against the wind
The mist beading in his hair
The smell of damp wool
Faint in the air...
He began, again
Still resting upon his heels
“She’s so hypnotic in her rhythms
So teasing in her zeal
She’ll allow you a taste
She’ll allow you a feel
But, you can never really know her
You can never really win
You can only work your sails
And hope you don’t fall in.”
So confessed the sailor
Still gazing out from shore
“You can only love her
And always hope for more
But, the moon is her only love
Knows her moods and swells
The moon knows her secrets
And the moon never tells.”
So said the sailor
As he tasted her on the breeze
He was drunk with her beauty
He had fallen to his knees
Fallen silent, still gazing
Nostalgically at the sea
As the moon bathed her daughter
In glimmering, silvery light
As the moon gently kissed her
In whispers of “Good night.
Graphic Design: Kenneth L. Shipley
Digital Prep: Tia Andrako
Published by:
Dragonseed Poetry Association
15965 York Road
Cleveland, Ohio 44133
First Edition: 200 copies
Printed in the United States of America
Copyright ©1988 by Joyce Guion Shipley
All rights reserved
Other books by the author:
Little Words
In Other Words
Ideas of Their Own
Crow Dance
Cherry Red
Wilds of the Heart