Beach Traffic

It's interesting the way the sun seems to be stuck on the horizon.

Shining Ones

 

We're growing apple trees from seeds
three inches tall right now
by the time we have to leave
we hope for apple boughs

apples like your skin are bright
and oft reflect the sun
a tree is like humanity
full of shining ones.

Let's water it and watch it grow
protect it from the goats
share apples with everyone
friends and neighbor folks.

I see it's grown another inch
in its paper cup
look the plums will have to do
while apple's coming up.

In this case I ate them dear
and hope often for more
now our favorite food place is
our backyard grocery store.

For Sale

 

It's time to sell my great old van

time to let her go

she was great the last ten years

but time says someone slowed.

Days of new adventure gone

grandpa on the loose

meetings in Virginia

four wheeled living room.

Writing verse behind the wheel

Chat rooms late at night

the great white whale

is over now

deep sixed by one great light.

All that's left are photos

proof kept in a file

just some faded memories

will entertain awhile.

I never will regret it

a few years flying high

Sixty thousand miles

of sport

a solar paneled buy!

St. Denis

Please pardon me I saw a tree

the one in our back yard

but it was inside my head

leaves at attention, shards.

Disembodied from the boughs

pointed towards the sky

diamonds or then holly leaves

no pecans lay nearby.

The Wave

 

They say he passed away for sure

the wave came where he slept

he seldom left the house at all

it's gone now, nothing's left.

Freak wave on the coastal region

must have been a quake

One hundred feet it soon was over

So then salads, steak?

Mountains of Virginia McAfee Knob

These are my photos in this blog.  This one will always cause a little flutter in my heart.  I can see doing this but you really have to have faith in your pets, too.  

 

Sidewalks

Mornings bring the sport of treescity streets vs. time
sidewalk cracks and sign blocking
crashing power lines.

Trim the branches cut the limbs
make distorted, lame
traffic backs up under them
students laugh, walking.

Tree trunks grow and roots
do roam, displacing many items
apartment rent a big event
and grads find a new autumn.

Other trees in many places
seedlings, forests, vines
slinging baskets, sending
cages, roots that tickle spines.

Forests gather all the caskets
cities and designs
mail them off to other planets
to be redesigned.

Human limbs are
bark and branches,
trees will plant them now
shovels, axes and cement

won't start the brand new towns.

Pride And Prejudice

 

Blame the afternoon for this

sleep is on his mind

eyes have weights upon them

 seduced the rest

reclined.

Aged finds retirement in bed without a phone

no appointments new underwear 

fits right

no where to go. 

Maybe a cashmere blanket 

not really needed but

you never know after a doze

a tiny shiver

hon?

Just a solid hour of rest

his body calls a truce.

Just a giant nap on springs ruined long ago

bedspread losing threads as well where scent

of one was known.

As the Bible says it was and shall be ever more

a nap is just a way to miss and slowly

travel home.

Slowly then awakening ten minutes just to walk

make it to the kitchen shelf

and the coffee pot

sit down in his favorite chair

as the light grows dim

dial his favorite movie

new plan for sleep therein

walking slowly in the dark

he sees

Elizabeth! 

Come in!  

Next Stop:  Paint Brushes

Y.M.C.A.

 

I read a poem was some words
made my mind a blank
ran off to the library
was mildewed and it stank.
Checked my phone
the robot came
and said my comments
were quite lame.
The mood inside the poem stirred
and made me hot without the words
that same night peeked up at the stars
and spied some poets at a bar 
was sucked up met some other writers.
Sexton, Hughes and babes with lyres
danced and laughed, lit big bonfires
slept out on the beach with Anne

got tired.

Good job Bob
Thanks Jack, you're back!
Awhile now, where you been?
I had a dream the other night
then went out to the yard
piled some wood up
near the road
with gasoline and tires.
My neighbor called the gendarmes
they came and talked me down
now I'm at the library
and YMCA downtown.

An Island Unbound

 
Wistful are late summer eves
congrats, no oven muffins
just some wine and summertime
last moments having supper.

Not easy to appreciate
romance on a list
but summer rolls around
again for another kiss.

Put it on the shelf a bit
take care of other things
mastering complexity
autumn, winter, spring.

Let silk and curves grow
in the mind, explore
the ways of lost.

Don't write and promise
simply wait

till table, date, come around.

Perhaps the twenty-third of June
next year, the island
town.

Where emerald seas
do soul weaving
no thread ever undone.

Sitting at the same table
waiting several hours
past the time was planned
Oh know,

he may be homeward bound.

Then the evening, opened doors
the surf is up, well timed
full moon upon a well made bed
and two

have gone inside.

Unbound island paradise
secret place to go,
as refugees from heaven,
remember their old home.

St Denis Again

 
I wrote a poem tonight called St. Denis. He was a religious man back there in the third century. I believe he was a Catholic Bishop and a saint as well. There's a sculpture of him in the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts in Richmond, Va. I spent time there and enjoyed the exhibit. Apparently he was beheaded by the hierarchy of the time and walked downtown with it (his head) tucked in his arm. A crowd of people followed him. He is well known in France where this supposedly happened.

My poem was not about him in the beginning. It was about the tree I saw in my head last week. There's a beautiful pecan tree in our backyard which I have admired from time to time. It has a lovely shape. It's huge and the birds fly back and forth from the feeder my wife keeps rollicking with treats. When I saw the tree early one morning in my chrome domium it was much different. All the leaves were separate and then pointed to heaven. The first time I tried to write about this I just blathered on about it and it got no views. So I took it down. I rewrote it in a way that made it more like an apology. It was just my medication. Obviously. But it was so real I can't forget about it. It was an experience.

It made me think about possiblities. What is possible in this world? We have these brains that are full of mysteries still barely understood. And look at the things they can do! Look at the world. For good or bad they produce amazing things. People die and get brought back. "Oh, they weren't really dead!". Okay, whatever. They certainly seemed, in many cases, to have experienced things from elsewhere.

Saints have been recorded doing all kinds of amazing things. Levitation is a thing. Forces that can lift a body are somehow gathered. Buttons are pushed. Antigravity machines are in the news. So I'm not going to dismiss St. Denis. And his statue or sculpture is in a major museum here. There's a church built on the place where he finally laid down and died.

So if I have my little experience with a tree and write about it I'm not really apologizing about it. I mean I am but I'm not. If it's written well and I'm not saying it was, it should get around the space, right? But I can't ever tell about that. I know certain words, right out of the gate, like "love" and "heart" will cause the algorithm to have a heart attack. So I'm just wondering.

Poetry should cover this sort of topic without stressing. If the VMFA can do St. Denis I'm thinking the path is wide open. If wonderment makes people happy and it's free I don't understand why things seem so restricted sometimes. Like logic has done such a wonderful job getting us where we are? Poetry seems a bit stuffy to me and intellectually aerated, if not lobotomized or, dare I say, decapitated in the central planning spaces. And yes, I'm just having a little fun here, I have no idea up in the forest where you can't see through the trees. Hey, it beats working for a living. Happy Labor Day, laborers.

The human being in and around the head and spine are a galaxy of possibilites. Mostly unknown to most of us. Who can challenge this? So why do we spend so much time trying?

Autumn

 
Facts or feelings
Mom or Dad
left or right
we bad.

Dreams there were
and are always,
really, that's the show.

Marriage is a sleep
so deep, it takes awhile
to wake up. 

Feel the astral body
in the cave of bone
early in the morning
get up start the show.

Children gone forever
one in three are good
prayers at conception
there goes the neighborhood.

Rejoice with elder baking
remain a little while
share the word with anyone
wear a cupcake smile.

Clear the mind of everything
new is what it says
Autumn is the best of months
go for the grand stands.

Time to move the show along
meet maker once again
having worn out all the parts
turns out some were quite bent

The Ring

 

 

He lay in bed this morning
for hours feeling sheets
just a smidge of consciousness
the body still, at ease.

Dream bits on the blanket
unremembered fluff
he rested there for hours
then managed to get up.

Oh, the days of Charlemagne
swords flashing and the cheers
screams like doors to heaven
they barbeque up here?

If he can slide to coffee
lean on down the hall
once again some recompense,
survival, fix, et al.

Then stumble to the living room
hobble over there
press some buttons
5.1

and settle the great chair.

Sip at last the filtered bean
watch the circle grow
remember all the angels here
and then the dawn

just so.

Upon his brow
He slept last night!

Ohhh. Oh Ohhhh. Oh Oh.

This could be the ball game
he looks up, asks his Dad
who went there a few years ago
except no brew

rather

shots of morphine and a truck
bright red, blinking tines.

So this must be the minor leagues
bag balls, go chalk the lines.

Ghostly Park

 

I have a buzz and am a mime

of lovers in the grip of time

leaning on a lamp post now

arms thrown wide I try to fly.

These few moments solely won

free at last to find someone

applauding all the people run

park bench in the evening sun.

Waiting on her every day

surely she will turn

flash a smile this way again

together we will learn.

Well it's late I must return

to the old address

urn up there upon the shelf

dark in the back closet.

Where's the love upon this world

dancing up bright hills?

Home is not the way it was

before were signed the wills. 

Neighborhood in darkness 

one warm person there

three doors down

from where I slept

they did not want to share.

Leaves Of Grass Rolled In My Hand

 

 

A few leaves floated from the tree
as she turned and spoke to me
one curled softly around her head
like a baby dragon's breath.

The look that held me then and now
eyes of green, a jeweled brow
a glance would make one dance all day
remembering their recent play.

Although a leaf found in a book
with a mark said "yes I would"
drove me to consider when
she spoke about a residence.

And then the evening did arrive
in spite of patience sorely tried
I hurried quickly with a look
never having read the book.

Or the page was ripped before
by the owner much adored
pointed out in a few leaves
clipped and rolled hid in my sleeve.

As I followed Brookline Streets
to the place we often met
window high, tree limbs near sky
familiar cry, another guy!

And I started laughing then
poetry my greatest friend
Leaves of Grass rolled in my hand
and in a moment high again!

What Is A Story?

 So many things are happening now. But what is a story, Jack?  Is it an open diary?  Diaries are supposed to be private, are they not?  Well, life is a play or a story, according to the Bard, right?

"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages."

1. Our lives are plays
2. Our lives are stories and plays
3. When we write about our lives, we are writing stories.
4. This is a good place to write stories.
5. This is a good place to write about our lives.

So we can write about the things we know and things that happen, while we think and feel, and record thus.  Also, we can add things that did not happen or are changed in memory.  Now we have fiction.  We announce it as fiction. And go from there. It's a potpouri of adventure to share with the world!  I do it all the time. You can even misspell words occasionally. Nobody cares!  Maybe I'm a bad person because I do these things. I've admitted not having a heart on many occasions.  Maybe that's true. It certainly feels true.  But I do get zapped in that region by outside forces once in awhile. And it feels great. So that would be a caveat.  A caveat in the cavern of the heart (I'm going to pay for using that word, watch, you will see.)

My wife is suffering with a knee that gives her a great deal of pain. So we are going to travel to Duke for an operation. This will be the most intense thing we have done together since meeting six years ago. And just by chance, or not by chance, I am feeling a lot better with a new medication. You just have a gut feeling about people sometime.  Brian, the NP, saw us a few weeks ago, just by chance, and I thought, "I've got to have this guy, he's good!".   And he popped a new pill should have been on the scoreboard years ago, would have eliminated much suffering.  On our second visit!  So now we can do the same thing with the slow folks in Roanoke. Late October?  I don't think so!  How about next week at Duke?  My mind is working better.  Gemini is helping me figure things out. I'm doing a contest for the first time in AP.  Writing better poems without any help.  Gemini is not very good writing verse. She's brilliant elsewhere but imagination is limited. 

So what is the story?  I'm thinking there are no coincidences.  There are few things not planned before birth. Travelers to the other side (and back) often say this. I believe them. Things work out if approached in a positive way. It's part of a plan put together long ago. Be here for the ten thousand year change involving earth and the universe.  It must have been exciting planning that!  A lot of jumping up and down.  Yes, but, by the way, you should be married four times too.  Oh, down to earth again.  Bummers can happen while enjoying a great view.

So there are many things that are picking up now, and once Nonie has her knee fixed, the opportunities will grow.  Mid seventies does not mean it's over. It felt like that recently.  But Brian came along and I want to give him a hug next time we go in there.  They all work hard.  I'm sure it will surprise him a lot when he walks into the exam room and gets his hug.

He's a young guy. Tall, good looking.  I'm sure it will surprise Nonie as well. But I don't roll that way if you're wondering.  I just have a better sense of humor when I'm feeling like I'm not dying soon.  It's another good thing to put in your stories if you can find some time to try. 

Autorank doesn't think I'm successful but that's the remarkable thing about it.  I can write a story, pay for the privilege in time, effort and money, finish it and get judged as a really bad storyteller. Just like that! This effort was a 1.0 according to Rank.  It's a miracle really that  such an "opportunity" exists in this world.  It's the exact opposite of instant gratification.  Thank you Otto.  You're just doing your job for sure.

And this is my story for today, in any case.  It has drama and is not finished. Unless I die today.  That will be drama too.  I wish that I could write it but even Shakespeare could not do that. 

Out Of Africa

 

I watched her sitting in my chair

relaxed, enjoying evening,

a friend grown close, or maybe more,

a play undone with readings.

A month it took to tease her here

although we hung out often

nights she spent with her dear aunt

weekends were beaches, dolphins.

One eve we sat inside a pub

a table made for six

nine of us so closely bound

her thigh was different.

Again I landed next to her

here beside my chair

awkward beyond pleasantries

my arm near buttons there.

She asked me about breakfast

how did I make it? Tell!

Did New York have a chef

nearby? Her laugh was a bright bell.

Her knee rose up the armrest

I blocked out all the news

she didn't look around my neck

glanced up, sharp eyes, new views.

I smiled and touched a button

slid it through the slit

opened up quick moving hill

and gave it a brief kiss.

My chair's now a museum piece

it will arrive there next

remembering the moment when

it nested radiance.

She raised my hand and kissed it

put it on her blouse

closed her lips and snuggled up

looked over at the couch.

Heaven is remarkable

they say it sits up there

but I can see just where it goes

it can claim anywhere.

Then she rose above me

pulled off her silken blouse

revealing pointed meanings

deep curves towards the couch.

There's where our movie started

a classic was unreeled

her lips were playing many parts

they spoke, I wrote appeals.

My hand ran down her back

tested, then further down explored

to reach the bottom of the world

where we reached the foard.

In the Serengeti

endless plain of life

I tore into her underwear

we crossed the river twice.

We were gazelles in flight that night

sharp crocs always nearby,

in darkness reaching shore

we slept,

dear friends again,

alive.

Writing About Childhood

 

We were very fortunate as children we had a small summer cottage on a lake in central Massachusetts.  I was about eight when we got it.  I remember an old fisherman talking to my dad down by the water.  He sold it to us and we built a porch on the water side with four huge windows that opened up and let in the air and the sounds from the lake.  Motorboats, cracks of lightning and water lapping against the two foot concrete wall and stairs that held the yard in place made it a special place. There was a sandy bottom and father built a little six by six platform on stilts out in the deep water.  At some point I would paint faces on rocks and leave them out there on the bottom of the lake. Dad was diving one day and came upon them.  He was quite amused. It was probably the best feedback I ever got from him  He seemed genuinely happy. 

There wasn't much to the cottage itself. It had a single bathroom with no shower or tub.  There was a window connecting it to the one bedroom. This was eventually painted because I was peeking one day and my sister ratted me out to Mom.  Seems like it should have been painted before that happened.  Just sayin.  There was a small kitchen that led back to the porch and my bed in the hallway under what used to be another big window to the outside.  Mom and Dad slept out on the porch.  I heard them one time out there loving on each other.  Nothing dramatic. Just "Oh, whatever."  Later on, when in high school, I came out here with a couple dates on two different occasions. Both could have easily led to loss of virgin status on both sides. And neither did!  There was some naked running around which was a lot of fun. But that was it. No worries to carry around for a month.


As I reflect upon it now I think that those events were connected in some way. Our family was brought closer together by the structure of the cottage. It was more like earlier ages where everyone slept in the same bed. Not as brutal as that but still a lot closer than the four bedroom Cape Cod back in town.  It was natural to see family members in various unintended states of undress while on the way or back from the lake.  Perhaps it was a natural progression to my high school outings with dates running around naked with the big old windows open and the lake breezes rushing in.  Everything was dark, of course.  We were quiet to avoid the neighbors looking in on us.  But, now that I think about it, they must have seen the car out front.  And yet there were no lights on.  Hmmmm.  The closest neighbor had a teenage son my age so perhaps they just felt like they had enough problems.  Why look for more?  There were no drugs or alcohol involved.  Just lovely bodies running around and trying to find the moon for a better perspective.  And much kissing and petting.  Oh yes, much of that to remember. 

In high school I was the president of the cultural exchange program that brought students from other countries to our school and the reverse process too.  I remember the wonderful girl we had from Brazil one year.  She was dark and quite petit. She had a wonderful personality, always laughing and a little shy.  She was beautiful.  I invited her out the the cottage, we call it "the camp" one weekend and we had a great time.  We took the boat out and cruised the lake.  I think she really enjoyed it.  I remember we had one kiss at some point.  And I remember the kiss.  It was exotic and wonderful.  It was the greatest pleasure in the world at that time.  And that was it!  I never invited her out to our place again.  I never asked her out.  I often wonder what was wrong with me back then on certain occasions.  It was not, as a general rule, the way I proceeded with affairs of the heart.  In any case, it was certainly a good thing that I did not get involved with a foreign exchange student in any way that could have led to broken hearts on either side.  As president of the org. that would not have been a good move.  It most certainly have led to the loss of a four year scholarship I received at graduation and a change of venue for the next four years.  Boston University would not have been on the table at that point.  Although one can only imagine, at that time, tuitions that were around one thousand dollars per semester.


I remember sleeping out on the porch when my parents were back in the bedroom (it's really hard figuring out where everyone must have slept.  I had three sisters.  Where did they sleep?)  Did I ever inquire or show any interest?  Doubtful.  But sleeping on the porch with the windows open and the night breeze coming in, the moon up there peeking between the tree limbs, was pretty nice.  it wasn't the Bahamas. But it was a memory that will keep you around for a few years.  And the squirrels tap dancing on the roof in the morning was a sound effect that stays with me now.  The stillness of the water in the early morning was amazing.  It was an enormous mirror and completely silent. There was something vaguely holy about it as well. I could imagine the souls of everyone around the lake out there in their dreams, caring for each other in a neighborly way. And there was just an occasional kiss from a fish spreading rings towards me on the shore as I attempted to make their day with a line and some bait.  You could always see them down below circling whatever got tossed their way.  They were not big fans of marshmallows.  I really did not fit into that scene and as I grew older spent less and less time fishing.  As you can see there were other things to catch.  They were not "things" of course.  I search for a word to put in that sentence but cannot come up with one.  We go from fish to ladies and then later to lovers.  And then much later back to fish and food for dinner.  Wives who prepare great meals and have a kind word for an old man.  It is a progression towards the peace on can see on an early morning lake before the boats and breezes arrive.  We are where we should be before we even start on our travels, if only we had known. 

I spent hours in a hammock between  two trees reading books about faraway places.  Mao was in the news back then.  You couldn't get further away than that.  And lives that seemed far riskier than mine although I nearly died at the hospital in Worcester.  This may have been why they bought the cottage in the first place. The times line up pretty well. I don't remember any kisses during that trip.  Just being eight years old and enduring lots of needles in the ass. It will teach you something though. I recall everyone laughing when I returned for an OP visit to the clinic and walked up to the nurse with everyone watching lowered my trousers and stuck out my butt.  Other than that, the happiest, most peaceful moments must have been those close to dying.  And my little radio full of magic.  McDonald hamburgers for 25 cents. The last thing to go is sound.

I was never much of an athlete but I learned to slalom ski and enjoyed tumbling in the water.  Crashes that never hurt too much. I wore thick glasses but got contacts later.  I got strong by high school and turned up first day with a nice tan and a new short sleeve white shirt, light brown corduroy pants and new shoes.  I was handing out stuff to all the class when I suddenly realized I was getting a lot of looks.  And it wasn't about the material i was distributing.  Something else was going on.  But I had no idea how to handle it. I was still trying to figure out what the hell they were talking about in the tv series, Peyton Place.  Didn't have a clue. I was an innocent in a strange arrangement of bricks.
There was much later that changed that.  Maybe I will write about it.  I enjoy these recollections.  They exercise memory. And they will be a keepsake for my grandkids, great grandkids...because they absolutely are gonna want to know.  Or not.  I know I would have enjoyed it with my grandparents from Wales and othe places. 

And one more memory I had forgotten about until now.  All of us standing in the water waist deep in the early morning with a couple of bars of ivory soap.  Because, as I said, there was no bathtub or shower in the cottage.  Every one soaping up while it was quiet and there were not too many people around to watch the family bathe together.  That one sticks with me.  I don't know why I didn't remember it until now.  Perhaps it was in a special place by itself with a decorative lock like some things are.  We got clean together.  We were a unit before we went our separate ways. 

Writing Exercise

 I have no ideas for a story tonight.  But that doesn't mean don't write. One can always press the delete button if nothing much happens.  I don't want to waste your time.  It is like doing sit-ups.  Press the keys. See if the brain finds a gear.  Mix up the similes.  See if they sort themselves out. Why am I here?  That's the eternal question. Sometimes it doesn't seem very important. But it might produce something that is useful to someone.  Start where we are and move forward.  There are angels watching and they are easily amused. 

I have been taking a new medication for the last several days and it has had an enormous effect on my daily life.  It's not an antidepressant or muscle relaxant.  It is actually for physical stuff and it's working.  And my immediate reaction is fear that they are going to take it back.  They will refuse to hand it out after a few months. Maybe they will say Okay you can have it if we can give you a vaccination.  Just weird, paranoid thinking.  They wouldn't do that.  I don't think they would do it.  Would they do it? 


As I said before, it's a relative of Gabapentin. It's not a big deal. We went downtown today for some plywood panels. I told Nonie to be very careful driving.  We are at the top of the bell curve right now and it would be very easy to fall off.  This evening I want to thank various photos on the wall for the beauty and successful nature of today.  The real estate guy from the county slunk in here yesterday to take photos of the property.  Record the large shed we built a few years ago. But it's okay! Do your worst. The dollar is nearly worthless, anyway.  Food is an enormous expense.  But the county is going to get their dolaros for sure.  We need to stay ahead of that curve or on top of it. But not under it. 

I feel better, that's the main thing. I can relax and feel peaceful inside.  Meditate without physical distraction.  I watched two movies today. Neither was very good but it was awesome being able to go there. 

Some of the poems I have written lately are doing well.  And the blog as well. This month the blog had more views on the 15th day than were recorded in the entire previous month.  And it's all stuff from over here.  And there is a link from there to here.  It's cross pollination. It's all part of the top of the bell curve moment.  Really.  Something is going to happen.  Someone will tell me I can't write here like this.  Or I can't mention my blog. I don't know.  I do know that Kevin is very supportive and open-minded.  He's a details kind of person.  And he knows a lot about poetry I could never conceive of.  I'm an ADHD kind of person.  Nobody cares about that but it can be entertaining I've been told. 

I should just delete all of this.  It is purposeless rumination.  It is an attempt to fulful my prediction about sliding off the curve.  It will lead to no good outcomes.  It will garner zero views.  Humiliation.  But if it leads to one view that will be okay.  Because, in reality, there is only ever one view.  Mutliple views are, like any crowd, an abstraction.  Group mind?  Where?  I don't see it.  Always there are different thoughts, views, decisions.  There is only one person done many times. 

There, that's something worth saving.  It may not be true.  It may just be my fantasy for the evening. But we will go with it and keep writing every day. Because exercise is good and we are getting somewhere. We have this magic tool for reaching out into the world and, sometimes, even creating art. Writing stories and poetry.  Which I have done a great deal of here.  I know it feels like I am a slacker.  But check it out.  There's more to this than meets the eye.

And millions of people who have been innoculated with a giant mystery in the last few years are going to need exercise too. That's the final thought for the evening.  Grand gestures are percolating through their hearts and minds at this moment. All around the world!  One at a time of course.  And if they say I, theh writer, need to get a shot, well, I'm pretty open-minded too.  Also, I have living in the woods skills.  As long as there is some kind of internet connection and a place where we can meet it will be alright.  And it has given me an idea just this moment for a story. Plot lines are difficult to find sometimes. But this could work out. It might be a story or a poem.  It exists still waiting for a template.  Existence! Exercise is good! 

Otto is stubborn.  He feels abused.  He didn't like "I feel", "there is a".  Really dude?  That's all you have to say? He did say "vaccination" was a strong word.  So I suppose that is progress.  But 2.5 overall autorank?  I'll ask Gemini what she thinks.  Later. 

Thanksgiving

 

Moments are the fat, cooked bird

dined round the family table

wild dna spread over time

then clocked and dressed, disabled.

I am the wing man of the hour

mother white meat breast

father of the leg bones

with me

dark meat is the best.

Sisters are the giblets

gravy is the peace

keeps us all around the table

rich table cloth of dreams.

When the meal is over

good thanks be given go

everyone has their own room

leftover freezer zones.

Moments seldom find me now

I sandwich meat and run

saw a wild bird yesterday

asked her out to lunch.