The Moon in June

She peeked between the fingers of clouds
and scattered gold dust through the shadows;
whispered words to the warm wind and
wrapped her shawl around her shoulders.
Morning glories climbing the garden fence
trailed love letters in heart shaped leaves.
They never speak to her or sing their song
but trumpet their colors to the dawn believing
she’s still there but her light has gone.
The veiled brides of June are soon to wed;
trellised arches of flowers for their vows;
pillows of lover’s lace upon their beds
and wreaths of expectation on their brows.
They shed their innocence like moonlight;
soft as whispered promises of love.
When the morning comes, will they be wise?
The moon will not be shining from above.

Flowers

Among the stones on windswept rim
A fragile flower grew
Painted like dainty butterfly wing
Drinking the morning dew

Gossamer tendrils stretch from birth
Beneath the arid ground
Seeking sustenance from the earth
Moving without a sound

Through the gray-green filaments
Blood of ages pass
Dazzling colors and nutrients
That spill in bloom at last

We are become much like the plant
Among the sand and stone
Who by survival must supplant
Infertile flesh and bone

And let the spirit’s winding roots
Sink deep into the soil
Producing green and vibrant shoots
That stretch through time and toil

Then our soul’s true colors seen
Among the brittle clay
Might be a fit bright offering
In heaven’s rich bouquet

Footsteps

In a deserted empty house
The middle of the night
Footsteps in an adjacent room
As I turn on the light
No one there, I lay awake
All night listening
For creaking floorboards
Bumping furniture
The footsteps come no more

Walking home on darkened streets
A foggy mist of rain
Footsteps soft on forest leaves
Breaking twigs inside my brain
I spin around in misty halos
Bats flit by the streetlamp
Nothing there, I walk again
Listening in the damp

Again, again, the hairs on end
All along my spine
And down both arms, a shiver runs
Footsteps keeping time
Across the roof under the moon
The dog whines on his chain
The click of patent leather shoes
Impossible to explain

What sort of creature silently
Walks rooftops late at night
But disappears in mockery
When I turn on the lights
Outside my bedroom window
Just before the dawn
I wake to sounds of breathing
I know I’m not alone

Footsteps pause behind the curtain
A dragging, shuffling fright
Madness messengers, I am certain
Footsteps come for me tonight

Del Rio 1915

I miss the creak of leather under me
I miss the saguaro on the Sonoran
I miss that goddamned half-breed quarter horse
Son of a bitch was more mustang than anything
Now my Winchester just sits in the corner gathering dust

I miss old Talking Crow
First by God blue-eyed Apache I ever seen
Claimed he was full blooded Chiricahua
But I always thought there was some white blood
He was mean on his whiskey so I never pressed the matter

I miss pulling off my boot and thinking
That the rest of my leg was going to come with it
My hind end never did bother me much
But by God my thighs ached enough to make up for it
I miss drinking coffee that still had grounds in it

I miss sleeping out in the open under the stars
I miss damn near freezing when it got nippish out
I miss having a saddle for a pillow
And borrowing Choctaw’s blanket to go over mine
He didn’t need it without his saddle no way

I miss eating beans and beefsteak for breakfast
And the fried tortillas Jose’ used to make
I miss spending the spring out on the great divide
Getting the herd all fattened up for market
And I miss the feel of my Colt strapped to my hip

I miss spending a month’s pay getting drunk and laid
Half the time ending up in a fight or a poker game
I look at the scars in the mirror and I have to smile
Damn them sure was some fine times
But it’s all gone now, like me pretty soon I reckon

They got a newfangled thing called a “horseless carriage”
Damn stinking, noisy, rattling, bone shaking contraption
One drove through a puddle and splashed mud on my boots
If I’d have had my pistol I’d have shot it
Hell, so much is gone that ain’t ever coming back

Granddaddy used to talk about the buffalo like that
He remembered they was all day crossing the prairie
A man could sit in one spot and never see the same bull twice
The government starved out, killed or civilized all the Indians
I reckon they ain’t that much worth living for anymore

Me and Charlie Mendez going into town tonight
And get us a bottle of tequila and get drunk
They make us hitch our horses off of Main Street
Proper modern folks don’t want to step in horse shit
Some kid said, “Hey, mister, where’s your horse?

I said, he got old and died but I’ve got a mount
It ain’t Mister Ford’s model T but it’ll do
“Say”, he says, “Are you a REAL cowboy?”
No sir, no sir I ain’t but my daddy was
And I gave him a dollar to water Charlie’s ponies

My Prayer

Give me the comfort of Saturday sleep
After the toil of work soaked week;
Of winter quilts in a world of snow;
The still of white when tempest blows

When hazy, lazy afternoons
Drift with honeysuckle in June
Give me friends and family there
On the front porch in rocking chairs

Stretched in a hammock between two trees
While apple blossoms buzz with bees
And bright butterflies flutter the breeze
Give my soul colored sails like these

Give me the music of an old guitar
Or the voice of love beneath the stars
When the smiling moon hangs trembling
Like a golden chime on a silver string

Give me the tender words to speak
Like the kiss of a child on grizzled cheek
When I have grown both old and gray
“I love you grandpa”, they might say

Oh, let me bounce them on my knees
God, give me precious gifts like these
And I’ll want not for milk and honey;
Neither for silver nor gold of money

Give me love and a gentle heart
A soul that understands the part
Of life when we must say goodbye
Make me unashamed to cry

But make my every teardrop blessed
With memories of happiness
And all the good times with my tears
Let me not face cruel death in fear

Give me a strong and willing hand
To grow my garden and till the land
As I plant seeds in hearts for love
God, bless my endeavors from above

And in my every sweet pursuit
Let my trees bring forth good fruit
Take from me the spirit of pride
That I might feel your love inside

And with my brothers and sisters share
My comforts for their worried care
Let me do everything I can
To bless and help my fellow man

Make me bold and let me dare
To better my world through peace and prayer
Give me the faith I need to believe
Let not my heart or words deceive

Let me offer thanks and praise
Every minute of all my days
And leave a memory when I’m gone
More precious than mere words in stone

To the Clouds

Gentle stirring mist above
Tranquil floating kiss of love
Upon the frozen cheek of sky
Winter mornings passing by

Forecast rain or sleet and snow
Tell me where your spirits go
Appearing silent from the blue
Vanishing into heaven’s hue

Summer doldrums breeze might stir
Hoary tufts of rabbit’s fur
Magic tendrils disappear
Into the vault of nervous air

Great anvils in the heavens hang
Bruised purple anger flashing fangs
In bolts electric and exciting
Rumbling thunder with your lightning

Children lying in green meadows
Imagine shifting animals
Fantastic creatures and unicorns
Are there by fantasy reborn

Not a place to have one’s head
Like angels for their blissful bed
Bellows of the wind might billow
Sails of rest; celestial pillows

Ethereal white; your wedding veils
Listening for the golden bells
From the sun to shine and sing
In morning like the bright dove’s wing

The black and gray of rainy days
Has sung your darker harmonies
But sweet the pink of soft reflections
Cotton candy spun confections

In my mental predilections
Make you nearer to perfection
Heaven your lovely curtains shroud
Blanket me with covering clouds

Colors

Green; fresh grass against bare skin
Tomatoes and apples ripening
A Luna Moth’s dusty and delicate wing
Green is the color of spring

Yellow is daisies and dandelion
The sun in full glory and gold refined
The color of riches beyond all compare
Yellow is mellow and fair

Blue; the open freedom of sky
Endless heaven beyond the mind’s eye
Turquoise stone, sapphire and sea
Blue is the color of purity

Pink is roses and dogwood blooms
Baby girl dresses and nursery rooms
Delicious mixture; strawberries and milk
Pink is a lady’s bedroom silk

White; the innocent bride in her gown
New fallen snow and duckling’s down
Old country church and hairs of old age
The hunger for words on an empty page

Orange is flickering fingers of flame
A fruit that bears that beloved name
Autumn leaves and misty sunrise
Orange is warmth in children’s eyes

Red; sumac and holly berries
Christmas lights and candied cherries
Embers from a long spent fire
Red is the flame of desire

Purple is mountains and amethyst dreams
Eggplant and thunderheads burst at the seams
Bruises of long suffered loyalty
Purple is the robe of royalty

Brown; stained wood and sun baked earth
Winter coffee and chocolate syrup
Suntanned skin, the smell of leather
Brown is a thrush and his feathers

Black is the velvet robe of night
Deep and endless absence of light
Clothing of mourning and Sunday best
Black is the color of rest.

Little Things

A grain of sand
A flake of snow
A drop of rain
A soft hello

Summer beaches
Winter skiers
Growing gardens
Friends for years

A needle’s eye
A piece of thread
A button lost
A robin’s egg

Mended pocket
The poet’s purse
Holds together
The universe

Love Rules the Universe

Is love but a beautiful dream dreamt by beautiful souls;
Seeming to fade like dreams from grasp as ever they grow old?
The kernel of love is growing; leaving only a husk behind.
Eternal souls reach; knowing, though love has been called blind

More than ideal or beautiful dream is this thing which fools entice.
Love is not tempted by foolish schemes and beggars in paradise.
Though mountains crumble and seas boil; love remains steadfast
Pain and worry; lust and toil with life fade but love will last

Death and time hold court convicting mortal flesh and bone;
Accusing wiry fingers lifting; love still sits upon its throne
Those who come to value earthly pleasures find death terse
Wait on heavenly treasures knowing that love rules the universe

If one has no hope or faith and declares no one can know it
Love smiles and sheds amazing grace on prophets and on poets
The prophets prophesy in part and every poet writes his verse
The muse that stirs the caldron heart knows love rules the universe

Desire

I’m the dying of the day; the restless, churning night
I’m the dark in shades of grey; mingling with the light
I’m a thing of mystery; well hidden from your sight
I blind men so they might see; their vision was too bright

I’m the color of morose; the funeral Sunday suit
I lift my glass and give a toast from Eve’s forbidden fruit
The knowledge of good and evil; within my cup bereft
I make the bravest soldier tremble. I’m the horse of death.

I’m not the black of equity who balances out the truth
I’m not blind justice weighing in the sins of wayward youth
I’m the pale and sickly steed that tortures you in dreams
In my orchard; trees of need I water with your screams

I’m the painter of deception; author of confusion
I’m your mental predilection; all your life’s illusion
I’m temptation on the vine; I depose from thrones
Noble kings like Solomon; I guard my post alone

I laugh at fallen angels where beneath my hooves are trod
Even hopes of demons with their burning prayers to God
Hell is not my stable; though I have pulled its hearse
My form is fairly able to transmute the universe

I count starvation in my ribs while wars I’m giving birth
I smother nations in their cribs and poison all the earth
Your horrors, goblins, witches, warlocks; none compare to me
In pride they call me “ally” but I am more their destiny

Satan seeks my council; by my hand the goat was made
When he would have repented; I schooled him in his trade
I shake the world above me from its fiery burnt foundation
I reward all who love me with death and consternation

I split the heavens asunder and rain both fire and hail
I stoke the furnace of the sun and light the stars as well
Riches of gold and silver; diamonds, emeralds, pearls
I pull from my pockets; shiny trinkets for the world

I need not reveal my name but many have called me Hunger
Greed, Lust and Treachery among my names are numbered
I am the unmaking which makes the shadow cosmos turn
I am Desire that feeds the fires of heaven so they burn

Kernel

Tiny wrinkled thing
A yellow ladybug

Dry and dead as stone
It rested in my palm

I buried it beneath
The black leaf loam

From the grave it rose;
Green phoenix stretching

Lifting striated wings
Worshipping the sun

In months, taller than I
It rustled against the sky

Golden hair flowing
Over full robust arms

Beneath rough sleeves
Cobs bulged with life

Children nestled close
Growing in the night

Standing tall like Kali
Glorying in her might

Rebirth from destruction
Born again from death

Multiplied like stars
Reformed and alive

Such is spirit reborn
Like a kernel of corn

Mantis

Along my dusty summer porch
A mysterious visitor climbed
And turned her head to look at me
With unblinking onyx eyes

Slender and graceful; this lady fair
Perfectly mimics the motion of prayer;
Recognizing her intent
She might belong in a convent

Her jaw is wide and perfect
In seemingly endless smile
She waits her breakfast of insects
With just a trace of guile

Transparent wings stretch along
The contours of her form
Death lay waiting just inside
The embrace of her arms

Little more than three inches long
She is the goddess of fate
Her hunger knows few boundaries
She probably consumed her mate

A cricket which was skipping past
Hopped onto the wall
And died within her lightning grasp
She ate him, chirp and all

Nature’s insect femme fatale
Wiped brutal mouth and hands
And disappeared into the air
Across the arid land

The Meaning in the Moon

Restless wandering specter stalking slow about the room
The ghost of Dylan Thomas round the old White Horse Saloon
Searching for a whisky glass, an ashtray or a broom
to sweep up broken bits of April scattered round in June

How the smoky blues fulfill the places where we yearn
The empty, sad and fractured spaces longing to return
Can we place a sweet embrace like ash into an urn?
Or trust youth’s fiery passion once the memory is burned?

Sweat on asphalt steaming, people screaming for more room
For souls to grow and fools to know the meaning in the moon
And not the words of two young lovers singing different tunes
When laughter born just yesterday fades away too soon

Are the craters simply Braille for angels who are blind
Wandering round the galaxy not knowing what they’ll find?
Or maybe they are roadmaps to a place we’re coming soon
while searching for a whisky glass, an ashtray or a broom

Pour the empty, dusty glass all full with shades of blue
Kick the broken, lonely pieces of April round the room
Sweep the floors and lock the doors and light a cigarette
Liquor, darkness and sad music mix well with regret

All the simple answers to hard questions I have learned
Are simply foolish notions foolish people have discerned
The truth is settled to the complex corners of this room
Searching for a whisky glass, an ashtray or a broom

A Country Romance

He crushes the violets in his hand and clover beneath his feet

Her eyes are blue like shining rivers

She saw him coming as she swept the porch

Dust sparkles in the sunshine and swirls with her persistent stroke

She wipes her hands on a gingham apron and leans her broom to rest

He removes his hat with some difficulty even though he has a free hand

Sweat stains the collar of his chambray shirt

A black ribbon hangs from his bullish neck

“I brought these flowers for you.”

She accepts them with a soft smile

“Come; let me find a vase and some water,
would you like some water as well?”

“That would be nice mam, thank you.”

“Granger, if you’re going to come courting
you might at least address me as Emily.”

His feeling of ignorance is confirmed in the tops of his feet
which he studies like the meaning of life was there

“I thank you very much for the lovely flowers,
it was thoughtful of you to pick them for me.”

His past sins are forgiven and the faux pas “mam”

“Emily, you have such a beautiful name, it’s almost as pretty as you.”

“Well, I must say Granger, what you lack in grace you more than make up for in content.”

He smiled at that and it felt like the world lifted from his shoulders.

Island Dawn

A white marble of a sun
Stretched its pink reflection
Down the blue-green waves
Across the sand
A fiddler crab stepped sideways
For pedestrian
Sandaled feet
Warning the approach of man
The clip clip of
Brine washed footsteps
Echo into
The rush of tide
Sea oats bend
In shell caked, wind swept
Hillocks
By the ocean side
A jellyfish lay shimmering
Dying in dawn’s first light
Somber terns march crying
On spindly
Matchstick legs
Away from the sight
Sandpipers gingerly
Stalk the surf
Retreating before the foam
Diving for burrowing clams
As waves wash
Down the empty shore
Seagulls soar pin wheeling
Cutting wind with cardboard wings
Tapered tips; stiff unwieldy
Unyielding troughs pitch
And dip
Squawking scavengers
Above the beach
Their disapproval send
I continue my trek
Until I reach
Open bay
And island’s end

Words

The orange ball of the sun burned into the shadowy mountain mist.
The fog surrounding dark pinnacles shifted uneasily.
I have seen fires on distant waves wax and wane thus.
It is the glow of charcoal embers seeking breath to catch flame.
My mind wanders and remembers; a tiny infant’s grasp around my finger,
a little puppy snuggled against my cheek on the pillow,
the broken sadness in my father’s hazel eyes.
I see the face of my best friend. I feel his hand upon my shoulder.
But, now, how many years has it been?
He is gone and I am slowly growing older.
At noon, the day is clear and bright but I am full of dreams.
Far away beaches with swaying palms and snow white sands beckon me.
Shimmering trout are jumping in the swift current of cold clear streams.
I am carried far away on the wings of thoughts and memories.
The pain of lost love is like an arrow through my heart.
It is a shifting glacier of ice drifting cold to the pit of my stomach.
I feel the burden of sin on the back of the wretched creature I have been.
It is like the addict’s monkey, a slave to death and destruction.
There was something I wanted to say and pull the cork from the bottom
of my overflowing heart to let it spill out in ink on an empty page.
There was advice to my daughter; there were prayers to God,
There were things unsaid like the love between two men who were brothers.
There was healing and pain, hate and love, joy and suffering, patience and anger.
But it all lay behind a blanket of mist like the diffused disk of this morning.
I wanted to see things clearly as the rainbow fish living in his liquid dream.
But my eyes were blurred. My smile was grim. I wanted to laugh and cry.
I wanted to say things from my heart no mortal ear has ever heard.
I wanted to reach up from the well of my soul and pour the cup of music full.
The salty taste of my own tears tells me I am but a fool.
Only a fool or poet would dare to try when... all I have are words.

Sunshine Warrior

Teeth have torn the calloused skin
From blisters on his rugged hands
Wrinkles carved around his eyes
Make him look more old than wise

Grey hair peppered, temples streaked
Thinning as his dreams recede
Ragged holes in old blue jeans;
Shaggy mop yarn at the seams

Muddy work boots caked in clay
Bits of leaf with mulch and hay
The smell of power saw gasoline
Mixed with oil, grass and onion

Tee shirt stained with sweat and dirt
From the garden and his work
Sunbathed arms; bronzed and dark
Leather sunshine warrior

Specters of the Flood

Night thick as tar; boiling black
Stars are merely a rumor
Ethiopian ghosts stretch
Shuffling restless from tombs

Magic dark rhinoceros horn
Swallowed moon on Serengeti
Billows in western sky form
Clouds; ripe and threatening

Lightning ripping edges jagged
On heavens skirt… blue eyes weeping rain
Bursts of furious wind
Reveal her hurt in flashes of pain

A tormented sky of agony
Weeping her injury through a cloud
Waters of death surround the huts
Specters of the flood cry out

Creole Soul

Island crayfish swim in hot sauce
Conch salad sandwiches served at noon
Palm trees sway while boats are tossed
On gentle waves in quiet lagoons

I was born with a Creole soul
Bubbling over like a lobster pot
Brine soaked sand where whitecaps roll
Spitting in fire like a Pelee god

The pirate in my bloody dreams
Longs for the blue of open sea
Below the port of New Orleans
Into the land of Caribbees

Every childhood dream I had
Dolphins swam round coral reefs
From Bahamas to Trinidad
Set to shore on black sand beach

Umbrella drinks and fat cigars
Sun browned men in Panama hats
Ceiling fans stir heavy air
Peacock chairs where tourists sat

Bogey and Bacall in Martinique
Hemmingway’s, To Have and Have Not
Echoes Calypso steel drum beats
Where air and blood both run hot

Cape jasmine and orange blossom
Rain forest jungles high in the hills
Natives worship the sacred mountain
The volcano’s voice is silent and still

I was born with a Creole soul;
My heart filled with island feelings
Reggae rolls from the radio
I go drifting in the Caribbean

To The Platypus

(Introduction)

From the isle of Australia
There’s a fellow I must tell ya’

Who’s so strange; he baffles scholars
A name common in those waters

Little webbed feet like an otter
Swim so neatly through the water

Holds his hind legs straight in line
Paddling front feet all the time

Set to side like boatman’s oars;
Paddles and swims his way to shore

He makes his home among the roots
Where grasses sprout in muddy shoots

(Address)

You have no ears that we can see
It’s clear you are a mystery

Your wife lays eggs just like a goose
You have brown fur much like a moose

You have a bill just like a duck
And swill for yabbies in the muck

Worms and shrimp and swift crayfish
Fill the brim of your dinner dish

That beaver tail I find quite clever
There’s no creature like you ever

Some say you are ridiculous
But I love you Mr. Platypus