Kernel

Tiny wrinkled thing
Size of a 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
Worshiping the sun

In months, taller than I
It rustled against the sky

Silver silk flowing
Over robust ears

Beneath rough sleeves
Cobs bulged with life

Rebirth from destruction
Born again from death

Multiplied like stars
Reformed and alive

Such is a spirit reborn
Like a kernel of corn

Waiting to Fall

Crippled and broken cornstalks;
pierce a field of waist-high grass
a weathered gray barn still stands
about a mile from the overpass

She was once the pride of the valley
where the harvest of plenty was kept
but now that there isn't any
she stands empty and windswept

She held the hope of America
so gently in her arms
and graced the land with bounty
from orchards, fields and farms

Farmers, crippled and broken
Watch their children leave the land
But whether epitaph or token,
The weathered gray barn still stands

Another World

Down a dry and dusty road
Beyond a field of thirsty grass
Lies a portal to another world
Beckoning to those that pass

Magnolias through waxen leaves
Sigh a breath of melting warm
Spanish moss on white oak trees
Every branch and limb adorn

Deeper now in forest keep
Rotting wood upon the air
Soft green moss beneath our feet
Dark and cool as we walk there

Outside, the heat is sweltering
Yellow bursts down on the stream
The sun has come to pools to bathe
And left in place, a living dream

Dragonflies speed swiftly by
Bodies blue and tails of green
Dancing among the Tiger lilies
Like small crayfish, to shade unseen

Leaving here, the traveler finds
More time elapsed than first believed
As through the gate the pathway winds
With all his worries now relieved

I Crept and Walked Into the Dawn

I crept and walked into the dawn
Through the dew upon the lawn
I heard the morning rooster crow
The eastern sky was still aglow
Strokes of cotton candy pink
From His eye God gave a wink
And smiled into my waking room
With honeysuckle sweet perfume
In their beds some stretch and yawn
I crept and walked into the dawn
Forest creatures scurried there
Brave field mouse and timid hare
And from every tree I heard
The praise of God from every bird
I know that those who sleep are blessed
As from their week they take their rest
Yet not as blessed as I, alone
I crept and walked into the dawn

The Rocking Chair

The Rocking Chair

Mother spoke lucidly of her grandfather
She wanted to go to his house
She knew he had just passed on
There was a rocking chair bequeathed to her

It's just sitting there in that dusty attic
She wanted someone to get it for her
She spoke lovingly of her father
And talked about when she was a girl

I held her hand and promised I'd ask
About the rocking chair and she smiled
Later, when my sister visited
She told mother the house was no more

Mother was adamant the house was there
If she could only get there
Up those rickety stairs was an heirloom
And she wanted the rocking chair

The house had long been torn down
Land was cleared; a convenient store sat there
Mother would not be satisfied until she could see
Wondering aloud who had taken her chair

I would have done anything to ease her mind
But the mind wanders where we cannot go
Lost in dreams of childhood...she sat in his lap there
In curls and dress; a moment of happiness

Remembered with a promise...
"When I am gone I want you to have
This memory and this moment forever
And yes, this rocking chair"

Dancing in the Light

A single shaft of light
Penetrated the Venetian blind
Upon it danced a thousand motes of dust
The particles in celebration
Seemed to cling
To an arrow of the sun's bright offering

The room, behind dark velvet curtains
Had been sanctuary for the night
In darkness all things become uncertain
Void of will and subject to suggestions
Scattering like quicksilver in the light

The black fades into purple brown
Shadows creep away to secret corners
Were I to rise and pull the curtain down
No doubt the dark would burst with morning
But I sit perplexed and ponder
A mystery that makes me wonder

A shadow in a crevice holds no fear
It only lies in wait for discovery
What is this shaft of light doing here?
Did it come to rob the night of something lovely?
But look! How the darkness flees!
Even from a single pin so bright
What does it mean; perhaps or might?

Only a bit of day has changed the darkness
It wakened in me a thirst for all things bright
For where once I found comfort and solace
Behold! I saw weakness and cowardice!
I became determined to catch the sun
And so, into the east, I began to run.

But as I traveled and ran and did my best
The great star rose above me
The noon poured heat upon my brow
And now, the turning of the earth has
Sent me west.

We can not catch the sun except on our skin
Or perhaps we may harness a bit in our hearts
But there are things, that if pursued
Will only turn to leave us in the dark
Still, there will be smaller stars there

They will be there to remind us
There is always light
No matter how fast we travel
Or how far we put the past behind us

So I begin to cling, like some other earthly thing
Like a most of dust, not knowing what to trust
But looking forever forward to the light
And I begin to dance, if only on the chance
That I may, in some small way
Help to make the wrong things right

The Death Eater

I saw a vulture walking;
hopping a staggering dance,
along a length of railroad track
void of pretense or romance.

Wings protruding in caped shoulders
above his bald and pink-gray head.
And upon his long, sharp beak I noticed
a smile waiting for things dying
and dead.

His head was heavy on his long bent neck.
His claws gripped the gravel in earnest.
Singed pinions and grizzled hairs
formed a collar, black as a furnace.

He was one of a company that journeyed;
a ragged band of vagrant beasts
spreading wings in the breath of oblivion,
the foul stench of decaying things.

His dance was not that threatening;
not so much as purposeful, with intent.
Other birds made way for him
as along the railroad track he went.

Presently, he came upon some carnage
of unlucky carrion left by the train
and folding his wings as if in prayer
he dined upon the grim remains

He held the visage of an undertaker
who went about his work with calm;
dressed for mourning by his tailor
but to devour rather than embalm.

Most would find this business gruesome;
the brutal wrenching of decaying flesh
while he sees in death not something futile
but seeks his own life to refresh!

I saw a vulture standing
and he spread his great black wings
over the shadow of death demanding
his life from wretched, detestable things!

A Yellow Cotton Dress

Dancing motes of dust
Rise and fall in shafts of sunlight
The secret music of souls plays through the window
It is the pulse of blood and beauty
That angels stir with silent wings

It is not for mortals to know such things

Life and death are imposters of truth
They limit the song of space to time
We knew the lie when we were young
But grew to fools as years passed by
Now we hear in rain the rolling of the hearse

While the symmetry of snow freezes still the universe

Ah, you do not know; you claim amnesia of innocence
But you once believed and once it held you in a trance
You were hypnotized by the power of wonder
And later you heard the thunder from the lightning of romance
And you hid because you were scared

I know…I remember because I was there

The wind chimes were tinkling on the porch
And a breeze came and whispered soft your name
You hummed a song from a dream; you had forgotten the words
You felt a shiver in the sun and all your nerves
Were alert on end

You knew someone was there…somewhere, watching

One night you tried to count the stars and wondered
If someone was out there counting you
You felt so small under the open sky
The vast velvet ocean in day was a canopy of blue
At night you were a mote of dust caught up in the dance

And you rose and fell like sun and stars with every chance

You became so predictable but inexplicable
Dependable and expendable to yourself
Like an antique bottle that sought its worth
You poured out the wine of your precious soul
Like blood that was mingled with the dust of earth

But long ago the breath of God gave Adam birth

We cannot climb again the thread to the womb
The umbilical is cut and we are left alone
We can only hasten our retreat to the tomb
Saved by the grave; shall the meek inherit the earth?
Shall love bear us out even to the edge of doom?

City streets and buildings are screaming for more room

Visions are useless pictures to the blind
Pearls are of no value to swine
Poets are slaves to reason and rhyme
The reader may not comprehend a single word or line
They may not care another soul dares to open
A forgotten past that they have closed

But deep in your heart, your spirit knows

You feel me in your heartbeat; rising, falling
You hear me in your dreams; whispering, calling
Your name in chimes rings on the wind
And you stand on the front porch listening
You might remember a song you can’t express

While in my world you are a little girl…in a yellow cotton dress

Death in the Afternoon

Murmurs of the crowd
Wash in waves of distant thunder
Late afternoon in the month of June
The arena; damp with rain and wonder

Bodies in boxes with glasses
Binocular visions of Spanish lasses
Dressed in vermillion and gold
Waiting the tragedy to unfold

Below, there stands the matador
Surveying a slight expanse of sand
Upon their horses, picadors
Lances ready in their hands

Into the barrera comes the bull
Released from inside his iron cage
His appearance; terrible and dreadful
Snorting drool in fearsome rage

Fandas passing magenta and gold
Capote flourishing to tempt and tease
As picadors drive home the lances
Blood on the dusty Spanish breeze

Horns and shoulders, lower now;
Toro focused upon the cloth
The matador with each passing suerte
Brandishing his sword aloft

The flash of red, the glitter of steel
Dash and dance at his command
His steps, a close ballet of sorts;
The waltz of assassins and noblemen

Beneath the burning Spanish sun
The gasping crowd awaits the doom
The final thrust of the sword bears witness
To death in the afternoon

Seasons in Rhyme

Autumn and spring are my favorite seasons
Oddly enough, for opposite reasons

When the lime green buds are being born
And the sun shines bright in the April morn

Invigorated I feel so alive
As first honey bees that fly from the hive

In search of sweet nectar in the early hour
When the morning glory begins to flower

For by that time Spring is well on her way
And the grasses are covered in colors of May

White clouds drifting through amethyst skies
To the flutter and flitting of gold butterflies

By the time new hatchlings are learning to sing
Summer will shade them in delicate green

With all Summer's passions of sweltering spent
And young children asking where they all went

The earth will still warm her feet by the embers
Till raisins from grapes remain of September

Then come the pumpkins from fields of October
The last days of summer are finally over

The maple is bursting; consumed, all aflame
Thirsting for something that hasn't a name

In bright red and gold, trees color their glory
What these leaves have said, told in their story

We once were young and we clung to the trees
We were green and alive and sang in the breeze

Now we let go with what's left on the vine
But even in death we will gloriously shine

We will burn in our splendor; majestic and bright
Joyful, our ending, for soon comes the night

I feel my own spirit accused here of treason;
That I have refused my autumn in season

Yet before winter comes my leaves seem to know
And in all of my limbs I feel my heart glow

There is a time to be born and a time to go;
An early spring morn and frost in the meadow

Yes, Autumn and Spring are my favorite times
When seasons in passing find reasons in rhyme

Lost on the Bayou

Deep in the shadows
Green lights play
Will o' the wisp
At the close of day
Black licorice trunks of
Bald cypress decay
Drifting ghost mists
Dance and sway

Spanish moss drips
On dryer ground
From mighty oaks
Where mint is found
Near beds of moss;
Drops of blood
Flower from green;
Soft underfoot

Rich is the air
With the smell of loam
In the place that
Lichens call their home
Thoughts become tangled
As mangrove roots
Flowers hang from
Extended shoots

Honeysuckle, sickening sweet
Drifts in humid August heat

Alligators swim
Beneath and through
Black water brackish
Along the bayou
Mosquitoes hum
With dragonflies
Wings like drums
Of voodoo rites

See the spider
Drop from his thread
Spinning silk
Building his web
Over pools of
Soft quicksand
As water ripples
With moccasins

Here the serpent
Is king on a throne
Wherever he slithers
He finds a home
Hawks scream warning
Too late to turn back
Lost where waters
Are cool and black

Deep in the shadows
Green lights drown
Black waters rise
To drink them down
With souls of the lost
Until skies turn blue
As red-throated loons
Sing in the bayou

Water, Blood and the Sea

There was water and sound
In the womb
Motion and warmth inside

There is life and salt
In the ocean
Endless flow of wave and tide

There was a rush of blood
In our birth
Forced into the cold and light

Whitecaps push onto the shore
In a hush
Washing sand cool and white

The coral seems umbilical
On the floor
Of the throbbing sea

Resting upon the bed of earth
With the urchin
And the anemone

In the vast pulse of the spherical
World it flows
Blood in the heart of humanity

And there all is as it should be
Salt and life
Water, blood and the sea

Harvest Prayer

Blankets of fog rest softly on corn
Caressing brown tassels in early light
A soft mist kisses the cheeks of morning
And soothes the soul with ethereal white

Across the field, shadows of trees
Stand silhouette like guards of dawn;
Soldiers silent in corridors eastern
Await the king in castles of the sun

He burns in glory just below the horizon
Sending forth rays into velvet sky
Pulling quilts from the beds of his children
As they raise their green sleeves high

The palaces glow in rosy reflection
Clouds crown the day with a wreath
Then golden laurels in every direction
And every honor the sun can bequeath

Waking stalks rustle quietly in prayer
Their striated leaves like a chorus
Whispering hope to the farmer where
He stands listening for their voices

Soldiers

Soldiers. soldiers
Where are you bound
And what are you going to do
With those hand grenades and bayonet blades?
Where are you marching to?

Soldiers , soldiers
Where have you been
Have you conquered another hill?
When explosions cease, will you find peace
Or will you be soldiers still?

Sunset Wine

Evening wears like five o'clock shadows;
grizzled grey gruff beneath wrinkled brow.
Every memory, taunting and hollow
except for black and white pictures now.
There is the man in the felt fedora,
smoking his smelly old Cuban cigar.
Back bent low as he rests on elbows
over his whiskey in a seaside bar
The restaurant air, heavy and greasy;
Scallops and shrimp and oyster stew
While ocean waves wash slow and easy
primordial sands with strains of blue
Piano tunes play from hazy poolrooms
Ivory notes that are filled with soul
A leather-jacketed man chalks his cue
Jazz of Count Basie and Nat King Cole
Will we fall in love only
to find it regrettable?
Shall I remain; a sweet refrain...
Unforgettable?
The night wears on in trails of blue
Cigarette smoke fills the seaside bar
Rolling like dark Mississippi bayous
As Muddy Waters plays his guitar
Girls hike up their shining skirts
Flash of flesh as they dance and grind
Buying their whiskey never hurts
Knowing the thing on every man's mind
Night goes flying in raucous laughter
Only to settle on spilling rim
Where the drink is drunk; sedated after
In quiet corners where light is dim
To be certain there will be
A morning after;
a dull accounting of distant sin
But tonight we are free
From parish and pastor
To swim in the sea or bathtub gin
Ragweed smell in restaurant lot
Tells of lovers parked in the night
Windows rolled up and smoking pot
Away from others and safe from sight
And all the while we hear the band;
Blues and Jazz of a thousand nights
Black cat bone, Hoochie Coochie Man
In waves reflecting colored lights
Out on the sea the moon shines alone
Drinking the ocean; salty with brine
Pulling her skirts and shuffling on
Until all is forgotten in sunset wine

Postcard

Inside a secondhand copy
Of The Old Man and the Sea
Is a gray postcard from Paris
Addressed from you to me
The month of May, three years ago
Not much to say, how could we know
Eight months later you would be gone
Now, I lay in my bed alone
Thinking how such a thing can be
When here are words you've written me
And so much more they seem to say
"I saw the Eiffel Tower Today."
The postage stamp, La Seine, Paris
Inside the Old Man and the Sea
Between the pages of Hemingway
In a faded copy of equal gray
Copyrighted in nineteen fifty-two
I have a postcard sent from you
"I've thought of you often"
And here, I smile
And dry a tear after awhile
To close the book with a tacit wish
Where the old man battles his mighty fish
And I silently struggle with what to do
With a postcard from Paris
And memories of you

Golden Letters

The letters that you wrote me have
Turned golden in my mind
The yellow pages folded like
The prayerful hands of time

Each smile and kiss remembered like
A child on Christmas morn
Who wakes to white December
On the day that Christ was born

The sparkle in your eyes outshines
The brightest of the stars
Twinkling in the summer sky
I cannot reach so far

But I would hold your beauty like
The heavens hold the moon
Warm me like the morning sun
Until the afternoon

And when our loving time has set
And darkness closes in
Never will our hearts forget
How sweet our love has been

For your love has been to me
The treasure of my days
I have known such pleasure from
Your kind and tender ways

The letters that you wrote me have
Grown faded now it’s true
But it has not jaded there
The constant thought of you

And I will go on loving you
Until the end of time
Even though your letters have
Turned golden in my mind

Was It First the Trees?

Was it first the trees that welcomed me
swaying great green arms in unison,
casting protective shade over little eyes
that squinted under harsh morning sun?

Just beyond windows, seeming far away,
sunlight filtered through waving branches
sending dappled faeries dancing between;
friends that played on my nursery floor with me.

Oh the hours filled with flowers;
among tall weeds and grass, I found the delicate lady slipper
and admired the gladiolus

In the garden, as I grew, I learned of nature's wonder
I met the potato beetle, the grub and corn silk worm
Butterflies on morning glories met with hummingbirds
Days were singing silently, a song that had no words

Still the trees sighed; bent and swayed
To the music of the dance
As birds came to sing the glories of Spring
Before there was talk of romance

There was the pungent fragrance of tomatoes on the vine
The taste of sweet potatoes with butter and cinnamon
Purple turnips like giant eyes emerging from a cave
Some underground ogre or troll scratching at the grave

Okra and cow-peas, green beans and green leaves
Full of life and life-giving nutrients
Every corner planted as garden space allowed
Eggplants bursting purple as a summer thundercloud

As I left fields for forest I promised to remember these
I learned the wild animals who had nibbled at my feast
I came to face the music, whistling on the breeze
Whispered among the sheaves of wheat or...
Was it first the trees?

Only The Wind

Only the wind grows dandelions
And sows the empty air
Careless gardener that he is
He plants them everywhere

Like philosophers or poets
Who fill an aching need;
A bit of wildflower they would sow;
A fleeting feather seed

Only the moon moves oceans
Brine upon the beach
Tides, a curious notion;
Love too deep to reach

Only an owl asks questions
After the fleeting light
If wisdom is confession
Dreams are born at night

Only a tiny floating seed
Awash in tides of wind
Searching for something; always in need
Like hearts of curious men

Lost Children

There are only so many mountains;
So many rivers that run;
So many trees and so many seas
Under the sheltering sun

Life in all its diversity
From scales of slithering things
To skins and fins; feathers and furs,
With legs and shells and wings

We depend upon one another
We are married like man and wife
We were born of one natural mother
Our birth from the earth gave us life

We share one heavenly Father
Under the bright blue sky
He blessed with the admonition of,
“Be fruitful and multiply.”

Mankind has too quickly forgotten
We are part of a greater scheme
The greed of the ill begotten
Has fouled and polluted the dream

Such was the greed of Lucifer;
First, in the heavens above
Cast out from before his Creator
Cut off from His life-giving Love

So, from the Garden of Eden
He banished their sin with a sword
Still they demanded their freedom
Proudly denying His Word

Now, as they kill one another,
And poison the seas and the land
To rape their beautiful mother
Mankind fails to understand

There are only so many mountains;
Only so much Love can defend
Patience and kindness are fountains
That heal yet they do have an end

I hear her wailing and mourning
For her children lost in their greed
Who would not hear any warning
Or to mother or Father pay heed