Of Comfort Of comforters there many be: The Quilt, The Cat. The Dog, And Hat. The Fire, The Choir, The Coffee, And Tea. The Stew, The Loo, The Pub, The Pillow. The Back rub, And Willow. The Hug, The Tree. But most of all, The Kiss from thee. j
Terminology Senior Citizen shows respect, Fogey, Geezer, Bitty, Not so much. Consider the big trees, Long since felled, Thick barked Douglas Firs, Ancient Cedars, Grand oaks and such, All proud lumber Of grandfather’s day, Methinks, yes, I'll answer to Old Growth Human. j
Gone Missing She had pressed an autumn leaf between pages 578 and 579 of her college dictionary, a reminder she had visited there to better understand the word nuance. Years later a Seattle detective, hunting for subtle clues as to her whereabouts, shook out the book and watched the leaf flutter to the floor. "Let's go," he muttered. "Nothing here. Musta run off somewheres.” j
But Could we but take The sour from milk, The stale from bread, The smell from fish, Or, The grease from hamburger, The core from apple, The litter from street, Or, The hunger from childhood, The despair from poverty, The empty from pantry, Or, The ache from tooth, The stiff from knee, The blind from eye, Or, The greed from money, The less from home, The privilege from white, Or, The overdose from drugs, The divorce from marriage, The killing from gun, Or, for that matter, The nuclear from bomb, The insanity from war, The temporary from life. Ponder that, friend. j
Music And if you should ask, "Who composes birdsong?" The answer might be: The wind we can't see, Those most akin a tree, Breakers of the sea, And, without doubt, The wild heartbeat of All who are free. j
Trespassers In the spring, whilst sharing pleasantries with fences and sheep, flowers giggle, knowing all the while their roots have tunneled without permission, passports or proper papers and reached new opportunities, undaunted. j
Ancient Prayer of Trees Dear Lord, Most High Creator of roots trunks bark branches and leaves, grant me but an inch of dirt, a drop of cooling water, and the warmth of morning sun. I promise my shade to all who linger, to cope with children’s swings, heart carvings, (Phil Loves Katie) hardheaded woodpeckers, and rickety tree houses. But please, please, oh please forgive me for bearing silent witness to lynchings. Amen j
In the Beginning Before writing is published, it is raw rhubarb, sour to the senses. Editing is much easier now than during the quill and inkwell days, But editing is still more chore than treat. There will always be a better word to be found, a more precise image, a sweeter sound of rhyme. I suppose God wishes our useless appendix was so easily remedied. But then, that work took a mere seven days. j
The Wind Invisible, It waters the eye, It flaps the laundry, It hurries the sky, How can that be? That pesky, invisible wind. j
Checked Baggage My question then, brother immigrant of Southampton, were you already a racist when you stepped aboard the Mayflower with all your earthly belongings that chilly September day in 1620, or did you get infected much later in Mississippi? j
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