Stuck in the cloving of seasons,
Mourning the falling leaves,
The long, hot summer hours,
The dusty flowers,
Tired with their bee-filling,
Wanting only sleep.

I am torn for loving summer,
Regretting nothing:
The summer flings,
The two-up rides on tree-lined paths,
The running, ducking laughter in the summer rains,
The sparking, smoking skies of 4th July,
The too-warm walks and wanting shade,
The pleasures of a new-cut lawn,
And you, the constant sun-bather there-upon.
The sweet embraces you and I shared in the nights,
Knowing seasons last for just a while,
We celebrated summer through it all,
Not wasting time before the coming Fall.

00000
I love you, Melody Joy. db

A skater lone soars on new ice.
I hold my breath as I observe
His every pirouette and swerve.

Yesterday, the water lapped a chilling shore;
Today a brilliant skin holds sway.
Thickening hourly though it may,

I wonder at the nature of the glider there;
Does he consider life and death,
Or think beyond exultant breath

To be the first upon new winter's ice?
He sails along an ice-blade track,
Never falt'ring, never looking back.

Oh, I was young upon a time and flew
The way this skater now does fly,
But fear and "wisdom" hinder twice
While others soar above thin ice.

She sits there,
Fingers entwined,
Face showing her tangled mind.
"I don't know what to write,"
She states, and follows,
"I don't have anything interesting
To say."

I ask her what she loves...
Sometimes it's horses,
Sometimes law,
Sometimes children,
Sometimes God,
Sometimes....
Always
Something that she loves.

And when she talks,
Her eyes grow bright,
Revealing memories,
To be nudged and wheedled,
Poked a bit and needled,
To find that sliver and
Extract the thought
On which to write.

Then off she goes to compose,
To start a journey up the path
We both hope leads to a diploma,
A job, a career, an opportunity.

When she is gone, I sit and muse....
I am a father and grandfather now,
Still adjusting training wheels and
Giving that first push,
Still patching skinned up knees,
Pulling slivers...
Sending children on their way.

There'd only plundering be;
If all of us were wolves,
No sheep could flee....

Oh, the pirate's life for thee.
And the pirate's life for me,
And the world were all in flames,
And the world were all in flames.

If everyone were pirates,
Why, villains all we'd be,
And every deck-born swab
Would glower at you and me

With our laces and our kerchiefs,
And our killer pirate wigs
As we stormed across the continents and seas;
As we stormed across the continents and seas.

And good men, none, would live their lives,
With the gentling help of their good wives;
And children, all, would yell and terrorize,
Chasing down the nursemaid with the kitchen knives.

If everyone were pirates,
No farmers, and no fishers on the beach,
No bakers, and no soldiers continental,
No doctors, and no teachers left to teach,
No preachers and no sermons for to preach,
But only pirates coming up the streets...
But only pirates coming up the streets.

To see her dancing with Jesus,
Free of pain
Celebrating finally
In some uncharacteristic way.
Do so by all means.

I tend to look backwards
To the memories I know
My mother, standing at the window,
Worrying over our father,
Miles away at the close of day,
Winter winds blowing,
Seven miles away in the winter pasture
He was opening a spring
Forcing his way in the deep snow,
To let the cattle drink.

"If it rains
While the sun shines,
It'll rain again tomorrow,"
Dad said,
Toting a post driver
And a steel post on his strong shoulders,
"Might as well finish this job."

I groaned under his tirelessness,
Grudgingly admired his grit,
Unwillingly followed,
Lugging posts and wire
Down gravel cactus slopes
Into green poison ivy ravines.

June sweat replaced the summer shower,
And black flies plagued us.
I can still hear him sputtering, "Jupiter!"
Can see him under the sun, leather gloves flailing
Clouds of gnats or mosquitoes,
His brown skin glistening.

I would have given nearly anything
To have been away from there,
Roaring down a gravel trail,
Motorcycle spewing clouds,
Carrying me away from chores,
From Dad's incessant stories,
His impromptu songs,
His admonitions about money,
About weather, about cows,
About anything but fun.

"If it rains while the sun shines,"
And all I could do was look for excuses
To be away,
To run away,
To hie myself away....

All those years are gone,
The work in the rain and the sun,
The exhaustion of following a man
Who never seemed to tire,
Wishing I were away.

He's not here or there or anywhere.
His ashes lie a couple of feet down
In a prairie grave marked  by granite,
Set in concrete my brother and I hand mixed
Beneath a hot June sun,
No rain in sight,
Nothing but high clouds and a steady wind,
Ready to ******* back East,
Away from these gravel hills,
And I am reluctant to leave.

I'd suffer four long years
Before I set a letter on the page...
I'd sob a hundred times,
Waking from repeated dreams of you,
The daughter I have lost,
Running into my arms, and
Our tears mingling
Over the wasted years,
Only to realize that dreams
Are only dreams
To remind me of my longing,
Not yours.

If I were to write you a poem,
I'd tell you that sorrow cuts me still,
Even though my heart is turning stone,
That parts of me are fading out to gray...
That family isn't whole while one of us is still
Away.

If I were to write you a poem,
I'd say the old stool you loved
Stands waiting,
Your handwriting still claiming it
As yours,
Though you have left it here
These years.

But how shall I write a poem
When the leaves of spring are glittering,
And when meadowlarks are singing,
And work calls me out to take the agony away?

Perhaps in fall,
When leaves begin their grim descents,
And winds drive chilling clouds of gray,
As mournful sounds of geese in southern vees
Cast gloom upon the dwindling days,
Perhaps in fall I'll take my pen,
And try to write a poem for you
Again.

Thinks she sets aright
Some problem universal
In her leveraged might....

If the ******
Thinks that in ****** rage
Satiation lies...

If the Thief
Thinks in stealing pieces,
She takes home peace...

If the Bully
Considers righteous
His abuse of power...

Or if they do not care,
But run to evil deeds
Because they're there...

They do not think beyond
Commission,
Forget the list of victims
Includes themselves.

Aftermaths & Consequences
Force lives of guilt
Penned in fences,
Pending dooms,
Self destructions...

Perpetrators penetrating
Their own souls,
Destroying their own lives,
Believing devils' lies,
That no one has to pay;
No hell awaits to have its day.

Across a dry plain,
Heat shimmering,
Blur-ring in my mind...
Lost track of reason, lost my rhyme...
Rhythm gone to plodding,
Clodding on the burning flats,
Dust-deviled and limping over thorns.

Mountains are my only vision,
Forcing aching feet,
Tugging creaking knees,
Coaxing lungs, air parched
To breathe, to wheeze
Toward supernal heights,
Valley-ed torrents rushing
Cool and green and clean....

Beckoned thus, my heavy pace
Lifts lightly up;
The brackish slopping
In my old canteen
Reminds me that the way
Leads on to granite glories:
Woods inhabited,
Cabins warm against the alpine chill...
So I keep walking still.
So I keep walking still.

I know why Adam chose
to go with Eve,
To stay beside the one
he'd come to love,
Though he believed
Life and Death's incision
Hung in the balance
of his imminent decision.

He took and ate
the offering from his Mate.
In Life, in Death,
the two were mated,
And for all time,
their seed was fated...
Deadly plantation
of love and sin,
This Reaper's Field
we're living in.

Before he damns him,
I believe,
A man must stand
in Adam's skin
And gaze on Eve.

I like to chase the words across the screen,
Charging forth and three steps back,
Blink the cursor's slim thin line when seen...
Remove, replace my thoughts in black.

A pen in hand was all I had, and everything
I'd ever need to pen my thoughts --
But keyboards hooked themselves to screens
And all my scribbling was for naught.

So now I stare into a dim lit world and write.
My poesy sparks ecstatic to see electrons play,
Dancing through my fingers' speed, illuminating light;
As long as I have power, I've plenty more to say.

On his way to or coming from
Feeding cows
Whistling or singing,
Orange twines tied in bows
Swinging above the tractor hitch.
Bales strewn broken in chunks
Across the hard white ground;
Cattle steaming in chill air
Stoking bellies with summer hay,
Against the cold their only coal to burn.

I'd rather he had fallen,
Smile upon his wizened face
Blue with cold, heart given way,
Just the way he'd prayed to go,
Than to have watched
The helicopter veer away
Into a frozen sky.

I met a girl named Winter,
Skin as white as snow,
Heart as sharp as splinters
Iced and cold.

I met a girl named Autumn
Suffering on the brink;
Dying embers made her glum,
and made my passion sink.

Summer was a girl I met
Just a little after spring
And though we danced,
Twas just a little fling.

When e'er I think of Spring,
Her fitful temper flares....
She promised everything,
Then flitted off somewhere....

"I'm done with seasons,"
Then I said, "Elsewhere will I look."
And so I sought a little song
And found one in a book.

Her looks so fair; her words so sweet -
Our voices found full harmony;
My happiness has been complete;
My heart has found its Melody.

Farm folk - Ranch folk,
Cattle and horses and wheat,
A world of sky and wind,
A land of temporary green,
Permanent brown,
Twenty-five miles from town.
A world of work,
Dirt in the air and in the lungs
Heat waves shimmering
A land of blowing cold,
Or heated mirage,
Day after day after day,
Until books and learning
Called me away.

The cells in my fingernails contain atoms enough
Their own whirling systems
To form ordered constellations in layered universes....

Space between solids goes down and down and down...,
Around us mostly nothingness
Down and in and down and in....
On and on and on.

Do we need to look outward
For outer space?

Didn't Robert Burns tell us that fleas have fleas and fleas have fleas, and fleas have fleas that bite 'em?

Infinity runs hard both ways.

Never quite content alone,
Never at home in a crowd.
Silence frightens us, and
So does being loud.
Never here nor there, but
Discontent in the present.
Longing for the past,
We crave a different future.

Hear me in my blue suede shoes
Moaning out the Internet blues!
Got no time for life outside!
I'm surfing the screen world here inside
Yeah, I'm surfing electrons and I'm lettin' life slide....

Man, I gotta get up....
Man, I gotta get up and go....
Man, I  gotta stand up....
Man, I gotta let the net go....
Cause this Internet surfin'
Is lettin' my good woman go....

Ohhh! I had a woman said she'd be mine,
Wooed her and made her my Valentine,
Forgot when I met her
Forgot her too wide
Let time and her good lovin' slide
Lost on the Internet side....

Man, I gotta get up....
Man, I gotta get up and go....
Man, I  gotta stand up....
Man, I gotta let the net go....
Cause this Internet surfin'
Is lettin' my good woman go....

Ohhh! I hadda wommaaan,
I had a womannn so fine,
But I done forgot about her
Surfin the Internet line....
Now she's gone to her mother's
And givin' somebody else time.....

Man, I gotta get up....
Man, I gotta get up and go....
Man, I  gotta stand up....
Man, I gotta let the net go....
Cause this Internet surfin'
Is lettin' my good woman go....

Alight me Paddies! Today the world is Green;
I am in a mood, alas, to gnaw crubeen,
To kiss my Irish lass, and cuddle her awhile,
To hear the Irish Rovers sing their bonny Isle,
To wear a shamrock, laboring o'er a stout:
Murphy or Guinness, to me it matters naught.

This night stands at the death of summer,
Poised to catch the fall of leaves,
The deadened pulse of green things
Grown disconsolate in the hands of Frost.

How flat and tedious
Life would be
Without "irregulars"
Who bring diversity,
Present perspectives beyond
Our morning oatmeal,
Our mumbled thoughts,
Our mind-numbing papers.

The skater gliding,
Wove through traffic
Even in November frost.
Orange shorts
Fluorescent flash,
A flickertail went.
My journey somehow bereft
When his joyous wheeling left.

The lone cellist
Plying rosined bow
Under the walking bridge.
I tossed money in his case;
Tremors through the air
Caused me to pause
From my busy way.

The children at the crossing
Accosting traffic
Selling lemonade
From a cardboard bench:
Disturbers of the peace,
Flaunting health department codes;
A little insurrection
Brings perfection.

And the snow was melting from the hills;
Green was glowing down in the north pasture;
Crocuses were bucking a hard west wind;
Calving was swinging on, and spring barns to muck,
And you were yelling about some thing or other,
The way you always do, or the way you always did,
Back in the day when you were here,
And I was just a lazy kid.

Dad, you remain somehow this giant in my mind,
Sleeping or waking,
I see you still,
Hear your voice,
Watch you running
One job to the next,
Passionate about everything,
Restless and without rest,
Some nameless demon chasing you,
Pulling the rest of us in your wake.

So the last three nights I've seen you,
Sat at table across from you
To discuss my leaving the farm:
You concerned I was a fool to go,
And I convinced I could not stay.

I wish I knew the hold you have on me
Six years gone with you away, and me,
Two states removed and a career nearly done,
Still finding myself waking from dreams
That linger vivid on.

How was it there in Isengard,
Former haven of the proud,
Whose hollowed valley hid the rot
Beneath its treeless hills,
Ancient machinations tunneled far below
The smooth, impervious tower of Saruman,
The Iridescent Dazzler,
Whose quiet words slipped Sauron's thoughts
Inside our weaker minds?

Venom running hot...then changing cold
Within old Saruman on Gandalf's salutation:
"Saruman the White,"
Changing Truth for truths,
Something totally desired.

"I prefer Saruman the White!"
I think old Gandalf said
While he was still "The Gray,"
(Just before his lofty spire stay).

But evil magic has its ends,
Tendrils turn upon themselves,
Vines tangling slow or fast,
Returning to the evil doer's door
While Good climbs steadily to new beginnings
Rooted in the Old and True,
Reaching for the sun.

Old Ents in righteous anger
Broke dams, diverted streams to flood
The war machines of Isengard,
Drove Orcs and Wargs and Trolls to doom,
Drowned the furnaces...
Then, mourning tree-limbed kin,
Greeted Gandalf on his way to greater things,
And pledged themselves to holy war.

Saruman the Proud,
The sooty iridescent,
The abject coward,
Stripped of power,
Fled unrepentant
Into the mists of Middle Earth
While Sauron's eye glared
West and East,
Wraith-seeking
Frodo and
The Ring.

Were I invincible or perfect or omnipotent.

But, I am none of these.

Chill wind, shivering frost, cruel sleet

Drive autumn changes in the breeze.

Tilting Earth announces endings,

Announces beginnings at her antipodes.

Death proves itself beneath the sleeping trees...

Feuille-morte beauty of the fallen leaves.

To see another day;
A bloke just nodded at me
While I was on my way.

A lady smiled, and
Genuine she seemed
So that I smiled back,
As if to say,
"You're right; life's not so bad,
Though now I am alone;
Think of the times I've had,
Though now I am alone."

I think I'll stay around to see
What turns up next...
Because an old friend called
To say we ought to see a show;
Called up to say he'd thought of me...
Meant earlier to call,
"But you know how busy life can be..."
(Indeed, I must admit I don't.)

(A little hope is still a little hope.)

Clasped a coffin handle, cold and bronze,
Felt the weight of earth's return to land,
Solemnity a clammy sweat upon my palms.

Six quiet men, prepped to stand and bear
The loaded cask, our passenger unaware,
Unheeding lids held tight her sightless stare,
While I, her nephew, stood wondering there.

Scarce breathing in my fear and grief, I strained,
Unwilling soldier forced to march in train
Toward a punctual station beside a mound of earth,
The period ending to a sentence spun from birth.

Could leave this world peaceful and shriven,
Be glad somehow those old debts of mine
Must now be ledgered and forgiven.

Watching loved ones work their sad old days
The land of death now beckons and sobers me
Enough to think I will follow in their way;
And to consider how I might leave free.

Of more than the sins Jesus has taken,
And more than payments owed to friends.
No, how to leave a sweetness unshaken
In my loved ones, my wife, and my kin?

I think I've some letters I need to compose,
Some arguments I've held too close to me,
And any odd embroilment that rose
While I was on my earthly power spree.

I'm 65, a scant ten years from average death
Of men my type and height and weight.
I'm sobering quickly as I count my breath
And know re-calibrating cannot wait.

At the Sky Ride on St. Thomas
We sweltered in the heat
Waiting for the cable cars to come
Strangers seeking tourist treats

Up the way, a pirate staggered from the depths,
Dressed and drinking imaginary ***,
Wobbling a bit, the player indiscernible on first glance
From one Jack Sparrow.

I couldn't help but wonder to what depths,
Jack Sparrow's character has invaded Johnny Depp.

I barely woke this morning...
Could hardly get up.
My head was fuzzy,
and my nose was running....

I grabbed a hanky.

"What's wrong with you?"
My sweetheart said,
"You feeling janky?"

"Allergies," I paused.
"Nothing too swanky,"
And blew my schnoz
Into a hanky.

We've come to August
And late summer sun;
The apples hang robust;
The garden's almost done.
It's time to go and have some fun,
And now my nose decides to run.
The ragweed and the goldenrod
Fill up the air with pollen pods.

I'm gettin' cranky feeling janky!
I will thank ye to hand me a hanky.

Janky!

Scoring at the genius level,
Never a thing he did
That was worthy of his high intelligence.
No teacher whose IQ could match,
No vocation and no calling
Worth the time to spend in college.
What could they teach him
Anyway he asked,
In his superior knowledge?

A depressing world to one so keen
And so he focussed inward
At his liver and his spleen
An alcoholic blizzard
To numb the boredom and the pain
Of such imperial wit
As years rolled by the bar door
He wanted none of it.

And now he's old and hasn't been
And likely isn't going to
Because a fool so long ago
Bowed low before his IQ.

I wonder now
Did Job's wife speak
The Devil's words,
"Curse God and die"?

Was Job's test the culmination,
The diabolical, canny ending,
The checkmate of temptation
To end the human nation?

"Curse God and Die."
These words give thinkers chills.
The brutal question, "Why?"
Faith-stifling word that kills.

Job's friends, his wife, his circumstance,
Combined his wounds to salt;
In misery, he sought the Lord, to stand,
And prove his misery was not his fault.

Job knelt before the Lord at last,
In yielding he found life;
For him, the test was passed;
But what about Job's wife?

How can I ever lose the memory:

A Model T Ford,
Tires tied with wire and rags,
Arriving loud, but slow,
Rattling as it came,
Steaming as it stopped
At our family farm,
The ancient Ford
John R drove whenever he must go
So far as not to carry self
On short and stocky legs.

The sturdy legs that drove the peddles;
The stubby fingers played
Our family's old pump *****,
While he led in his cracked voice,
And merry German tongue,
"Du, Du, liegst mir im Hertzen,"
While we tried to sing,
"Du, du liegst mir im Herzen
du, du liegst mir im Sinn.
Du, du machst mir viel Schmerzen,
weißt nicht wie gut ich dir bin.
Ja, ja, ja, ja, weißt nicht wie gut ich dir bin."

My mother smiled as she sang,
Moistened eyes the only clue
That she recalled her mother's voice
Inside the song.

A one-room shack
Beside a cattle tank
Out on the prairie
Near our ranch,
Was all he knew of home,
And we, his neighbors,
Loved the little man
Who'd bachelor-ed it
Out on the Western plains.
Not that he had much...
Borrowed electricity
From the power lines feeding
The watering pump;
Cooked and heated with
An old coal stove
My father kept supplied
with hand dug lignite
From a nearby mine;
Treasured German conversation
With the dwindling few
Who knew his mother tongue
(I still can hear him praying
Though I never knew a word).

Spoiled and modern,
I did not know til I was older
How he walked four winter miles into town
To buy a bag of groceries:
Flour, salt, baking soda,
A few canned goods
Sometimes an orange or two,
To stay alive until the path would
Let the old Ford through.

His brother Max, was long since gone.
Alone, John lived in ragged clothes,
A relic of the past,
Widowed, and his children gone,
Holding his ground,
His tar-papered shack,
Making it to church
Or to our place a few miles up the way,
A gentle man, humble in his ways.

At 90 (I cannot forget),
He rode my bicycle;
My brother and I
Stood prop until his short legs
Could pump the pedals.
He circled round us,
An ancient man who shook
And wobbled like a little boy,
Silent in the joy of two wheels running,
And then he fell aside,
Going down like a tree sliced clean,
Falling slowly over on his side.
We ran to him, afraid, just boys
Not reckoning the harm he might have earned.
But, no, we helped him up,
And he brushed off and laughed
His German laugh, and his eyes
Twinkled.

What a man he was!
And is, now in my mind,
Ninety, plus,
To take himself up on a bicycle;
To fall, unbroken,
And to rise,
A smile on his lips,
And twinkling in his eyes.

Senseless ones,
These men who mock,
These men who curse
The things they do not know,
The things misunderstood!

Animals plummeting,
They fall into dark desires,
Ignite devouring fires,
Ruining their own souls.

Destroyers,
These blasphemers
Follow the path of Cain,
Jealous murderer;
******* themselves
Just as greedy Balaam,
Prophet for profit;
Will plummet headlong,
Following Korah,
Doomed leader
Of rebellion.

Jude,
Brother of James
(subtext: brother of Jesus)
Servant of Jesus Christ,

Writing to all those
Who answered the call,
Who know the love of the Father,
Who are kept by Jesus Christ...
Know the Mercy,
Know the Peace,
Know the Love
Of Christ
In abundance....

A humbling thing, this,
To be the brother of James,
The half-brother of Jesus,
To realize only later
He'd been living next to God,
And then to choose the place
Of submission....
Of recognition....
Of protection....

Jude,
Knew Jesus to be good,
But totally overlooked
GOD Incarnate....

Until he saw...
And bowed humbly:
Accepting,
Respecting,
Trusting
All
To God Incarnate
In an older half-Brother.

Jude

Beware!
Your love boat feasts
May smash upon the jagged reefs
Lurking among you,
Within your ranks,
Fearless, they lie,
Brooding and biding,
Content to feed on you
As you love everyone
In innocence.

Waterless virga,
These empty clouds
Promise and pretend
To be more than wind.
They are dry.

Thickets and groves
Promising fruit,
Their leaves will soon fall,
No nourishing yield
At all.

They are wild waves,
Unpredictable,
Huge and swelling,
Frothing with folly.

Stars, these wanderers,
Hurtling in their burning light,
Hell-bent toward
Oblivion.

Enoch, prophet of the Living God,
Enoch, walker with God,
Seven generations from Adam,
Prophesied,
"The Lord,
With thousands of holy ones,
Came executing judgment.

"All unjust and ungodly ones
Whose unjustified castigations
Against God Himself
Have reached His ears
Stand now in judgment."

Their motives are exposed;
Their grumbling arrogance,
Their cavilling fault-finding
No longer hide
Their flattering lies,
Their avaricious lusts.

They are exposed.

These grumblers,
Enoch said,
Walk in their own desires,
Arrogant flatterers
Taking advantage  of others,
Attempting to divide the family of God
Because they do not believe,
Because they do not have the Spirit.

But you, the Body of Christ,
The Family of God,
Continue to build in holy faith,
Praying in the Spirit,
Keeping in the love of God,
Expecting the mercy of the Lord,
Jesus Christ,
Who gives us eternal life.

Have mercy on doubters;
Save others by snatching them
From the licking flames of Hell.

Fearing for others,
Have mercy for them,
Without allowing yourselves
To be made filthy,
Keeping yourselves
From being drawn into
Their addictions and their sins.

Glory, Majesty, Power, Authority
Are HIS forever:
Before time began:
Past, Present, Future,
And He is the only One able
To protect you from falling,
To provide you legs to stand
In His Glorious Presence.

He is the only One who makes
You blameless,
Who fills you with joy,
Who is able to save you
Through His Son,
Jesus Christ,
Our only Lord,
Now and Forever.

Amen.

Wishing to dialogue
About the joy of our
Shared salvation,
I must interrupt
The joyous conversation
To warn you.

Dangerous men have invaded
Your circle of faith,
Men who purpose
To corrupt the truth
Of God's free gift,
To franchise immorality
For their own profit,
To pollute the Sovereignty,
To deny the supreme Lordship
Of Jesus Christ
To deviate
For profit and profligacy.

I write to warn you.

Jude

I must remind you
That God delivers His own
People to safety,
And sends them
Into punishment.

Remember Egypt
And our ancestors,
Freed from slavery,
And then punished
For their unbelief?

Remember the angels,
So powerful,
Loaded with authority,
Some of whom even now
Are banished from His Glory
Into chains of *******
For their rebellion,
For their disobedience,
For their disbelief?

They now wait Judgment,
Tormented and waiting for torment...

I am writing to warn and to remind you, brothers.

Jude

When a town goes bad,
It's a bad apple,
Wormy and unsound,
Unwholesome,
Spreading infectious pus
To towns nearby,
Until stench goes up
And out to Heaven.

****** *******,
Immorality,
Weakens and pollutes
The people,
Victimizes the weak,
Tears away civility
To strangers,
Be they men,
Be they angels.

Blight is cleared
From the orchard
By fire....

So ***** and Gomorrah
Went beyond the bounds,
Scoffed at external law,
Imagined no limits...
Were burned by
Falling fire.

No one names a village
***** now;
No cities named
Gomorrah.

A shibboleth,
The uttered names
Of two joined cities
Invoke wisdom
Invoke humility,
Invoke repentance,
Invoke solemnity
Before the tempting
Of  Almighty wrath.

You need to know
Fools live among you,
Fools,
Similar to the destroyed ones
Burned from the skies,
The people I'm speaking of
Dream on,
Living on dreams,
Filthify-ing  flesh,
Railing against law,
Railing against law enforcement,
Throwing off authority,
Ridiculing Highest Powers,
Despising Glory,
Expecting no judgment.

Not even Michael,
Michael the Archangel,
Battling the Devil,
Old Lucifer himself,
Potent in infernal might,
Would so presume.

Even Michael,
Trumpeter of God,
Mightiest of angels,
When disputing with the Devil
Over who would take
The body of Moses,
Was wiser than to curse
His infernal Opponent.

Instead,
He stood behind the Robes
Of the Most High,
And importuned,
"The Lord Himself rebuke you."

Just up ahead is a trail
Where people seldom go,
Sidling down the gravel hill
Into growths of ash and birch and elm,
Thickets of wild plums,
Chokecherries, leaves turning dusty,
Verdant armies of stinging nettles
Protecting coveted stands of juneberries.

Bittersweet vines entangle aged elms,
Siphoning life, to produce four petaled reds
As summer goes down to autumn.

Leaving the wind above
To batter the old truck,
I descend into the silence,
Trees stand tall, but low
Below the breeze.

Down in this steep place
The wind cannot come,
The sun, when it finds its way,
Warms gently on the coldest day.

The spring my father dug
Before I was born,
Set into the weeping gravel hill,
Runs steadily,
Strong enough
To fill the battered tank,
To keep a goldfish or two alive,
To host strange crustaceans:
Tiny shrimp, just larger than ants,
Pebble crusted creatures
More insect than fish,
Frogs in the tank,
Toads out...,
Mosses and mud
Thirty years or more
At home.

Deer come to this tank,
On hot days or cold;
Coyotes, too.
Porcupines dine on treetops
Swaying quietly
A hundred feet below
Wild Montana winds.
Cattle in winter find life
In the quiet, constant water
Flowing here.

I am taken back
To a stifling July afternoon,
But cool here in this protected place,
Dragonflies floating
And cicadas sawing in the trees,
My mouth full of juneberries
As I circle my way,
Eating more than picking...
Coming face to face with a coyote.

Was he dozing?
Passing through?
Or, do coyotes eat
Juneberries, too?

We stop hard,
Stunned.
Then bolt in opposite directions,
My juneberries flying
From the milking pail;
His tongue between his teeth,
Tail low,
Feet flying into the brush beyond.

"Blackberry Eating"  (Galway Kinnell)
Took my redneck self to early summer,
Late June, Montana sun, and shimmering humidity
Aboard a tractor droning over fields,
Uprooting green, turning the acres brown
Atop a table rimmed in badlands.

Remembering past Junes'
Berry thickets in cool ravines,
I left the tractor idling
To cross barbed wire,
To descend into cool trees.

June berries everywhere;
Blue-black sweetness weighted branches.
I stained my face and hands with plunder,
Then plundered and filled my upturned cap.

Grazing and grasping,
The copse's edge I turned
To meet a coyote on two legs
Berry browsing.

Who yelped, and who screamed?
At the top of the bank, I turned;
My cap and berries scattered,
The coyote's tail down as he left the scene.

My brother is a pilot,
Not just any old pilot...
A tail dragger pilot,
Champions
Cubs,
Super Cubs.

Planes made of spars and fabric,
Held tight
By screws
And dope,
And glue.

Airframes part wood,
Part aluminum,
Part steel.

Fuel tanks sloshing in the wings
Either side above our heads,

Set the mags,
Hand crank the prop,
Turn on the fuel,
Hear her pop
And roar to life.

We strap in
Single file,
Controls fore
And aft.
And rev 'er up
To join the winds.

Once up,
He yells, "She's yours!"
And I am piloting,
Or rather gingerly sliding her
About the blue,
Skidding right or left,
Holding my breath,
Wondering how much I dare
To tip her up there in the air.

"I've got the stick!"
He yells, and I let go.
"Don't be afraid to fly it!"
"It's just a machine!"
"Make it do what you want it to do!"

And we are diving toward the ground,
Then bringing her up and tilting 'round.

"Give her fuel when you tilt to turn!"
He demonstrates, and we are standing
On the wing,
Perpendicular and looking to our left and down.


I know he's right,
That I am timid in my flight,
And he is brave with years of joy,
A pilot fearless since he was a boy.

"You want to land?"
I hear him say.

"No, that's alright!"
"Not today!"

To prove how safe it is to fly,
He touches down,
Then bounces high,
And vaults us back into the sky.

We flit across the fields,
And then,
He flies beneath the power lines,
To show how spray planes catch the ends
Of fields.

He skies the plane at either end,
Then bee lines it to the badlands' edge
Where suddenly we are swooping down
Between the canyon walls, and sinking low,
Then, rising, turning to our right,
He sails us toward sun's dying light.
My only hope is that we will land
Before the night
Erases all our sight.

And sure enough,
The air is calm.
The night is coming on.
Gusting breezes are all gone.

We gently settle once again,
Back at the ranch,
And I help wheel her, then
Into her waiting hangar pen.

Life can be lived all in a panic.
Fear fills us with a lingering dread,
But we should live our lives.

Just like my brother said.
"It's just your life, so make it do
Whatever it is you want it to!

My brother is a pilot,
Not just any old pilot...
A tail dragger pilot,
Champions
Cubs,
Super Cubs.

Planes made of spars and fabric,
Held tight
By screws
And dope,
And glue.

Airframes part wood,
Part aluminum,
Part steel.

Fuel tanks sloshing in the wings
Either side above our heads,

Set the mags,
Hand crank the prop,
Turn on the fuel,
Hear her pop
And roar to life.

We strap in
Single file,
Controls fore
And aft.
And rev 'er up
To join the winds.

Once up,
He yells, "She's yours!"
And I am piloting
Or rather gingerly sliding her
About the blue,
Skidding right or left,
Holding my breath,
Wondering how much I dare
To tip her up there in the air.

"I've got the stick!"
He yells, and I let go.
"Don't be afraid to fly it!"
"It's just a machine!"
"Make it do what you want it to do!"

And we are diving toward the ground,
Then bringing her up and tilting 'round.

"Give her fuel when you tilt to turn!"
He demonstrates, and we are standing
On the wing,
Perpendicular and looking to our left and down.

I know he's right,
That I am timid in my flight,
And he is brave with years of joy,
A pilot fearless since he was a boy.

"You want to land?"
I hear him say.

"No, that's alright!"
"Not today!"

To prove how safe it is to fly,
He touches down,
Then bounces high,
And vaults us back into the sky.

We flit across the fields,
And then,
He flies beneath the power lines,
To show how spray planes catch the ends
Of fields.

He skies the plane at either end,
Then bee lines it to the badlands' edge
Where suddenly we're swooping down
Between the canyon walls, and sinking low,
Then, rising, turning to our right,
He sails us toward sun's dying light.
My only hope is that we'll land
Before the night
Erases all our sight.

And sure enough,
The air is calm;
The night is coming on;
Gusting breezes are all gone.

We gently settle once again,
Back at the ranch,
I help wheel her then
Into her waiting hangar pen.

Life can be lived all in a panic;
Fear fills us with a lingering dread,
But we should live our lives
Just like my brother said.

"It's just your life, so make it do
Whatever it is you want it to!"

And when you're changing
Your directions, throttle up!
Don't let the fear of living
Bring you to a needless stop.

We've set a precedent:
Traded Bergdahl for five Terrorists...
The deal is done.

Questions hovering above and below...
How many loyal lives were lost
To bring a lone deserter back?

How many lives will go because
Five terrorists walked free?

Did Bergdahl set up the deal
To set a precedent
To set up a President?
Were the five men picked to trade
By Us or Them?
Who's running the show?
Who's to blame?
And Whom shall we say is calling
The shots, and who can say
How many lives were paid
For one who just deserts?

Incoming!

Pecking through rubble
Picking remnants
Clearing spaces
Planting new
Breathing fresh air
Opening a path through
Memory and Remorse
To Peace.

Just when there was nothing more to say,
Just when I figured we were ending,
And rose to put the dishes all away...

You stuck your head inside my door,
Grinned that dumb old grin you've grinned before,
Said, "There's reasons why I've been so long;
Been working on a brand new song,
But skip all that and let's go out to play!"

Just when I was sure that you'd forgotten,
Just when I was making other plans,
Just when I'd called you something rotten...

You dropped a dozen roses In my hands,
Expecting me to forgive you all your crap,
Said, "Come on, Honey, I'm a sap;
Come on baby, please don't slap;
Let's go take another lap!"
And jitterbugged us out without my cap.

Just when I knew you were a *******,
Just when I knew that I'd been played,
Just when I bought an airplane ticket
To take me up and carry me away....

You proffered me a diamond ring;
You took my breath and made me sing,
You promised me another fling;
You set a date and were not late,
And then you heard me say,

"You made me wait, you made me pine,
I can't say now that we'll be fine,
But Lover, make it right this time!
You listen now and listen fine,
Can't stop my pout with vintage wine....
So think a while, and then start humming,
"If my lady's waiting, I'll start running!"
And if you're late from time to time,
You're never gonna hear me whine,
If you let me know just why and when,
And don't leave me wondering again!"

tenuous thin line
connects earth and heaven
kite pulls in the moving air
tugs to run across the sky
fights ignorantly for freedom

one thin line tethers a rebel
to here and now
to past and present
to futures connected

past connects the far reaching kite
unknowing of its need for tension
for the saving pull
grounding
maintaining
the lifting angle
into pulling air

when severed
the kite screams
joyous freedom
until
caught by wind
hurtles
          end       over      end     over      end
tail clotting
only the wind rules
direction sideways down
plummeting to crash
directionless
                                  free
               untethered
broken upon rocks
or strangle-held in trees

While the world
And I
Mourn Kobe's passing,
On nearly the same day
Jihadists invaded villages...
West Africa,
Burkina Faso,
Alamou.

Villagers ordered out
Into the open areas
Gunned down,
Slashed,
Murdered.

An attendance question opens,
"What happened in the world?'

Kobe Bryant is gone.
Private helicopter crashed.
The world is on its head.

We hang our heads
In mourning.

Jacque's turn:
"My village was
Attacked Saturday.
Forty people killed.
My wife and children...
There.
The people are fleeing
To the capitol,
Ouagadouga."

[Awkward, this revelation.
How will I ever justify
A week of Edgar Allan Poe?]

We bow to pray.