fingerpaint a smiley face on the sun

Richmond, VA

My oldest jams to Taylor Swift, my youngest, Toby Mac
& i am trying to listen to the new Train CD i bought my wife,
for our anniversary, sixteen years this week
& everyone is singing---

     ♪ Take a breathe and soon i bet you'll see
     without you I would never be me ♪
     ♪ I put my hand on the wheel before I change my mind
     I put my foot to the floor and I start to fly ♪
     ♪ Long live the walls we crashed through
     While the kingdom lights shined just for me and you ♪

A man sits a bench waiting for the bus, a shop owner
shakes out the welcome mat, joining in the chorus
of cars & bikes & aeroplanes flying in some tourist,
headphoned boy has got the beat, bopping as he
moves his feet, a lady step-pop'n drags her walker
'cross the steet, each person has their own tune
if you take the time to listen, yeah, everyone is singing

     ♪ Just sing together it's the least I can do
     My final gift to you oo-oo-oo ♪

'Dad, can you keep it down, I am trying to hear
my music.'

'Oh, sorry.'

♪ Yeah, everyone is singing. ♪

'DAD!'

'Okay, okay...'

written for Imperfect Prose & Theme Thursday

Lyrics from (in order) Train ~  Sing Together, Toby Mac ~ Get Away Car & Taylor Swift ~ Long Live.

OpenLinkNight: ManTalk & other primitive forms of communication

street art, Richmond, VA

At the garage on Old Forest Rd,
getting an oil change & eighteen point
inspection of my cars performance,

me & one other guy sit in the waiting room
while mechanics vrrrt vrrrt vrrrt nuts off,
drain thick tongues
of oil, in orange buckets & screw
filters back in place.

I like this place, they don't lie (much) to pilfer
your pocket, it's quiet & the coffee is hot,
yet unburned

The guy has a Tampa Bay hat & I ask,
tell him I lived there the year
they won the Super Bowl.

He's been to the stadium but never a game
& after five minutes, we lapse into silence.

I read Bukowski & he sits staring forward,
content in knowing everything we need
about each other

until the over-alled man opens the door 
& with a 'be good man'
we leave

relieved
to escape into cool morning sun
that shines with no expectations.

At dVerse Poets, it is OpenLinkNight, where I will be hosting but the verse will be provided by you & about 150 other pen wielding wind mill chasers. Write something poetic & come join us. I will open the doors at 3 pm EST.

All our tomorrows & another day

street art, Richmond, VA

skitterSkitterSkitterskitter
grey squirrel skittering back
& forth across a small spot
of the black hard top in front
of my car, scared & unsure

between ~ between

SQUISH

barely a bump & it's over
in my rear view mirror i watch
the body writhe a-round a-head
now flat, of the snake that was
coiling to strike. a dash of grey

disappears in the roadside green
& these are the choices we make,
must live with, when freedom
is at stake---for all our tomorrows
& another day


written for Carry on Tuesday

Magpie Tales: Memoir of a one time clown

The circus with the yellow clown, Chagall (via Magpie Tales)

i was a clown once, even wore yellow like the one in Chagall's circus. clothes so bright, they called me Sunshine.

we didn't talk, letting expressions speak for us. exaggeration was everything.

make up was the worst, moist sponge filling all the cracks in our faces and then later, the taking off of the mask. trying to get every little speck, leaving no remnant for when we walked through the dressing room door.

the kids would scream. all the pent up energy spilling over their faces in sticky cotton candy grins and they would grab, pull, yank, at the pants, held up only by bungee suspenders.

there were others though that shied away in fear, cowering in their parents laps. climbing their chest to get away, the whole time their mom and dad saying, 'no honey, it will be ok.' 'see how funny he is.' 'oo, look how colorful.'

the kids eyes would roll back in the top of their heads as they went into shock at the trauma as the parents handed them over to us. 'i just want to get one picture. smile, honey,' they'd say as their child went into seizures.

these pictures are used in therapy sessions today, i am sure. i periodically check the wanted posters in the post office, but have yet to see my face---all white with black triangles above and below the eyes, frizzy rainbow hair and red, red lips.

i did not last long, a season. too much work, putting on that face, to still make people cry.

i am who i am & somehow, that is enough.

i tell you this so you know the smile on my face today, has no need of paint and while we have shared both them and tears along the way, i am glad we have lasted these sixteen years.

happy anniversary, baba.

written for Magpie Tales.

It is anniversary week here in our house. The actual day will be Friday, I started leaving the first of my six little gifts out to be found yesterday. Yesterday's was the new Train CD. She will get today's when she gets home so I can't tell you because she will peek. Six gifts for Six-teen years....she asked where the other ten were, but i can't tell you my answer either, just know they are taken care of. Smiles.

Poetics: the retread LI(f)E

wall art, Richmond, VA

Vzzzzz/thwip/thwip/thwip
thwip/thwip/thwipt/shhhh
psssst[pop]thunk

Vzzzzz/thwip/thwip/thwip
thwip/thwip/thwipt/shhhh
psssst[pop]thunk

hot off the press, we'd shave the nipples
off with hooked razors & check
treads for cracks of foreign L-M-Nts
that slipped the mold
REpair (make[look]new) with filler or
buff out blemishes before
loading them on trucks to showrooms
& you'd never know the difference

once, i watched a man's arm rip
right out the socket & even over
the
      HiSSpopClank
           HiSSpopClank
of mechanical arms & conveyors
his SCREAAAAM ascended,
as it hung by stretched tendons

inAttention will do that, especially
in the mundane - i mean, a dull blade
or mentally vacationing

Vzzzzz/thwip/thwip/thwip
thwip/thwip/thwipt/shhhh
psssst[pop]thunk

another tire on the palette, dinner plates
in the sink to soak, TV on to fill the silence,
bedAlarmCoffee bRUSH your teeth, sh--
shower, shave, kids to school, work, take
your pills so the heat won't get you, PSi building, UN-
intimate machine keeps spINN-NN-ing,

Vzzzzz/thwip/thwip/thwip
thwip/thwip/thwipt/shhhh
psssst[pop]thunk

until the blade dulls just enough---

 Vzzzzz/thwip/thwip/thwip
thwip/thwip/thwiptschLorpP
kShunk[pop]ArRgghhhAaeiii

Today at dVerse Poets, Karin has quite the JOB for us in her poetry prompt and while I don't like talking WORK JARGON on the weekends, I decided to take a look back at my college job in the tire factory. Really did see the man's arm get ripped off, that was pretty intense. Any way, so Karin will be opening the doors at 3 pm EST.

Form For All: dirt & spit love letters



2nd St. Lynchburg, VA



MErde ~ Shit ~ chalk on brick

bold maybe, but hidden in French

on a 2nd Street office, for what?

to eXpress DISpleasure, proclaim

the addi+ion of UNwhole numbers

or like ballet dancers, does it mean luck?

WE write OUR stories from the inkwell

within, tattoo, tattoo, rat-a-ta-too gun or pen

facial eXpressions in reflection of the sun

or second hand light of the moon, who

lives your life, them or you? [i] choose---

to speak grass along hills, tongue warm

honeySUCKle, nose pressed into its scent,

leave tuLIPS damp with dew - bLOW

dandelion seed in the wind - in hope

truth makes it to you. God gave the rainbow

i use to fInger pAINT your shoulder strength

in mosaic faces of LOST colonists, one for each

breath you have forgotten since birth

or let be-taken, in ever diminishing

circles of your self worth~

     CAN't see the forest

         CAN't see the trees

take my eyes and see you thru me

but you better bring shades, yeah

      YOU better bring shades

for even in metaphor you're aurally blinding

BEaUtiful

Over @ dVerse Poets today, Gay is helping us find rhythm that has sprung UP from within the heart muscle of word hustlers...but SHHH i can't tell you exactly IT is, you will just have to ford that CREEK yourself come 3 pm EST. Maybe you can figure it out better than me.

AllWeAre is AllWeKnow

12th Street, Lynchburg, VA

behind the abandoned factory,
its windows broken by stones thrown,
a rusted Loading Zone sign stains
the wall with trails down to
where the asphalt rises in a pucker
like an infant volcano.

between the cracks of its lips
long fingers of green grass reach for the sky
waving -
     waving -

calling us
to press on, regardless

no Cedar of Lebanon, still
it knows no different


written for Poetry Jam and Imperfect Prose.

The Cedars of Lebanon have great significance to many ancient cultures. Some believed them to be the House of the gods. Specifically in the Biblical Narrative, Moses ordered it used in circumcision as it was said to have medicinal quality. Isaiah also used them as a metaphor for the Pride of the World. I think either interpretation of its significance works in this.