What it takes

Fort Ave, Lynchburg, VA

we sit at a burnished steel table, metal chairs sapping the heat from our legs, eating ice cream, ignoring the fact that it is ninety four degrees outside. Gasoline, grass and salty sweat scent the air around us, our knuckles dark with dirt. the lawn cut, trim done--my seven year old man doing the weed eating, enjoys his cookies & cream with butterscotch morsels, while i mash fresh blackberries into cake batter frozen yogurt.

a local store is running a special, all you can fit in a 12 oz. cup for four dollars. my son closes his eyes with each bite, savoring the cooling sweet on his tongue, we got our money's worth.

a family of four, a mexican laborer in dirty jeans and stiff pit T-shirt, teens---people file down the line filling cup after cup, the attendants in their lime green shirts dash back and forth, refilling the add-ons: crushed Reese cups, gummy worms, diced fruit, candies & pump action syrups. few customers sit at the tables outside, most either circle ones inside, run to their car or hug wall space. chatter, moan, sigh. chatter, moan, sigh--competes with the light ambient music escaping corner speakers.

'you said, all i could fit,' an elderly lady at the cash register proclaims, great snakes of ice cream rising like a mushroom cloud six inches over the rim of her bowl.

her husband shuffles down line behind her, hunched in his white dress shirt and grey trousers. sparse silver hairs gather at the corners of his mottled head. his hands shake with the weight of his own bowl, a tower threatening to topple, dropping orange and yellow chocolates that slide down its face, like snow skiers, to skitter across on the floor.

my son's eyes saucer as they take the table to our left, puddles already forming where their cup bases kiss the table & she starts explaining to all of us why she took so much, 'well, it said, all you could fit,' her husband digging deep with his spoon already, racing to keep up. they have been married fifty years, love coming here, met in school, he was a shoe salesman--who is eating the whole time as hers melts as she tells all, become a smoothed faced ghost, drip by drip, by drip.

our spoons rest in our empty bowls, the old man has carved a small tapered monument to trim the run off and she takes her first wet bite. he says, and has said nothing, just smiles as her over-painted lips turn up around the spoon. their free hands find each other across the table top, fitting together loosely. they eat and smile. I ask my son if he is ready to go out into the heat again.

'sure,' he answers, happy to return to the few remaining patches of weeds.

he likes to work, so i know he will be alright, because that is what it takes. and a little bit of grace.

written for Imperfect Prose & Theme Thursday.

OpenLinkNight: 31 points, but only one

street art, Richmond, VA

it's Spring & the room is full

of the heady scent of fresh cut flowers
with the softest petals---

first reflections of the moon break

the window, write poetry along the arc
of your foot in delicate shadow creases-spoken word
contours read with my lips, braille, sighs to sole
& sun left salt, rough at points from miles walked, kiss
unraveled in whispers around ankles & long
stretch of Achilles

a metaphorical story of weakness,
but strength to one who knows kneads,
like hearts & clubs, playing cards with queens, betting
on the river, deck stacked (against me?), but i don't mind
losing this game
                           again & again

controlled flow HeARTbeAt~manicPulse, 31 points

in the bottom of the foot but one that, Mmm---

2/3 of the way between ball and heel, deep, Ah---

and another where the arrow pierced, Oh---

bite your lip & hold it in---

So, tell me who's the hustler here, if we both win?

They say gambling's the devil's game,

but i got enough in my pocket for one more hand
Ante in (oh yes) Ante in, the night (as we) is young

it's Spring and...

Time to gather once again for OpenLinkNight @ dVerse Poets - where we sling poems not stones, a rousing good time. Tonight, your host is a dear friend & partner is poeticrime, Claudia Schoenfeld, who will open the doors at 3 PM EST. See you then.

Memorial Day

At graduation, after the national anthem
during the address a member of the House
of Delegates inspires the graduates to defy
the odds & take on the world, with well worn
cliche's & quotes from Miley Cyrus.

My eyes drift to the championship banners
that cling to the walls of the gymnasium

    Football        1933
    Basketball    1927

Seventy nine years---- is a long time
to be celebrating the same last win---

The words drone to an end, the band blows
horns & bangs drums as kids toss their
caps in the air & cheer. The Senior class files out
as we stand---clap, clap, clapping---

When we get home, my nephew
will open his gift from us, a shirt emblazoned
with the name of the college he accepted,
only, last week he changed his mind & enlisted,
his mother livid, like mine was when I tried,
but unlike me he's eighteen & needs
no one's permission

In his card, I wrote,"Do what you want, not
anyone else. Once you sign that line, your life
is no longer yours but stands in the place of someone.
You will not always get accolades for the little
things you do to keep us safe and find ridicule
at the hands of the unwilling. Not all men can live
with that---be sure you can & we will always
be proud of you."

And he did.
And we are.
And we will be.
And today, we celebrate the others that did, as well.

Happy Memorial Day everyone. Take time to remember those that serve today, either in our armed services or here or in your hometown to provide us with freedom & safety. Thank you to all who serve and to those that have given their lives, for us.


We are doing just that at dVerse Poets today. Writing to honor those that serve. If you wrote something today to do that, please drop in over there and link in. May peace find us soon, and we bring our soldiers home.

Magpie Tales: Not so strange, after all

Edward Hooper (via Magpie Tales)

A6 of the newspaper features the police beat
& on Wednesday-

     A man was trying to climb out the window
     "to escape his wife." He was "acting strange"
     on Moore St. "waving his hands like he is
     waving at God."

And who's to say he is not? A Hallelujah moment,
hope for redemption or salvation in the form
of a lightning strike ~~~ cracking the sky
like a smile back that says don't blame me
for your choices

a forerunner of soft rain for Thursday's-
   
     Two "unwanted" people in the parking lot
     of the [local] high school

pattering, pattering, pattering on the asphalt
in fluid reflection of the flashing blue lights

written for Magpie Tales.

Focusing in on the single man staring out the window on the top floor of the building in the painting,  I remembered some interesting lines from the police beat in yesterdays newspaper. Hope everyone is having a great long weekend.

Poetics: Fair thee well, lady liberty

street art, Richmond, VA

Normal is an illusion---especially at the fair every year,

all kinds of people immigrating from near and far
ones you never see anywhere else---even Walmart

a bearded lady sits licking greasy lips

sucking flecks of fried food from the cracks

not to miss a morsel---pickle, oreo, twinkie,

snicker bar, washed down with battered drops

of flash froze coke---(we will fry anything

for our pleasure, yet dismiss the heart)---her 

children pilfer dollars from her pockets 

for a ride on the tilt-a-wirl or canvas bag slide,

as a local band on the main stage sings cover tunes 
from another generation & men line up to prove 
their worth with a hammer or in knocking down 
milk bottles with baseballs, America's past time

(there is always a trick, an angle needed

to accomplish the hawkers promises)

the woman though, i envy her liberty from proof & look 

of joy that roses her cheeks. in the end, we are all gluttons 

of some sense & sometimes it's choice.

bringing a candy apple to my own lips, i minister

to the firm shell, sticky & sweet, tongue seeking

the tart flesh beneath---the soft glow of a thousand

light bulbs adorn the carousel spin, sPiN-iNg, spin

& i wonder just how long it will take for you 

to get through the line for the women's rest room
but have no illusions here among the normal.

At dVerse Poets today, we are taking a trip to the fair grounds...enjoying sights & sounds on a long weekend. Time to have a bit of fun, or at least come 3 pm when Claudia opens the doors. See you then.

Meeting the Bar: black & blue but....

street art, Richmond. VA

crickets & hay muffle the skritch of gravel,
his feet traveling south, kicking dust
that clings like cats to his Spiderman PJs

No, no, NO, is all he's saying til i step
in front, whisper break the obsidian night
& he cracks like hot grease spitting fists
in black & blue---jab, hook, hay maker
with fourteen year old fists & he curses
with such fury, froth like waves break
on his lips & he hits & he hits as we roll
to the ditch, his tears, hot lead, drip
on my hand, his mom pulls up tires slide
& van door open we get him in, the speedometer
gets bends as it rises & somehow he opens
the door again, asphalt whizzing, hiss-
ing, dashes yellow bleeding in a single line

i wrap him tight to the floor board, old candy
crust, grit in the carpet, wet dog flavor by
smell & he howls, let me go, LeT mE GO!!
we crash the hospital, security, SeCURE-ity
hold him while the needle sinks but does
nothing, we are linemen on Sunday, throw-
ing bodies against each other, him to escape
& i to keep in, the minute hand passing
midnite, 2 AM & another needle, butt, but

helpless, hopeless, tormented & angry
he's NOT here, in full retreat to age 4, the place where
his mother took him when she stole him, a crack
house, crACKed house & who knows what happened
only that skin draped bones to make a home
for nits to live when they found him & she,
she---

found him again this week, made the same
promises & told him she wanted him back,
to be-little & make herself feel better/pleasure
see, bullies are not limited to school yards,
but hide behind locked doors, call it home
& invasion of privacy when someone peeks
in, while they spin membranes like sCramBLED
eggs then add a kiss to remind you they love you
and are only doing this because they do---

(i wake in the bathroom, warmth leaks from
my nose & lip, tile cold on my skin, they are
laughing, laUGHing, LAughING, yes i know
my own, i know my---)

and after six hours, i am covered in piss,
back twisted in knots & muscle bruised but he
knows & tomorrow when he wakes won't remember
a thing, but looking across the linoleum,
passed the white linen to the institution-
al(l) hard plastic chair---i will be there,
in jeans & tie dye STAR WARS t-shirt, black
& blue, but still smiling & we'll walk
the walk again---where crickets & hay muffle
the skritch of gravel, 'cept this time north,
black & blue, but still smiling, both
black & blue, but---

At dverse Poets today, we are thinking & writing, tracing pathways our membranes take us, down train tracks across the cortex--ha, ha, confused yet? get in the stream, but stay conscious you will just have to tune in at 3 PM when Victoria yells all aboard. smiles. 

Also submitted for Poetry Jam  for Bully.

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.