Cooking Light

He bought ten pounds of grace and two potatoes
Walked home with a sense of foreboding and two dollars in his pocket
At home, he peeled the potatoes and boiled them with the grace
The water, starchy and a bit wondrous, made ten small cups of tea
He drank each in three sips forgiving any who had forsaken him
When he was finished his stomach was warm and full, his mind at peace
He slept that night heavy with dreams, dreams of flying and of earnest love
When he awoke to the sound of rain he remembered his father's shortcomings
He used the leftover grace to clean house, remembering Christmas morning in Raleigh
And his father's hands building his first bicycle by the light of the tree

Getting Lucky

“It’s gonna be my year.”

“You said that last year.”

“Yeah, but I can feel it, strong as Hercules.”

“Did you call the kids on Christmas?”

“Was going to, but got busy.”

“Did you pay the dentist?”

“Maybe next week.”

“Who is your job interview with tomorrow?”

“Cancelled it, not my bailiwick.”

“Well then, here’s to 2014….”

“Yeah, feeling lucky.”

“Yeah, lucky.”

You Don't Tell Me.....

Folded like the crease in gangland Chinos

Your mind dips lower than an election year politicians virtues

Creating a halo around the campsite shitter

Convincing everyone that it smells like money and sex

Pop the truth

An ugly blister

French kissing black lips, the reapers' sister

Pull the lie

Expose the muscle

Running the most elaborate hustle

You choose what you write.....

Mending the fence when the course gets too heavy

Drinking your coffee from old poets cups, cowboy style

And spitting out volumes that fall on sensitive ears

Riding shotgun in the onyx beast, you weaping Chivas

Cap the punk

Wear his hat sideways

Etching out grooves on life's shadowed highways

Pinch the ducket

Grating the raw nerve

Throwing the masses a down and out curve

You don't tell me, I tell you.....

Chasing Spirits

For my own Friday Challenge, this is the first of two, my daughter Caitlin gave me the second line in the poem....she laughed at the outcome and had a good time with it, but she did ask me if Santas reindeer really have wi-fi.....




In the Glow of a tinseled tree....3 am
Christmas feels joyful and fun
Magic air so thick to frost sugar cookies 
Jesus' face a marbled wonder in Grandma's divinity

"Dad, can we open our presents?"
"Not til' Christmas Love."
"But why?"
"Christmas trolls darlin', with big teeth."

Waiting is a category of pain akin to a root canal
And sleep is the friendliest enemy of Christmas soldiers
That hallway glow taunts even the most steadfast
Santa has no patience with deserters, but will still eat the cookies

"Dad, how does Santa visit all the children?"
"He uses the internet and his reindeer have wi-fi."
"Daaaaddd..."
"He's a Christmas troll, with small teeth."

Heavy

Your gut is the harbingers twin
Slowly roasting feelings, incubating parasites
Like rock candy on crisp twists of twine
Clear and sweet tumors of intuition

Your father had a feeling, face reading becomes art
And the bricks tumbled and not into place
Rather in a pile that obscured big picture revelation
Three pall bearers when you needed six
Some burdens take a toll on a man's spine
And the hunch makes walking uphill easier
Than stopping to breathe, love is responsibility

Birth

 

After

Still
Child
Re

It happens with explosions mostly, deathly bright, pulsing

But infancy is the universes new skin, soft corners
The ultimate chance at connection rarely seized with glory
The guts of the machine don’t stop for emotional content

Mark

Rate
Stone
Date

Being born still, resets life through a depressed veil

That pinpoint spot of energy waiting in an infinite cue
When the number is called, unfathomable potential grinds to life
And the possibility of miracles sparkles in the maker’s left eye

Despair is a Bridge

A poem for the Imaginary Garden With Real Toads Sunday challenge using Mike Worrall's painting "Bridge of Folly" for inspiration.  Please visit the Toads site for a great walk through some of his work, it is inspiring.


Despair is a Bridge

If it was really a bridge, it would work both ways, to and fro

But this crossing was built from petulant souls and greedy whore mongers

In first light, the far side was bright with heavens light and slick with pastry frosting

As afternoon leaked dusks promises, the slim women came out to dance

With breasts like tea cups and cold concrete where lust intersected the tops of thighs

You would whirl and drink of animal craving, your release a devils oasis

When darkness steals the show, black hearts will play with your eyes, look at me

     “Excuse me kind lady, could you direct me to the bridge back to my sanity?”

     “My good man, whatever for?” She lifted her dress exposing a brass doorknocker between her legs.

     “Knock twice dear lad, its hard to hear when reality comes calling.”

One night, one life, crossing to the dim side

I would stay with the thought of only visiting for eternity but, visiting nonetheless

Sliding out now would be like calling the men in white coats

And playing games of chance with men like that is futile when there are no rules

Home is always the other side, I hope you, my love, started from the right.

Stand Up

                               

Villians.wikia.com

 

For Izzy's out of standard prompt on monsters at Real Toads.

 

 

I will take your life in trickles and half ass mockeries

You’ll stand only when flies light on my eyelids to feed and propagate
These slivers of pain cost me nothing, but will drain your emotional pocket book
My life lessons will grant permanent creases in your polyester future

Stand up, stand up

Physical pain pales with the heat from the sun
Stand up, stand up
But I am standing, low stool, dry rope

The backhand labeled “Mothers Love” always finds purchase

Bruises the color of ochre jelly gone rancid and crystalline
Carbon fiber character is not enough to mute the rabid cats
And the belly of the beast becomes a favorite resort destination

Stand up, stand up

Physical pain a sorely needed lover
Stand up, stand up
But I am standing, low stool, dry hope

Mothers Atrium

I strolled the Mother's atrium, bare feet making ardent love to the velveteen moss. Shadows couldn't take on the monstrous hues of black and grey as the emerald conscience of Mother's atrium tamed them sure, whipping foaming mouths into chartreuse bird houses. My voice and the sound of my breathing came back to me in verde echoes and moist vibration, playing tunes backed by the choir streaming sunlight through leaves, their music keeping dust and mayflies floating endlessly. Hey young Cardinal, harbinger of spring, while your beauty is undeniable, fly away briskly and give room for the hummingbirds breast in chromatic glory and allow my tryst with Mother's atrium to be complete and rapturous. I will take it with me and wrap tight my shoulders against the crimson night.

Lost at Sea

Sailing that trawler of dreams, shrimping, but hoping instead for a haul of permanent joy

This course takes a good man away from pristine waters, splintering Christian acts
Placing the heart and mind within reach of dangers crippling fingers
If there is a green flash, hope to Neptune it isn’t thermo nuclear in nature
And instead, an omen that the Gods have a message for you
One that starts with tears and ends in triumphant death
The tide turns crimson, the tide runs true
And sea birds call for a stop to the chaos of men, if only to feed for a bit
But you keep grinding the shore and betting the ship and shouting your epiphanies
Bending reality until she screams in tortured wails and snaps your mutinous spine
Digging a grave at sea is easy my love….and we shall all pitch in with our golden shovels.

Twelve Steps (A Modern Almost Love Story)

     

     Twelve short steps and an eternity in my mind.  My stomach grumbled a bit, the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I had for lunch had long since wore off, allowing for plenty of room for the one thousand butterflies to flit and fly at will. She was beautiful, not sunset beautiful or beautiful like a bouquet of flowers. She was blessed with a universal depth and beauty that I was sure no one, not even God would have been able to look directly at without squinting.  I chuckled to myself at this thought ,cheesy as it was it was true, but I also though that God would have a badass pair of Maui Jims so it really wouldn’t bother him at all.

     At eleven steps to go I started to notice the sweat.  Dripping from the back of my hair and between my over starched shirt and back, rolling unhindered down the curve of my spine and ultimately depositing in the waist band of my underwear. I knew what the last song was going to be, always a slow song, it would be Sailing by Christopher Cross, my friend Frankie was the DJ, he would hook me up. It was song that rarely penetrated the radar of my hard rock sensibility, but it was epically long allowing for all kinds of thoughts that would eventually lead to no action while dancing.  Yeah….but just the thoughts were enough some times.

     I would like to say steps two through ten were as memorable, but I don’t really remember, they flew by in a horny haze that left me dizzy and hoping the ghost in my pants wouldn’t wake prematurely. I didn’t need to wield a subpar weapon into this foray.  She was standing near the stage of the gymnasium.  The gym, had been transformed into a romantic hotbed of raging hormones and inadequate lighting, the disco ball creating a mood that felt like a full blown orgy could happen at anytime.  Four out of twenty yellowish sodium vapor lights cast a backyard party glow, and the ruby red exit sign glow gave a red light district quality to a normally sweaty and competitive space.

     She was talking to Wendy Crump.  Wendy crump hated me, but as it usually happens, she was her best friend and I am sure that most of my longing glances, inadvertent brushes, and inappropriate mumblings were heavily scrutinized in their teenage girl conversations.  It mattered not on this night.  I was fresh off a speech from my father, who, being my biggest fan, said not to be afraid of rejection because who knows?

     Step two introduced a fresh wave of anxiety.  I straitened my tie and shirt, took a deep breath and stepped through the candy glass force field that took me from step two to the last step.

     “Would you like to dance?” She smiled, thank God she smiled.

     “No thanks.”  She said it like someone had offered her a whiskey sour. My fathers voice came into my mind like a silent cheerleader.  “Don’t take no for an answer.”

     “ I promise I’ll be a perfect gentlemen,” I said with an awkward smile.

     “She’s taken jackwad,” Wendy Crump spat.  She rolled her eyes and turned away from me.

     She took me by the arm and pulled me away from Wendy.

     “Its not you, I am in a relationship with a girl from St. Anne’s.” She turned and headed back to Wendy.

     My head filled with an audible buzz.  I wasn’t expecting that. I turned and headed back to my jacket, the dance was over for me.  Rejection seemed to sting less in this context.  As I walked out I looked back and took one last look at her and wondered how one would manage watching her make out with the girl form St. Anne’s.  I left with a new perspective and a mission…..another successful high school dance.