POEM - Refugee

He told a story
About fleeing over mountains
Miles rising
Through the foothills
Then the steeper paths
Over a peak
Only to see another peak
Forced to hike
While his mother put on a smile
Keeping up appearances
Partly for her son
Mostly to keep away suspicion
So that this would be a one way journey
Instead of a round trip

They went because they had to
I have climbed mountains too
At first by choice
To experience the hidden treasures
Share the quiet paths with my children
See the secrets in its craggy folds
And we started like the story
A happy walk
Just going for a stroll

We soon found an oppressor
Something to flee from
A monster of our inexperience
The trail a little longer
The sun a little hotter
The water supply inadequate

After a fitful rest
In the deep walled valley
We fled
Like a refugee
Unprepared for a difficult journey
Wanting to give up
Wanting relief
Hoping for deliverance
Some respite regardless the form
Dragging on over each rise
Only to see one more

Depleted we arrived
At the safety of the car
Something that told us we would not die
At least not today
The three sips of orange drink
Received as a ration
Before escaping our trial
Returning to our home

The refugees in the story
They made it too
And small things were sweet
Little kindnesses a salvation
A sip of cool drink
In a safe place
Ambrosia

POEM - She on Drugs

The off ramp is no place to take a nap
Despite this
The car two ahead was not inclined
To move any further
On this sunny lazy Saturday afternoon

All I was trying to do
Was take my eldest to work
And get back home
And sack out in front of some football
As soon as possible

The Hispanic gentleman approached cautiously
He knows the possible outcomes
Of approaching a stranger’s car
I try to help
Roll down my window
Smile and make it easy

“Can you help?
My English is not so good
She’s asleep
I don't know
Maybe you can help?”

I jumped out of my car
Impressed with his kindness
Concerned for a stranger
Obviously something wrong
He coordinates the rescue effort
In a hostile environment

The lady in the car was out cold
Snoozing hard
Luckily a smidgen of rigamortis
Kept her foot on the brake
Of the running car

I wrapped on the window
No response
“She on drugs”
Offers my new friend
In a matter of fact tone
He's probably right
I knock and yell
This time the eyes open
And a dim light begins to shine

“Are you ok?
Do you need help?
Can I call an ambulance or something?”

She is stunned and embarrassed
And now mostly awake
Claims to be ok
And pulls up to the light

We look at each other
Both equally skeptical
Both knowing some people are like that
And can't really be helped
He has done his part
Cared for a sister in trouble
Taught me a humbling lesson
Shown great character
And did the right thing

We shrug and head to our cars
She drives away surprisingly well
Though I keep my distance
She could relapse
Or something
And I explain
When I return to the car
With the simple answer
From my new comrade
“She on drugs”
Yes. Yes she is.

POEM - Edgar

The puff of black smoke
Curled on my chest
That arrived suddenly
From a line in an Eliot poem
Has pinned me down
On a lazy Sunday afternoon

I had intended to get up
Even brushed away the beast
But lingered a moment
Only to be pinned again
And my intentions dissipated

It wasn't an instant friendship
Me and the felines have history
Uneasy and troubled
His predecessors
A couple of finicky females
Didn't garner my support

But this one isn't a jerk
Though he chews the glasses
Hanging out of my pocket
And he makes it impossible
To sleep when he's in the room
And loves to watch our shows
And touch the screen
And pause the movie
And eat the tablet case
And finally knock it over

It is just a pleasant game
And my smoky companion
Makes me take a little longer
Relax just a little deeper
Breathe deep and calm
On a simple Sunday afternoon

POEM – Rooster of the Year

Across the gray-black macadam

Spreads a black feather fan

There was violence here last night

A streaking comet

Cracking into the silver egg

Carrying my baby chick

Rattled and shaken

But yolk unbroken

She came to rest on the grassy knoll

Peacefully observing the twisted remains

Of her beloved shell

It is no more and nevermore

And she is alternately

Stunned and sad and stunned again

And this rooster

May have never tended the nest

But he loves the brood

And he guards the house

Diligently

And he is glad the encasement held

The cargo mostly undamaged

Despite the shards that scatter the roadway

And scars in her memory

All that was left

Were black feathers

Etched across a country road

And the tears of oil

Pooling

Only the shell will die tonight

The hatchling carried home

A monkey still alive

To see the Year of the Rooster

POEM: Raccoon Lost His Gaze

I too picked that spot

Felt like I could die

A perfect spot

Cradled in the folds of the tree trunk

A small width of land

And then a depression

To hang my legs into

A place where other roots once lived

It must have fallen last year

Only the small ground cover had filled in

I was resting at the cross-roads

Four miles into the swamp

On a lonely trail

Waiting for the devil

Or anyone else

To hop along and pass the time of day

Until my traveling companions returned

I had opted to rest

They had chosen to explore

And I had hours to myself

Resting and waiting and whittling

A small stick and a slice of time

Letting the thoughts breathe in and out

The ground cover matched the lump of fur

That I hadn’t noticed before

A small startle and a measured examination

A small noise

No response

A larger noise

Still nothing

Must be dead

Hope he isn’t playing

I’m too tired to run away

Would probably just let him maul me

But it wasn’t necessary

He was dead

Resting in the same hole I had picked out

Resting on the new growth

Sheltered from the elements

This raccoon had lost his gaze

Hid from the weather

Under the earthy overhang

And the world let him rest

And passed him by

Suddenly I wasn’t so tired

Felt I could step out of that hole

Leave the tree seat behind

Find my tribe

A little more aware of my mortality

I left the devil at the crossroads

Never shook his hand

Found my own son further down the trail

Gave my hand to him instead

Pulled him back out of the swamp

Along a dusty trail

Under the shadow of the cypress

And the canopy of the loblolly pine